《Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story》


 Arc 1 - Ch 1: Laughlin City

    Chapter 1


    Arc 1 - Ch 1: Laughlin City


    Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010.


    Location: Laughlin City, Alberta, Canada


    The eighteen-wheeler thundered down the lonely stretch of asphalt, its headlights carving twin paths through the inky darkness. The behemoth of steel and rubber pulled up alongside a solitary building, its parking lot filled with fellow long-haulers. A looming alpine forest pressed in from all sides. The truck settled into a spot among its brethren, the engine ticking as it cooled in the frigid evening air.


    The driver''s door creaked open and two burly men climbed from the cab. From the passenger side, a third figure emerged. He was younger, leaner, with a wide-eyed wariness.


    Tyson squinted into the meager light cast by the truck stop, his eyes adjusting as if he''d just woken from a long and uneasy slumber. His face was too gaunt for his age. The oversized hoodie he wore seemed to swallow his thin frame, concealing layers of mismatched clothing underneath.


    "Where are we?" Tyson''s voice was hoarse, grating against the wind that bit at his exposed skin.


    The broader of the two truckers, a man with a grizzled beard turned to sneer at him. "This here''s Laughlin City, kid. I told ya that''s as far as we were goin''. You''re on your own now."


    Without so much as a backward glance, he and his companion ambled toward the building, drawn by the promise of cold beer and hot food. As they entered, their laughter was swallowed by the thrum of commotion inside, leaving Tyson alone in the biting cold.


    For a long moment, Tyson stood rooted in place, as if his worn sneakers had frozen to the asphalt. Snowflakes danced around him, alighting on his hair and eyelashes. He stared at the bar, the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses serving only to amplify his isolation. His gaze swept across the surroundings beyond the truck stop, searching for any sign of civilization. There was nothing but an endless expanse of wilderness as if the world had decided to end right here at this lonely outpost.


    And Tyson had no idea how he''d arrived here.


    "Some city," he muttered, his breath visible in the frigid air. His eyes lingered on the bar for a moment longer, weighing his options. With a sigh, Tyson squared his shoulders and trudged towards the doors.


    The moment Tyson crossed the threshold, his senses were assaulted. The noise of cheers, the press of bodies, and the acrid scent of smoke that curled lazily from smoldering cigars and cigarettes. The place was packed, filled primarily with men who had the hardened look of blue-collar locals. Their faces were like the landscape outside; worn, rugged, and unforgiving. They gulped down beer and whiskey with the abandon of men trying to forget their troubles.


    A particularly raucous burst of laughter roared from the back of the establishment, causing Tyson to crane his neck. What could possibly be drawing such attention in a place like this? A rhythmic slap-thud resonated through the bar, followed by a wave of cheering.


    Tyson began to shoulder his way through the swarm of bodies, following the strange sounds toward their source. It was like trying to swim upstream in a river of flannel and denim. Finally finding a break in the crowd, he maneuvered into a position with a clear view of the spectacle. What he saw made his jaw drop.


    A makeshift boxing ring stood proudly in the back of the bar, crudely cordoned off by ropes and a freestanding cage that looked like it had seen better days. The area was illuminated by a single, dangling bulb that cast its sickly light on the center of the ring, leaving the edges shrouded in shadow. As Tyson watched, a man fell to the ground with a loud thud. The man''s collapse was punctuated by the metallic clamor of a bell, signaling the end of the fight. The crowd roared its approval.


    The victor retreated into the shadowy corner of the cage. The fallen fighter, meanwhile, tried to pick himself up but fell flat.


    A gruff voice next to Tyson asked the man at his side, "Hey, ain''t you going in? He''s gotta be tired by now." Glancing towards the speaker, Tyson found himself face-to-face with a burly man goading his friend into being the next sacrificial lamb for the ring.


    Inside the makeshift arena, the downed fighter was hauled away by a pair of his friends. The winner, still shrouded in shadows, sat nonchalantly on a stool. The only distinguishable feature was the beer bottle in his hand, which he sipped from with the casual air of someone relaxing, not a man who''d just won a brutal fistfight.


    Just then, a figure emerged from the sidelines with all the dramatic flair of a ringmaster at a circus. The man held a microphone loosely in his calloused hands and a mischievous glint in his eyes.


    "Gentlemen," his voice boomed over the commotion like thunder across a valley. "In all my years, I''ve never seen anything like this." The crowd erupted into cheers. Unfazed, the announcer continued, "Eight men have been dragged from this ring tonight." He gestured towards the figure in the shadows with a flourish. "Don''t tell me you''re going to let this man walk out of here with your money."


    A voice rose from the crowd, clear and challenging, "I''ll fight him."


    All eyes swiveled to the source of the declaration. A hulking man in a lumberjack jacket rose from his seat, his muscles straining against the fabric. The crowd cheered in unison, their approval washing over the room in a tidal wave of testosterone and beer-fueled bravado.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, our savior," the announcer mocked. Unfazed by the attention of the crowd, the challenger shrugged off his jacket with casual confidence. The fabric fell to the ground as he stepped into the ring, his every movement radiating the kind of self-assurance that comes from either supreme skill or profound stupidity.


    As the challenger took his place in the ring, Tyson found himself holding his breath. The announcer''s voice cut through the tension once more, "Alright, folks, place your bets! Who thinks our brave volunteer can dethrone the champ?" A chorus of shouts and the rustling of money filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clinking of glasses.


    Tyson''s gaze darted between the challenger, standing tall and proud in the center of the ring, and the shadowy corner where the previous winner still drank his beer.


    The crowd around Tyson erupted in a volcano of noise and excitement as the undefeated fighter finally emerged from his shadowy corner. He stepped into the sickly light cast by the flickering bulb, revealing a figure that was more presence than size. He wasn''t particularly large, especially when compared to his hulking opponent, but there was something about him that made Tyson''s breath catch in his throat.


    The fighter''s arms rippled with wiry strength. He wore a simple white tank top that had seen better days and a pair of jeans that looked like they''d been through a war. Around his neck hung a solitary silver dog tag, its surface scratched and weathered. A shock of unkempt hair framed his face, leading into impressive mutton chops that would make even the most seasoned lumberjack nod in approval. A pair of worn leather boots completed his ensemble.


    Tyson''s eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw dropped. He knew that face, knew that hair. There was no mistaking it.


    It was Wolverine.


    But how was that even possible?


    Confusion raced through Tyson''s mind. This was no ordinary bar, no ordinary town, and that was certainly no ordinary man. His heart pounded, each beat a question echoing in his mind. How? Why?


    Recognition flashed in Tyson''s eyes as pieces of the puzzle began to align themselves. He had seen this before, in a superhero movie he''d watched long ago. The bar, the fights, Wolverine¡­ it was all part of the script.


    But there was a key character missing. Someone integral to the narrative.


    Rogue.


    In the movie he remembered, the teenage mutant had run away from home after her powers first activated, ultimately finding her way to Canada. Yet scanning the crowd, he couldn''t spot many women, and none that resembled Rogue''s distinct appearance.


    Then, a cold realization crashed over him.


    The eighteen-wheeler, his worn-out clothes, the arrival at this particular bar in Canada. Was he... was he, Rogue?


    Frantically, Tyson touched his face, feeling for any sign that he''d suddenly transformed into a Southern belle. He felt light stubble. The masculine sign caused relief to wash over him. To confirm, he discreetly grasped himself. Thankfully, he still had all the working bits down below. He was still undoubtedly male. But what about the powers? Were the gloves he''d been wearing all this while just to protect him from the cold? Or were they protecting from more than just the weather?


    Hesitantly, Tyson removed one glove, exposing his bare hand. After a moment of trepidation, he reached out and brushed his fingers against the arm of the nearest person; a man who was engrossed in the upcoming fight.


    The reaction was immediate and almost visceral. The man''s arm went rigid under his touch, his face contorting in a silent scream. His eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible, and his skin paled. The veins in his forehead bulged as though under immense pressure, looking ready to burst like overinflated balloons.


    Tyson''s world spun. A flood of information rushed into his mind, threatening to overwhelm him like a tsunami of consciousness. The man was named Hank, a rugged blue-collar worker from the sprawling plains of Alberta, Canada. Suddenly, Tyson knew the world from Hank''s perspective, as if he''d just downloaded an entire life''s worth of memories and experiences.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He didn''t have much growing up, besides the love of his parents. School was challenging, but he worked diligently and graduated. Shortly afterward he married his high-school sweetheart. His kind-hearted wife had a smile that could melt the winter snow. They had two energetic children together. They purchased an old rustic log cabin for a home that he worked tirelessly to maintain. His days were spent working labor in the oil sands. He understood the intricacies of hydraulics and the mechanics of heavy drilling equipment. He knew the right way to handle hazardous materials, and how to drive a tractor, weld metal, and even repair a diesel engine. The hard, calloused texture of his hands was a worthwhile sacrifice for his family.


    With a jolt, Tyson was back in the crowded bar.


    The juxtaposition between the memories, the life, he had just experienced and the raucous, smoky interior of the bar was jarring. He glanced over at Hank, who was now on the ground, having fainted from Tyson''s touch.


    Feeling an odd connection to the man he''d never truly met, Tyson quickly slipped further into the crowd, away from his unconscious victim. He shoved his glove back on, not wanting to risk inadvertently triggering his power again. His mind raced as he grappled with the horrifying reality.


    If this was truly Rogue''s power, then he was a mutant. And if he remembered right, in this world, mutants weren''t a secret subspecies that hid in the shadows. They were known by the public and considered by most to be a walking danger to those around them.


    In Tyson''s case, the stereotype was true. His touch was deadly.


    As the realization sank in, Tyson realized he was alone in a different world. The cheers of the crowd around him faded into a dull roar as he grappled with his new reality.


    His thoughts were interrupted as the bell sounded, marking the start of the next round. The challenger wasted no time. He barreled forward, his massive frame closing the distance to Wolverine in two quick strides. His fist slammed into Wolverine''s midsection with a sickening thud. The crowd cheered with bloodlust and excitement. Wolverine doubled over with the beer bottle still clutched in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed over the rim. But the challenger wasn''t done. He followed up with a haymaker that connected squarely with Wolverine''s jaw, the impact echoing through the makeshift arena.


    The big man shook his hand, wincing as if he''d just punched a brick wall.


    But the pain wasn''t enough to stop him. He pressed his advantage, landing two swift kicks to Wolverine''s midsection. Then, with a cruel glint in his eye, he aimed lower. The crowd collectively winced as his boot connected with Wolverine''s groin, eliciting a chorus of sympathetic "oohs" from the spectators.


    For a moment, the bar held its breath. Wolverine was down, curled into himself, looking for all the world like a beaten man. But then, a low growl rumbled from his throat, a sound more animal than human. He rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity that made even the hardened crowd take a step back.


    The challenger, emboldened by his early success, threw another punch. This time, Wolverine was ready. He met the incoming fist with his own, adamantium-laced bones colliding with human calcium. The resulting crack was like a gunshot in the confined space of the bar.


    The big man''s hand crumpled like paper, wrist twisting at an unnatural angle. He staggered back, a scream of agony tearing from his throat. But Wolverine wasn''t done. Another punch to the gut drove the air from the challenger''s lungs, and before he could recover, Wolverine''s forehead smashed into his face with devastating force. The challenger hit the floor like a felled tree, unconscious before he even landed. The bar exploded into cheers, the crowd loving every second of the brutal display.


    The announcer stepped forward, his eyes glittering with excitement. "Anyone else up for the challenge?" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din. "Anyone brave enough to take on the Wolverine?"


    In the crowd, Tyson felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to stay quiet, to blend into the background. But something else, something reckless and wild, pushed words past his lips before he could stop them.


    "I''ll fight," he heard himself say.


    The crowd parted like the Red Sea, all eyes turning to the young man who dared to challenge the undefeated champion. Tyson made his way to the ring, shedding his jacket and shirt as he went. He ducked under the rope and entered through the cage''s door.


    Standing next to the man, he became acutely aware of the stark contrast between himself and Wolverine.


    Where Wolverine was compact and pale, Tyson was lean and dark. His rich brown skin highlighted a frame that spoke of hard times and missed meals. At 5''10", he towered over Wolverine''s 5''3", but lacked the mutant''s raw presence. Tyson''s handsome features were marred by the hardships of life on the run, a goatee framing a strong jaw, and intense brown eyes that held a hint of fear despite his bravado.


    The announcer''s voice boomed out once more. "Once again, the unstoppable Wolverine!" He paused, milking the moment for all it was worth before turning to Tyson. "And introducing, the dashing Rogue!"


    Laughter rippled through the crowd at the grandiose title, but Tyson barely noticed. He was too focused on the man across from him.


    Wolverine looked him over, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was gruff, barely audible over the crowd''s excitement. "Okay, kid," he growled, "I''ll give you the first shot, but it''s the only freebie you''re gonna get."


    This was his chance.


    His one opportunity to get the upper hand. But how? A regular punch would be worse than punching a brick wall.


    Then, an idea struck him. Instead of throwing a punch, Tyson charged forward, wrapping his arms around Wolverine in a bear hug. The crowd''s cheers turned to confused murmurs. This wasn''t how bar fights were supposed to go.


    But Tyson didn''t care.


    He felt a rush of energy flowing into him, bringing with it memories and sensations.


    Wolverine''s eyes widened in shock, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as he felt his strength being sapped away. For the first time in the evening, real fear flickered across his face. The unbeatable Wolverine had finally met his match, and it came in the most unexpected form imaginable.


    For Tyson, it was like being hit by a freight train of memories, knowledge, and experiences. A floodgate of over a century''s worth of living was suddenly unleashed within his mind. Tyson''s vision blurred as images washed over him like an unstoppable tide.


    He was in World War II, grappling with the raw brutality of war and the loss of comrades. He endured the excruciating adamantium procedure that transformed him into a virtually indestructible weapon. He was in a covert operation, infiltrating enemy lines and facing off against dangerous foes. There was a woman named Mariko, whose face filled him with a profound sense of love and loss. A relentless figure brought feelings of rage and rivalry. With every fight he had ever fought, every wound he had ever endured, came his phenomenal healing factor, closing wounds as quickly as they appeared. He could feel the strength provided by the unyielding adamantium within his bones, the repetitive sting of claws springing forth from his knuckles. But there was more than just battles and suffering. He was a master in various forms of combat and possessed agility and stealth. He was an expert martial artist, a formidable hand-to-hand combatant, and a skilled swordsman. He wielded a sword in a Japanese dojo. Every smell, sound, and movement in the world around him was always pronounced with crystal clarity.


    Wolverine''s memories flooded Tyson''s mind in a chaotic torrent. Decades of violence, loss, and pain washed over him, threatening to drown him in their intensity. But with them came something else. Power, raw and primal, filling every cell of Tyson''s body. The crowd''s raucous cheering faded to a dull roar as Tyson focused on maintaining his grip. He had no idea how long he could hold on, but he knew this was his only shot.


    The makeshift ring creaked under the weight of the two combatants as Tyson clung to Wolverine with desperate intensity. His lean arms, corded with newfound strength, squeezed around the mutant''s stocky frame. The skin-on-skin contact allowed Tyson''s power to absorb Wolverine''s through the connection.


    Wolverine''s gravelly voice cut through the haze of transferred memories. "What the flamin'' hell are you doin'', bub?" he growled, his tone a mix of confusion and growing anger.


    Before Tyson could respond, Wolverine exploded into action. The mutant planted his feet against Tyson''s chest and pushed. The force of the thrust sent Tyson flying backward, breaking their connection.


    Tyson hit the ropes hard, grazing the cage beyond, then rebounding off them and stumbling to regain his footing. But even as he struggled to stay upright, he felt... different. The gnawing emptiness of hunger that had been his constant companion was gone, replaced by a surge of vitality. His body hummed with energy, muscles taut and ready for action. Across the ring, Wolverine swayed on his feet, momentarily off-balance. The brief contact had taken more out of him than all of the previous fighters'' attacks combined. His trademark scowl deepened as he shook his head, trying to clear the fog.


    Tyson processed the flood of new information. He shifted his stance, adopting a boxer''s pose and made a ''come hither'' gesture. "That all you got, old man?" he taunted.


    Wolverine''s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You asked for it, kid," he snarled.


    The mutant''s attack came with a speed and ferocity that made Tyson instantly regret his bravado. Wolverine''s fist connected, sending Tyson sprawling. Stars exploded behind his eyes as the back of his head cracked against the floor.


    The crowd''s cheers reached a fever pitch, their collective voice adding to the ringing in Tyson''s ears. He tasted copper in his mouth as he clambered to his feet, spitting a glob of blood onto the already-stained canvas.


    "Okay," Tyson muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Maybe not my best idea."


    He may have absorbed Wolverine''s powers and skills, but one thing he didn''t have was the mutant''s adamantium-laced skeleton. Every punch from Wolverine felt like being hit by a wrecking ball wrapped in flesh.


    The ring became a stage for a brutal fight. Tyson''s newly acquired skills allowed him to hold his own, dodging and weaving with an agility that surprised even himself. But Wolverine was relentless, each blow carrying the weight of his adamantium-enhanced frame. Harsh, guttural sounds of impact were punctuated by the occasional grunt or growl from the fighters as sweat and blood spattered across the ring.


    What truly amazed the bloodthirsty crowd was the resilience of both men. Cuts sealed almost as quickly as they were opened, only masked from view by the blood left on the skin in the aftermath.


    The stalemate persisted, neither gaining a distinct advantage. But in a moment of distraction, Tyson''s guard slipped. It was only a fraction of a second, but that was all Wolverine needed.


    Wolverine''s fist connected with Tyson''s temple, the impact resonating through the bar like a thunderclap. Tyson''s eyes rolled back, his body went limp as he crumpled to the ground.


    The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and groans. This had been the longest fight yet.


    As the noise of the crowd washed over him, Tyson''s consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind. Through the haze of pain and disorientation, the healing factor he had absorbed from Wolverine surged through his battered body, knitting together torn flesh and mending bruised tissue. Before anyone could drag him from the ring, Tyson''s eyes snapped open. He drew in a ragged breath, pushing himself up onto shaky arms. The crowd fell silent, watching surprised as the young fighter rose to his feet.


    Tyson swayed slightly, still disoriented from the heavy blow, but his body felt... good. The aches and pains were gone, replaced with a humming energy that coursed through his veins. He ran a hand along his face and through his hair, marveling at the absence of injuries. Every welt and cut had vanished, leaving him as unmarked as if he''d never stepped into the ring. The only evidence was the blood that flecked off at his touch.


    Wolverine watched him with a mix of surprise and grudging respect.


    The announcer''s voice boomed through the bar. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! The undefeated champion... Wolverine!"


    The crowd cheered once more, but there was a new undercurrent to their excitement. They had expected a slaughter and had witnessed something far more extraordinary.


    As Tyson made his way out of the ring, several patrons clapped him on the back, their gruff voices offering words of praise and consolation. He was glad for the full coverage of the jacket and gloves he''d redonned, which prevented any accidental skin contact.


    Tyson had lost the fight, true, but he''d gained something far more valuable. He had learned about his powers and tested what he was capable of. But one question remained.


    What would he do next?

 Arc 1 - Ch 2: Roadtrip, Interrupted

    Chapter 2


    Arc 1 - Ch 2: Roadtrip, Interrupted


    Date: Wednesday, June 2, 2010.


    Location: Laughlin City, Alberta, Canada


    As it grew later, the once raucous crowd at the bar dwindled to just a handful of patrons. The boisterous laughter and cheers of earlier were replaced by the soft clinking of glasses and hushed conversations. The few remaining customers were slumped over their drinks or slowly nursed the last drops of whiskey in their tumblers. Tyson sat at the bar, sipping water and intently studying a newspaper. Thanks to Wolverine''s healing ability, which he had absorbed during their brawl, Tyson''s body was completely restored. His fighting had earned him some pity money, just enough to buy himself a decent meal.


    Despite reading the paper several times, Tyson still struggled to believe the contents. The words on the page filled him with a sense of disbelief. Particularly one line at the top of the newspaper. It was not an article or story that seized his attention, but rather the date itself.


    June 2, 2010.


    He stared, dumbfounded, rubbing his eyes again to ensure he was not hallucinating. Just yesterday, or so he thought, it was the year 2023. Now he found himself over a decade in the past.


    He knew this was no joke or elaborate prank. The dingy bar surrounding him, with its chipped wooden tables and worn leather barstools was far removed from any vintage memorabilia shop. There was no way they would keep an antique newspaper as a prop or novelty item.


    But was it so farfetched?


    He accepted that somehow he had landed in a parallel world where he possessed the mutant powers of Rogue. Coping with being thrown over a decade into the past was icing on the cake. Tyson picked up the newspaper once more, rereading the articles intently.


    Stark Industries Stock Value Begins Recovery Amidst Shift to Clean Energy


    By Betty Brant, International Business


    NEW YORK - Stark Industries, once the foremost leader in weapons manufacturing, has shown signs of a stock value rebound since announcing its unprecedented shift toward clean energy initiatives. Investors and industry insiders were initially skeptical about the company''s unexpected pivot, especially after its CEO Anthony Stark was captured during a weapons demonstration in February, leading to a plummet in share prices. Stark''s sudden disappearance lasted until May when he made a mysterious and dramatic escape. While details remain undisclosed, Stark''s return has spearheaded the company''s reinvention.


    Stark''s return and public declaration of moving away from weapons caused a drop in the company''s value. In the month since, there has been a 12% recovery in stock value, which experts attribute to both Stark''s reputation for innovation and a growing global demand for sustainable energy solutions. Experts speculate that Stark Industries may reveal plans for an improved Arc Reactor. Arc Reactors were a promising clean energy source but were abandoned when the technology hit a development ceiling. The reactor was considered a publicity stunt, but with Stark moving away from weapons the concept of Arc Reactors has garnered significant interest from tech industries and eco-activists alike.


    However, the departure of Stark Industries from the weapons sector has paved the way for other defense companies to step up. Leading is Hammer Industries which witnessed a massive surge in stock prices and signed several key defense contracts over the last couple of months. Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, commented, "While Tony''s shift is, uh, noble, we at Hammer Industries are committed to ensuring global security, and someone has to take the helm."


    Other energy corporations like Roxxon Energy have also seen fluctuations in their values at Stark Industries'' sudden shift from weapons to energy. The shakeup continues as insiders place several corporations considering shifting into weapons manufacturing to fill the void left by Stark. Oscorp, primarily a chemical manufacturer, already has several military contracts, but insiders report the corporation has fallen behind on its promises to the government. Other notable newcomers expanding into the sector include Advanced Idea Mechanics, Essex Corp, and several smaller competitors.


    The market waits with bated breath to see if Stark Industries'' gamble pays off in the long run. For now, Tony Stark''s return and his ambitious vision for a sustainable future have offered a glimmer of hope to investors. Yet, one can''t help but wonder about the circumstances of his disappearance and what truly transpired during his time in captivity.


    Tyson gulped down the last of his water, the cold liquid doing little to settle his mind. There was so much information for him to process from that article. But he was interrupted when the man he''d recently squared off against, Wolverine, approached.


    The bartender ambled over and dropped a thick wad of cash on the bar in front of Wolverine. "Your winnings, Logan," the bartender said, clapping him on the shoulder.


    Wolverine, or Logan as the bartender had just called him, grunted in acknowledgment, scooping up the money before turning towards Tyson. He leaned over, the barstool creaking beneath his weight.


    "You take a hit pretty well for a scrawny kid."


    Tyson barely had time to digest the gruff compliment when the man who had suffered a humiliating defeat at Wolverine''s hands earlier interrupted. His face was a map of fresh bruises, his wrist and hand were wrapped, but his eyes clearly showed his desire for revenge.


    "No man takes a beating like that and walks away with nothing to show. I think you owe me some compensation."


    Before Logan could respond, Tyson''s laughter echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the few stragglers.


    The man''s attention swiveled to Tyson, he snarled, "Something funny, kid?"


    Tyson''s shoulders continued to shake with the last remnants of his laughter. "Yeah," he admitted lightly, his voice still tinged with humor as he gestured towards Wolverine. "You want him to pay you... For kicking your ass so bad¡­ That''s just crazy."


    The man was not amused. His face darkened and he responded by grabbing a fistful of Tyson''s jacket with his one good hand. Tyson''s feet momentarily left the ground as the man hoisted him upwards.


    "You don''t want to do this," Tyson advised evenly, his voice steady despite the precariousness of his situation.


    Ignoring the warning, the man hauled Tyson roughly to his feet. Tyson stood there calmly, his continued nonchalance only further infuriated the figure looming over him.


    "Think you''re tough, eh?" the man sneered in a stereotypical Canadian accent.


    Tyson couldn''t help but chuckle at the man''s exaggerated manner of speech. "Eh?" he mockingly parroted back.


    The man balled his hand into a tight fist. The punch collided solidly with the side of Tyson''s face. The strength behind the blow sent Tyson sprawling backward. He careened into the barstools, crashing painfully to the ground. The impact drew chuckles from the few lingering patrons. The man''s fist unwittingly triggered Tyson''s power the moment it connected.


    He was a young boy, hard-working, but slowly succumbed to the pressures of high school and dropped out. His marriage was scarred by loud arguments often ending with screams and slaps which ultimately led to a bitter divorce. He was angry and regretful. He passed the days repairing cars, and the nights hotwiring them.


    Tyson groaned as he slowly regained his footing, one hand gently probing the tender swelling on his cheek. Fighting without Logan''s power was far less entertaining. He could already feel the skin purpling into a dark bruise. But he knew that regardless of the hit he had taken, the odds were now tilted in his favor. The man''s advantages of strength and fighting experience had been nullified when their skin made contact. Tyson''s mutant power allowed him to siphon not just lifeforce, but skills and strengths from anyone he touched. Though the man was no mutant, Tyson had stolen a piece of his essence for himself in that brief moment of contact. The man''s knowledge, and even his experience brawling, had been temporarily copied.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Rather than balling into fists, Tyson''s hands remained open, palms out as if preparing for a slapboxing match. Tyson accepted the incoming punches with grimaces of pain, but his return strikes were open-handed slaps rather than closed fists.


    To any observer, it would appear a poor strategy for winning a bar fight.


    Each of Tyson''s open-palmed slaps siphoned his opponent''s strength. With every contact, his strength dwindled. Tyson''s strategy was not about brute force but stealing life essence, one strike at a time. The cheers from the remaining patrons faded as they sensed the strangeness of the fight.


    Tyson reared back, ready to deliver another blow, when the chilling click of a shotgun cocking echoed through the bar. He froze, slowly turning to find the bartender leveling the barrel at him.


    "We don''t take kindly to your kind here," the bartender growled, eyes narrowed dangerously.


    Tyson wanted to quip, It''s cause I''m black, but he didn''t give voice to his thoughts. Humor would not diffuse this situation.


    He raised his hands in surrender.


    Despite his newfound powers, a close-range shotgun blast would still kill him.


    Holding his breath, Tyson backed toward the door with his hands still raised. The bartender''s scowl and shotgun barrel tracked his every move. Tyson''s boots scuffing across the wooden floor was the only sound in the bar as patrons watched with bated breath.


    Frigid air engulfed him as he pushed through the doors into the night outside. He shivered, his breath plumed, in the cold. The fabric of his jacket offered little protection against the Canadian chill. According to the newspaper back in town, it was June, but the biting wind told a different tale. How far north was he?


    Tyson scanned the darkened road. No streetlights, no traffic, just an empty two-lane highway slicing through the wilderness. He was well and truly alone out here. No transportation, no money, no options.


    The creak of the door snapped his attention back. He turned to see Logan fill the doorway.


    "Need a ride, kid?"


    Logan jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at a dilapidated camper with a small trailer hitched to the back.


    It wasn''t much to look at.


    The offer surprised Tyson, but he did not hesitate, knowing he had few options. With a nod, he walked over and slipped into the passenger seat. The worn leather creaked as he settled in. Logan turned the key and the engine rumbled to life before pulling the vehicle onto the deserted highway.


    They drove in silence for a while, the only sound the soft hum of the engine. Logan was the first to break the quiet, his voice tinged with curiosity as his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Those hits of yours pack a punch, kid," Logan began. "And you bounced back in that ring quicker than any normal man should''ve. Those were no ordinary slaps. What''s your secret?"


    Tyson looked between Logan and the trees passing by. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "I can absorb other people''s life force through skin contact," Tyson admitted. "In the ring, I... borrowed your strength and healing. It was only temporary, but it was enough. I can''t control it¡­ It''s always on. Anyone I touch starts to die."


    Logan glanced at Tyson, one eyebrow raised in surprise before he chuckled, "Now that''s a neat trick. Girls must love it."


    Tyson couldn''t help but smile at the humor in Logan''s gruff voice. He leaned his head back against the worn leather headrest and sighed. "Fuck, I hadn''t thought about that," he admitted with a small laugh. "I haven''t gotten that far yet."


    "Don''t worry, kid. Maybe it''ll happen one day," Logan mused with a hint of a smile.


    "That''s not what I meant," Tyson mumbled. Now Logan probably thought he was a virgin.


    "But you handled it well, kid," Logan added after a pause, a note of grudging approval in his voice. "Not everyone can go toe-to-toe with me in the ring, then have a gun pulled on them and keep their cool."


    Tyson chuckled. "Well, I had a bit of help in the ring. From you, actually."


    As the old camper chugged down the winding wooded Canadian backroads, its worn suspension creaking over every bump, Tyson found the cab was surprisingly comfortable despite its run-down appearance. And Logan was not so callous as he expected.


    His only concern was the implications of his situation. If this was truly the world of the X-Men films he remembered, then danger lurked just around the corner.


    Sabertooth would attack them soon.


    The road ahead wound through a steep ravine, treacherous cliffs looming on either side. It was the perfect spot for an ambush. Tyson braced himself. He spared a glance at Logan.


    Wolverine''s senses were far sharper than his own, yet he seemed relaxed.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The old camper rumbled down the mountain road as bright morning sunlight gradually faded behind ominous gray overcast skies. Tyson had barely slept a wink the night before, his senses on high alert as he anxiously anticipated the ambush that Sabertooth would soon unleash upon them.


    But as the hours dragged on, no attack ever came.


    Exhaustion finally overtook him in the late afternoon. Tyson collapsed into a dreamless sleep. It had been nearly an entire day since he arrived in this world. Now he awoke to find himself still rumbling along in Logan''s rickety but comfortable camper.


    Tyson peered out the camper''s grimy window rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dark, heavy clouds unfurled across the horizon. Light flurries of snow fluttered down leaving a fresh, white dusting. The snowfall gradually intensified, turning the world outside into a swirling, white wonderland.


    Logan began recounting the story of a bar brawl in Saskatchewan, narrating the fight enthusiastically.


    Without warning, a massive, frost-bitten pine tree crashed onto the road.


    Logan''s eyes went wide with alarm, but there was no time to swerve or brake, and the ice-slicked road offered no grip for the camper''s bald tires.


    They crashed into the felled tree.


    Metal screeched and bent, glass shattered into a thousand shards, and the harsh jolt knocked the breath from Tyson''s lungs. Logan, who hadn''t bothered to put on his seatbelt, was hurtled through the windshield by the violent collision.


    The seatbelt bit into Tyson''s chest, holding him in place. But his forehead smashed against the dashboard, leaving a raw, throbbing wound that immediately began weeping warm blood. The world wavered before his eyes, darkness crept at the edges of his vision. An eerie silence descended, broken only by Tyson''s ragged breaths.


    Logan''s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, limp limbs sprawling across the snow like a rag doll. It was a twisted, unnatural collection of jutting bones that would have spelled instant death for any normal man. But Logan was no normal man.


    His body twitched, limbs jerking as if animated by an unseen force. With a grimace of annoyance, Logan slowly rose to his feet. He cracked his neck, creating a grotesque sound as the movement reset his displaced bones back where they belonged. Though his adamantium bones could not break, his ligaments had stretched to their limits as joints separated and then snapped back into place with audible pops. A deep gash ran along Logan''s scalp, blood matting his hair. Before Tyson''s eyes, the wound sealed itself, leaving only a streak of rusty red behind.


    Logan called out to the boy trapped in the wreckage. "You okay, kid?"


    Tyson glanced down, taking in the collapsed dashboard that pinned him in place, the seatbelt clasp was well out of reach. Acrid smoke began to spread through the interior.


    "I''m stuck!" he yelled, straining against the seatbelt and dashboard. Pain throbbed through Tyson''s head, each pulse a hammer blow inside his skull. His thoughts skittered wildly, hazy, impossible to grasp. He knew he should remember something important, but the details swirled just out of reach.


    Wolverine,


    The bar fight,


    The car accident...


    Then it clicked into place. Sabertooth.


    The fallen tree had been no accident. It was an ambush. The long car ride had lulled him into a false sense of security. He''d been on guard initially, but after an entire night of driving through the unchanging Canadian wilderness, he grew complacent.


    They were under attack.


    Tyson''s lips parted to warn Logan, but it was too late.


    he saw Wolverine sniff the air through the cracked windshield as if he sensed the danger and his metallic claws extended. But before Logan could act, a figure exploded from the treeline.


    Tyson caught a glimpse of the attacker. The man was massive, a hulking figure that dwarfed Wolverine. His long, matted blond hair cascaded around shoulders as broad as a bear''s. A wild, unkempt beard added to his feral appearance. A manic grin split the man''s face, revealing canines too large and sharp for any human. If Tyson hadn''t known better, he might have thought the creature a werewolf.


    Sabertooth had come.


    Tyson was trapped, helpless, in the middle of the ensuing battle. Acrid smoke filled the camper cabin as flames licked at the interior behind him. Tyson squirmed desperately in his seat, fingers straining towards the latch of his seatbelt. But the crumpled dashboard pinned him back, preventing him from reaching the release button. He twisted his wrist awkwardly, fingertips brushing uselessly against the plastic clasp as panic rose in his throat. He worried about being trapped, killed by the flames or smoke before he ever had to worry about Sabertooth.


    Outside, the feral mutant let out a primal roar. With a savage grin that displayed his unsettling teeth, he called, "Happy birthday, Logan. It''s been a few years since I nearly killed you. Have you missed me?"


    Sabertooth grabbed a nearby fallen tree and swung it like a baseball bat. The heavy log struck Wolverine head-on, launching him through the air to land with a resounding crunch atop the crumpled hood of the camper. Logan lay still and unconscious as his adamantium claws retracted back into his knuckles.


    Wolverine was down.


    The hair on the back of Tyson''s neck stood on end as Sabertooth''s malicious amber gaze drifted to the camper van. The creature''s grin stretched impossibly wide, exposing the full horror of his monstrous fangs.


    At that moment, Tyson realized that he was next.


    Trapped and defenseless, he was easy prey for Sabertooth.

 Arc 1 - Ch 3: Fight Back

    Chapter 3


    Arc 1 - Ch 3: Fight Back


    Date: Thursday, June 3, 2010.


    Location: Alberta, Canada


    Tyson cursed under his breath as he peered through the jagged hole in the windshield. Logan''s unconscious body lay sprawled across the dented hood of the camper, unmoving. Tyson stretched his arm through where Logan had crashed through the glass. His fingertips barely brushed the tip of Wolverine''s ear.


    It was enough. A jolt of vitality coursed through Tyson as he absorbed Logan''s life force. Memories rushed in and his healing factor lifted the fog of concussion from his mind. The gash on his forehead knit closed and he sighed with relief.


    Still, the situation was dire.


    He was trapped. But not for long. Not with Logan''s powers.


    Three bone claws erupted from his knuckles, mirroring Wolverine''s. He turned his new claws on the seatbelt, slicing through the tough nylon material. The strap snapped back and he sucked in a breath, finally free.


    But when he sucked in, the acrid scent of fire spreading in the back of the camper filled his nostrils. There wasn''t much time before the wrecked vehicle went up in flames.


    Tyson scrambled out of the burning camper, launching himself over the collapsed dashboard and through the twisted open driver''s side door. Cold Canadian air blasted his face. In his frantic escape from the camper, he had momentarily lost sight of Sabertooth.


    A vicious snarl filled Tyson''s ears. Before he could react, a clawed hand gripped the back of his jacket, hoisting him effortlessly into the air as if he were no more than a ragdoll. Looming over him, Sabertooth stood nearly seven feet tall. His lips curled back exposing jagged yellow fangs as he roared directly into Tyson''s face.


    But Tyson was far from helpless now.


    With Sabertooth holding him nearly face-to-face, he reached out and wrapped his hands around the hulking mutant''s head. When their skin connected, an influx of energy coursed through Tyson as he siphoned life force directly from Sabertooth''s body.


    He developed powers as a child and killed his brother, Luther, over a piece of pie on Luther''s birthday. He was imprisoned by his father, who would regularly remove his sharp teeth and claws, but they always grew back. He escaped by biting through his cuffed arm and then proceeded to kill his parents. He left his other brother, Saul alive, but would find him every year and beat him on his birthday. One year, he found Saul dead and hunted his killer, eventually finding Logan. He realized they were similar, and considered Logan a substitute for Saul hunting him every year on his birthday. Embroiled in their rivalry, he raped and killed the woman Logan loved. From then on, with each battle, their feud deepened, marked by hatred. He had the power to regenerate from injuries in mere moments, heightened senses that made the world more vibrant and detailed, and enhanced strength and agility. Over the years he honed his skill sets of hunting, tracking, hand-to-hand combat, and various weapon expertise. His heightened senses painted the world in sharper, more vivid detail. He held a deep-rooted delight in inflicting pain, both physically and mentally. The world was a playground where the weak could be toyed with and the strong challenged. Every interaction became an opportunity to assert his dominance, to relish in the fear and anguish of others. After Team X, he went into the Canadian wilderness to live a feral existence. He became stronger, deadlier. His thoughts became hazy as he fell into the role of the hunter. He was found by Magneto, who gave him other targets to hunt.


    Sabertooth''s razor-sharp claws shredded through Tyson''s jacket as if it were no more than flimsy paper. Tyson felt the claws tear into his flesh, leaving painful trails in their wake. With each violent swing, Sabertooth seemed intent on ripping Tyson apart.


    The attacks shredded his clothes, creating additional contact between them, serving to accelerate the rate at which he drained Sabertooth''s life force. And with the blend of Wolverine and Sabertooth''s regenerative healing factors now coursing through his veins, the gashes and tears across Tyson''s body knit closed as quickly as they appeared. Tyson could feel Sabertooth weakening in his grasp as he siphoned away the feral mutant''s energy.


    A new, darker urge whispered for him not to let go.


    The satisfaction of dominating this fierce mutant was addictive. Tyson''s blood ran freely down his back from the relentless raking of Sabertooth''s claws, but the pain was overshadowed by the intoxicating rush of absorbing such power.


    Initially, Tyson had barely kept pace with Sabertooth''s wild strength and animalistic brutality. Yet, with every passing second, the balance shifted.


    A hint of sadistic pleasure gleamed in Tyson''s eyes as he felt his power eclipse that of the weakened Sabertooth. His fingers flexed, the nails lengthening and hardening into talons that mimicked Sabertooth''s own. He sank them into the feral mutant''s face and scalp, using them to maintain his grip.


    A perverse pleasure began to creep into Tyson''s mind. Though Sabertooth had initially fought with wild strength and animalistic brutality, his struggles were weakening now, diminishing as Tyson continued to siphon his power.


    But Tyson, drunk on the thrill of impending victory, barely noticed. He was lost in savage satisfaction, oblivious to everything but the intoxicating rush of absorbing the mutant''s life force.


    And then it hit.


    A torrential flood of energy with an almost physical potency.


    Tyson felt it crash through him, a wildfire igniting every cell and nerve. It was like a dam had burst inside him, releasing a tidal wave of raw, uncontrolled power, instincts, and knowledge.


    Sabertooth''s essence poured into Tyson, a complete synthesis of the mutant''s being.


    He was no longer drawing from Sabertooth. He had consumed him fully.


    The instant of Sabertooth''s death was unmistakable. The flood of energy surged into Tyson, wild and untamed, and then ceased abruptly. The sudden absence was as shocking as the initial torrent had been.


    A cold realization washed over Tyson, penetrating the dark haze of savage pleasure that had consumed him.


    He had killed Sabertooth.


    Tyson''s hands fell away as the realization that he''d killed struck him. The once mighty mutant''s body collapsed limply to the ground, now just an empty shell.


    A torrent of conflicting emotions swept over Tyson in the aftermath.


    There was a relief, undoubtedly, that he had survived the fight and emerged triumphant. But alongside this sense of victory lay a churning combination of remorse, regret, and even a twisted glimmer of dark satisfaction. He had taken a life, snuffed out an existence forever, yet somewhere in the murky depths of his psyche, this act of violence stirred a savage pleasure.


    Before Tyson could fully process his feelings, a voice drew him back to the present. "Are you alright?" it asked gently, startling him from his thoughts.


    He turned to find the voice belonged to a breathtaking woman. Her flawless brown skin contrasted strikingly with her silvery white hair and vibrant blue eyes. She was clad in a black uniform with a prominent X over her chest. Tyson recognized Ororo Munroe, otherwise known as Storm of the X-Men.


    Beside Storm stood a man in a similar uniform, though his featured a distinctive ruby-quartz visor over his eyes.


    Scott Summers, Cyclops.


    He walked over to the battered camper, retrieving Wolverine''s unconscious body from the hood.


    The snow fell softly around them as Storm''s piercing blue eyes fixed on Tyson. "You should come with us," she said, her tone gentle yet urgent.


    Tyson stood numbly. The adrenaline that had fueled him earlier was fading. He glanced at Sabertooth''s lifeless body, the mutant''s face frozen in an expression of agony. Tyson''s eyes then moved to Wolverine''s unconscious form carried in Cyclops'' arms.


    "I..." Tyson started to reply, then paused. He took a deep breath, the frigid air stinging his lungs, and nodded slowly. There was nothing left for him here now. "Alright," he agreed.


    As Tyson moved toward Storm, her features so perfectly mirroring those of the actress who had played her, she extended a slender hand toward him in comfort. But he stopped abruptly short, flinching away from her reach with a pained expression.


    "You can''t touch me," Tyson said hoarsely, gesturing toward Sabertooth''s body. "Or what happened to him will happen to you."


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    A spectacular aircraft stood nearby. Sleek and jet-black, with pulsing blue lights lining its sides. An ''X'' emblem was emblazoned on the aircraft''s flank, marking it as the famed Blackbird jet of the X-Men. Its design appeared to be based on the SR-71 military spyplane but modified extensively. The sight momentarily distracted Tyson from the harsh reality of his situation.


    Tyson followed Cyclops, who carried the unconscious Wolverine in his arms. As the Blackbird''s hatch hissed closed behind them, Tyson''s mind became a whirlwind of emotions.


    He had taken a life today.


    But above all, he felt a profound sense of isolation.


    Tyson knew then that he was alone now in a way he had never been before. His deadly touch meant he could never get close to another person again without killing them. That lonely thought weighed heavily on him, even as the Blackbird''s engines roared to life and lifted the jet into the bleak Canadian skies heading toward the Xavier Institute.


    How would the other mutants react to him now that he had blood on his hands? And the most glaring question of all¡­ How could he possibly hide his otherworldly origins from the telepaths he would soon be confronted by?


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    When the Blackbird landed, Tyson was led through corridors that seemed pulled straight from a science fiction film. Clean, stark walls reflected the futuristic aesthetic of the Xavier Institute''s lower levels. They made their way to a small, utilitarian changing room. Inside, the gray walls were interrupted only by a full-length mirror and a simple metal bench.


    Tyson''s clothes were little more than tatters after the life-or-death battle against Sabertooth. He stripped off the rags, letting them fall to the floor, and hesitantly turned toward the mirror.


    What stared back at him was foreign.


    His eyes, once a soft brown, now burned an intense, predatory amber. The same unnatural color as Sabertooth''s. His high cheekbones were now highlighted by a rugged edge, his jawline angular and hardened. His hair had lengthened and relaxed from a short afro into a wild, wavy mane. Though his skin remained its original light brown, his physique had expanded starkly. Where before he had been thin, almost emaciated, he now held himself with the raw, untamed strength of Sabertooth. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, evidence of his enhanced physicality.


    Tyson felt a dissonance between the man he had been and the reflection before him. His body had transformed into a towering, muscular form. He couldn''t fight the grim smile as he admired his new physique. Beneath the passing satisfaction at his strength lurked a darker thrill, stemming from the thoughts of the damage this body could inflict if unleashed.


    A knock at the door prompted Tyson to step out of the room. His eyes were instantly drawn to the woman waiting for him.


    Storm wore a form-fitting charcoal gray turtleneck and black denim jeans which clung to her athletic figure. A pair of low-heeled boots completed the look. Her distinctive short white hair was styled, but it was her piercing blue eyes that truly captivated.


    Tyson was momentarily transfixed by her striking beauty. Unbidden, aggressive thoughts arose, focused on how he would claim her, make her his.


    The intensity startled him.


    He quickly shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden possessive, domineering impulse.


    Where had that come from?


    But he already knew the answer. Sabertooth.


    When he had absorbed the feral mutant''s powers, Tyson had not only taken on his power and portions of his appearance but also aspects of his psyche. And it was obviously affecting him in disturbing ways. He would need to be vigilant, remain aware, and guard against the influence of Sabertooth''s encroaching thoughts.


    Storm gazed at him expectantly, oblivious to his inner struggle. As a teacher at a school for young mutants, she was accustomed to teenage boys'' wandering eyes.


    "The Professor would like to see you now," she informed him, her voice warm and accented in a way he couldn''t quite place.


    Tyson took a breath, pushing back the unwelcome remnants of Sabertooth''s consciousness to the recesses of his mind. He managed a nod. "Lead the way."


    Tyson forced his gaze away from Ororo''s captivating features and tried to focus his thoughts. "Who''s this Professor you mentioned?" he asked. Though he already knew the answer, he was trying to divert his mind from the alluring woman before him.


    Ororo''s smile held a trace of understanding as she replied, "We''re in the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. It''s a sanctuary for our kind. Mutants." She paused, giving Tyson a moment to absorb this information before continuing. "The Professor is Charles Xavier. He founded this school and has devoted his life to promoting peace between humans and mutants. Here, we can learn and develop our abilities in safety." Sincerity rang clear in her accented voice, and Tyson felt a small measure of the tension ebb from his shoulders.


    As they ascended to the main level, Tyson couldn''t help but marvel at the institute around him. The walls, floors, and ceilings exuded a level of sophistication and wealth that gave the impression that this place was more a museum than a school. Faint echoes of laughter and lively voices of instructors echoing the halls said otherwise. They passed classrooms where lessons were underway, a library brimming with books, and a game room where young mutants were engaged in an intense ping-pong match.


    With each step, Tyson''s apprehension lessened. Ororo''s presence and the institute''s welcoming atmosphere slowly soothed his concerns.


    Tyson worried about his treatment, given that Ororo and Cyclops had seen him kill Sabertooth. But would they be leading him through the school if they thought him dangerous? Perhaps he wasn''t in trouble after all.


    Ororo led Tyson into the spacious office. He scanned the shelves lining the walls, filled with books on advanced physics, classic literature, and everything in between. In one corner sat an antique chess set, its pieces meticulously arranged on the board. A large mahogany desk commanded the center of the room. Behind it, silhouetted against the backdrop of a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the sprawling grounds beyond, sat the unmistakable figure of Professor Charles Xavier in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. His fingers steepled in contemplation as his eyes fixed on Tyson with an expression mingling wisdom, kindness, and curiosity.


    "Tyson," he greeted warmly, his voice carrying the care of a teacher welcoming a new student.


    Tyson stared at the man, struck by the strange urge to call him Captain. He wasn''t sure where the impulse came from.


    Professor Xavier''s voice broke Tyson from his thoughts. "Welcome to the Xavier Institute. I''m Charles Xavier, though most students here call me Professor X. I''ve been looking forward to meeting you."


    His face held understanding, yet Tyson couldn''t help but feel the man could see right through to his core. He didn''t feel threatened, though. Instead, a strange sense of acceptance washed over him, as if he was exactly where he was meant to be.


    "I''m aware of your abilities, Tyson," Professor X said, "You have a very unique power. One that you must handle with great care."


    "Am I in trouble?" Tyson asked, getting straight to the point. He expected there might be consequences for killing Sabertooth.


    "No, Tyson," Xavier replied, "You''re not in trouble. Rather, I believe you stand at a crossroads, and that''s why I wanted to speak with you."


    Tyson exhaled in relief, but his anxiety didn¡¯t fully abate.


    The professor continued, "Your power does not merely copy another mutant''s abilities. It absorbs their very essence, for lack of a better term. When you absorbed Sabertooth''s powers, you also took on his aggressive tendencies, which only compounded similar, traits absorbed from Logan. Your mindset was significantly altered. You are not responsible for his death."


    Xavier''s sentiments mirrored Tyson''s recent experiences; particularly the uncharacteristic aggression that had consumed him during the brutal fight with Sabertooth.


    "I''m truly sorry for what happened to the man who attacked you," Xavier continued, sorrow evident in his gentle voice. "Storm and Cyclops were racing to your location, but unfortunately, they arrived too late." He paused, allowing a moment of mournful silence before proceeding. "That is precisely why this school exists. It is not merely a sanctuary to shield mutants from the outside world, but also a place to guide them in controlling their powers and using them responsibly, to avoid unintended consequences," the professor explained. "We aim to mentor young mutants like yourself, helping you to understand your abilities so that you may wield them in a considered, conscientious manner."


    The sincerity radiating from Professor X was palpable.


    Tyson stared at Professor X. Though his face was stoic, the question that had been tumbling around in his mind slipped out. "What about my past?"


    The professor hesitated, folding his hands in his lap as he considered his response. After a prolonged silence, he finally spoke. "My abilities allow me to explore the minds of others in ways that most can''t comprehend. However, even my psychic talents have their limitations."


    Tyson waited, barely daring to breathe.


    Xavier expression turned grave. "There are rare occasions where certain details manage to elude even my mental powers. I''ve encountered this phenomenon before, and it never fails to baffle me. It''s akin to reading a book where entire chapters have been torn out, leaving gaping holes in the narrative."


    He paused, gauging the young man''s reaction. Tyson''s face remained impassive, but his fingers dug into the arms of the chair.


    "In the case of your associate Logan," the professor continued, "there are surprisingly substantial portions of his personal history that I cannot access. For you, I am unable to uncover anything prior to when you awoke in that truck in Canada. The presence of the second set of memories floating through your psyche creates a formidable psychic barrier. It provides you with a significant resistance to telepathic intrusion that I cannot easily circumvent."


    His mysterious origins in this world, it seemed, would remain just that.


    A mystery.


    "While we may not be able to uncover the details of your former life," Xavier said gently, "we can certainly assist you in navigating the path that lies before you now."


    A pregnant silence followed the professor''s words. Tyson chewed his lower lip, dropping his gaze to his hands. Xavier''s offer was tempting. It was precisely the kind of guidance he needed, given his uncontrollable power. But this was also a lot to take in all at once. These people were still strangers to him. He knew nothing of this school or this world, beyond what he''d seen in movies.


    After a long moment of considering his options, Tyson finally raised his eyes to meet Xavier''s patient gaze. He gave a single nod, signaling his acceptance of the professor''s proposal. "What happens now?" he asked quietly.


    Xavier''s eyes crinkled at the corners, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Now, we attempt to get you settled in."


    Tyson echoed the professor''s words, "Settled in?" Though he tried to keep his voice even, uncertainty tinged his tone.


    "Yes," Xavier responded gently.


    A muffled knock sounded at the door. It cracked open and an energetic voice piped up, "You called for me, Professor?"


    "Yes, please come in," Xavier invited warmly.


    The door swung open wider, revealing a petite young woman who couldn''t have been more than nineteen. Despite her small stature, she exuded an energetic vitality that seemed to brighten the study. Dressed in an unbuttoned yellow trench coat over a pink midriff-baring top and tight blue jean shorts, her edgy style showcased her athletic build. Choppy medium-length black hair stuck up at odd angles, framing almond-shaped eyes. Everything about her from her vibrant clothing to her confident stance radiated an eye-catching exuberance.


    Xavier gestured towards Tyson. "This is Tyson. He''s new to our institute. Tyson, meet Jubilation Lee. We all call her Jubilee."

 Arc 1 - Ch 4: Xavier Institute

    Chapter 4


    Arc 1 - Ch 4: Xavier Institute


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    With a cheeky grin, Jubilee flashed Professor Xavier a jaunty salute.


    "Hey there, Tyson. Welcome to the madhouse," she said, her voice bubbly and enthusiastic.


    Her grin was infectious, and Tyson felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards ever so slightly. "Thanks," he replied.


    Xavier turned back to Jubilee, his wise blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "I was hoping that you could show Tyson around the school. Help him get acclimated."


    "Absolutely, Professor! Consider it done."


    Jubilee pivoted to face Tyson, "Ready for the grand tour?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she linked her arm with his and practically dragged the towering young man through the doorway. Tyson allowed himself to be led, as she exclaimed, "Well, come on, let''s go!"


    Jubilee led Tyson through the sprawling grounds of Xavier''s Institute, her enthusiasm infectious as she gave him the grand tour. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, the hoop earrings she wore bounced with each movement. Her cheerful presence was unlike anything he had experienced.


    Jubilee asked, "So where are you from?"


    Tyson tensed imperceptibly. He couldn''t reveal his true origins from beyond this universe. "The Professor said my past was unclear. I have some memories, but the details of my home and upbringing are hazy," he replied, hoping the amnesia story would suffice. If even the telepathic Professor Xavier could not see past when Tyson awoke in the truck, there was little risk of being caught in the lie.


    Jubilee nodded sympathetically, her voice softening. "That must be hard. What''s the first thing you do remember then?"


    "Waking up in the back of a truck somewhere in Canada," he began slowly. "I wandered into a seedy bar where I got pulled into a cage fight. It was after that when things got... messy."


    Jubilee''s brown eyes were wide, fixed on him intently as she hung on his every word. She was enthralled as Tyson launched into his story. There was clearly much more to this man than she had expected.


    Her curiosity burned like the fireworks she conjured, and it wasn''t long before the conversation drifted toward Tyson''s abilities.


    "So, this power of yours," she began tentatively, "what exactly does it do?"


    Tyson''s gaze lingered on her a moment, contemplating how much truth to unveil. But Jubilee''s wide-eyed wonder radiated genuineness, reflecting her eagerness to comprehend the uncanny. His guardedness receded.


    "When I make contact with someone, their life essence flows into me," he explained. "I absorb their memories, their experiences. Gain an imprint of their personality, and their abilities if they possess any. Sometimes their physical appearance too."


    "Whoa!" Jubilee exclaimed, practically bouncing with exhilaration. "So you have, like, all that mutant''s powers now? And it''s permanent?"


    "As far as I can tell. His name was Victor Creed, though he preferred Sabertooth." His voice dropped an octave. "It''s not permanent... unless I kill the person I''m touching with my absorption. Since he died from my touch, I took on his strength, his extraordinary healing, and even traces of his feral instincts and skills. Oh and his physique. I guess that''s a plus. They''re a part of me now."


    "So you can''t touch anyone?" Jubilee finally murmured.


    Tyson shook his head. He pushed down his problems and attempted to lighten the mood with humor. "Let''s just say my love life''s on an indefinite hiatus."


    "Well," Jubilee said, breaking their eye contact to glance down the hallway. "You''re not bad looking, you know. Maybe you''ll figure out how to control it, or find a workaround."


    "Yeah, maybe," he replied to the unexpected compliment.


    Jubilee continued, "Otherwise, there''s a guy here who can turn his skin into metal and another who can transform into ice. Maybe they''d be interested."


    Tyson shot her a deadpan look, unamused by the joke. "Very funny. But no, I don''t swing that way," he replied flatly.


    Jubilee just winked playfully in response. "Good to know," she said with a flirtatious lilt.


    Tyson rolled his eyes. "So what about you? Tell me your story."


    "My story isn''t as...exciting as yours. I was born in Beverly Hills, California. Both my parents were these high-powered business executives. They had money, but they were always too busy for me."


    She led him down an elegant hallway adorned with old oil portraits of distinguished-looking people. "My mutant powers first manifested when I was around thirteen. My parents didn''t know how to deal with me, so they shipped me off to some boarding school. After a few years there, I got fed up and ran away. Lived on the streets for a while, getting by with my light show." Pausing by a large window, Jubilee turned to look at Tyson solemnly. "But then one day, Professor Xavier found me. He brought me here, to the Institute. This place, these people... they became my family."


    Jubilee matched his long strides as they continued down the corridor, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "This main hall connects the classrooms and the dormitories."


    Tyson nodded, absorbing the layout. "Well, I told you about my powers. What about you? That dazzling light show you put on was pretty neat."


    She held out her palm. Vivid sparks in shimmering pinks and electric blues danced from her fingertips, illuminating the hallway with their radiance.


    "They''re like fireworks," she explained, her eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "I can generate these pyrotechnic energy plasmoids from my hands. Fancy, right?" She waved her hand, sending a spray of sparks cascading through the air. "I can shoot these bursts out, making a real light show. But when I focus, I can also use them to pack a mean punch."


    The scent of ozone lingered as the sparks slowly faded. "It must have been quite the Fourth of July when you first discovered that power."


    "Oh yeah, it was a heck of a show! But like all mutants, I had to learn control." Her expression grew thoughtful. "That''s what this place is all about. Understanding our gifts and using them responsibly. Being a mutant isn''t the end. It''s just the start of a different world. And trust me, it''s one wild ride."


    Tyson found himself admiring the girl. Behind Jubilee''s bubbly exterior was a story of grit and resilience.


    Their tour ended at a modern building. Jubilee swept her arm towards it with a flourish. "Welcome to your new home away from home, the dormitory." She led him to a door, "Guys on the first floor, gals on the second."


    As Tyson turned the handle, he paused, glancing back. "I''d invite you in, but..." He trailed off, holding up his gloved hands indicating his dangerous touch.


    Jubilee leaned into the doorframe. "Oh, so just ''cause you don''t swing towards Colossus or Iceman means you''re swinging my way?" She arched a teasing brow. She crossed her arms in mock solemnity. "You know, it''s not all about the physical stuff." Her voice took on a lighter note. "For the record, there are ways we can get closer without touching."


    She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, then burst into giggles. "Like, you know, talking, sharing secrets, playing video games?"


    "We''ve been talking. And I already spilled all my secrets to you... amnesia and all that¡­ But video games? Really?"


    Jubilee shrugged, bracelets chiming. "Nothing brings people together like saving a digital world side-by-side. Plus, you learn a lot about someone by how they play." She winked conspiratorially. Tyson nodded slowly, letting Jubilee''s words sink in. Jubilee regarded him with a soft, understanding look. "We all have our struggles here, Tyson. But it''s how we face them that defines us," she replied mock-sagely. She flashed him a bright, infectious smile. "Now, about those video games..." she trailed off leadingly, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.


    "Alright, you have my attention. What game has caught your eye lately?" he asked.


    Jubilee''s eyes lit up, shining with a passionate fervor familiar to any gamer. "Have you heard of Assassin''s Creed II? It dropped last year. The graphics, the storyline, and the gameplay are all top-notch. And the parkour!" She threw her hands up excitedly. "It makes me want to run across rooftops!"


    Tyson''s eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "No way, I played that on my PC!" he exclaimed, leaving out the fact that it had been years since he last played.


    Jubilee''s grin widened. "Get out! I''ve been playing it non-stop on my Xbox. Nothing beats having the controller right in your hands," she asserted confidently.


    Tyson let out an exaggerated scoff. "Oh come on, PC all the way! You just can''t match the customizability, mods, and precision of a mouse and keyboard," he volleyed back playfully.


    Jubilee nudged him gently with her elbow, eyes alight with amusement. "Yeah, yeah, except for all those times your game randomly minimizes because you clicked outside the window. Or when some update or antivirus pops up right as you''re about to make an epic kill!" she retorted. "With a console, just pop in the disc and you''re good to go. Plus, nothing beats split-screen multiplayer."


    "Okay, you got me there with the antivirus alerts," Tyson chuckled. "But there''s nothing quite like discovering game-changing PC mods, hunting for the best gear, joining guilds... Don''t even get me started on MMORPGs!"


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Jubilee reveled in their friendly debate. "Mmhmm, sure. But have you ever tried playing Halo on PC? Everyone knows console is the only real way to experience it!" she volleyed back triumphantly.


    Tyson leaned in conspiratorially, voice lowered to a dramatic whisper. "Between you and me, I may have bought an Xbox specifically for Halo sessions. There''s just something about it on console... it hits different."


    Jubilee''s bright laughter echoed down the empty corridor. She pointed an accusing finger at Tyson, eyes dancing playfully. "Aha! I knew it!"


    Then she paused, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Wait. Isn''t it weird you remember Halo but not other stuff?" She regarded him curiously. "What kind of amnesia is that?"


    "Hey, maybe video games hold a special place in my Swiss-cheesed memory. Like they''re too important to be forgotten."Tyson just shrugged, offering her a lopsided grin. "Or maybe it''s a sign."


    "A sign of what?" Jubilee asked.


    "That you and I are meant to be together. I was fated to remember the one thing that would bring us closer."


    Jubilee tried and failed to suppress a laugh. "Ooo, that was almost smooth, I''ll give you that. A solid 7 out of 10 on the flirt scale," she teased.


    "C''s get degrees?" Tyson replied hopefully.


    "Uh uh, this is private school, buster. You gotta aim higher than that." But the sparkle in her eyes told Tyson he was far from striking out. She turned and began walking down the hall, tossing a playful glance over her shoulder as she went.


    Tyson watched her disappear down the long hallway. With a sigh, he turned the handle and stepped inside, eager to settle into his new home.


    The cozy dorm room struck a balance between function and comfort. Twin beds sat on either side. Nightstands flanked each, bare save for reading lamps. Against the far wall stood a simple desk and chair, surfaces clear and awaiting use. Across from it sat a sizable wardrobe, though he had yet to acquire additional clothes. The walls were painted blue, bare save for a corkboard and a large window.


    Tyson''s gaze settled on the desk. He slid into the chair, opened the top drawer, and withdrew a pen and a single sheet. Staring at the blank page, his mind turned to his powers. Then, he began to write.


    The words flowed swiftly from his pen, cataloging his new abilities.


    Absorption - Draining the life force, memories, skills, and powers of others through skin contact. Permanent if they die from the touch.


    Healing Factor - Rapid regeneration, can regrow limbs.


    Increased Longevity - Extended lifespan, agelessness?


    Superhuman Strength - Needs testing.


    Superhuman Speed - Needs testing.


    Superhuman Agility - Needs testing.


    Heightened Senses - seeing, hearing, smelling with animal-like acuity,


    Claws and Fangs - Razor-sharp talons


    As dusk''s light faded outside his window, he set down his pen, eyes settling on the last item.


    Claws and fangs.


    Unlike most of his other abilities, this one required no special circumstances to test. He pushed back his chair and crossed the sparse room to open the door of the wardrobe, finding a full-length mirror inside. His reflection stared back; a tall, muscular young man with light brown skin. Though he guessed his age around sixteen, his imposing height, muscular build, wild hair, and facial hair lent him a dangerous air and made him look older than his actual age.


    Leaning closer, Tyson bared his teeth. Ordinary human incisors and canines greeted his inspection. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he focused. Pressure built along his gums causing a strange tingling sensation.


    He watched his teeth extend and taper into wicked points.


    After a few tense moments, the tingling subsided as he willed the fangs to retreat. Tyson let out a slow breath, meeting his reflection''s ordinary teeth once more.


    Unfurled his fingers before the mirror, he recalled Sabertooth''s claws. Talons erupted from each fingertip; curved three inches long and razor-sharp. He flexed them experimentally.


    With a thought, Tyson retracted the claws, leaving unbroken skin behind.


    One power confirmed and within his control.


    A brisk knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He strode over and cracked it open to see Jubilee peering back at him.


    "Stop playing with yourself, it''s time for dinner," she teased, mirth dancing in her eyes.


    Tyson quirked an eyebrow at her. "How''d you¡ª"


    Before he could finish the question, Jubilee swung the door wide open, revealing another girl standing just behind her. Tyson''s eyes widened slightly as he took in the newcomer. Fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her deep green eyes were rimmed with long lashes. She wore a fitted green dress that stopped just above her knees to reveal long, lean legs.


    "Hi," she greeted softly.


    Tyson blinked, momentarily taken aback. She was not who he expected. "Sansa Stark?" he mumbled absently.


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed in confusion. "No," she corrected, "this is Jean, Jean Grey." After a pause, she added, "Who''s Sansa Stark?"


    Tyson chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sansa is a character from ''Game of Thrones''..." He trailed off, realizing his mistake. The show wouldn''t be released for several years. He quickly tried to move the conversation along. "It''s the first book in a series, and you look like one of the characters¡­ Anyway, sorry about that. I''m Tyson," he added, extending his gloved hand. "Nice to meet you, Jean."


    Jubilee gave Tyson a knowing look. "Watch out for this one, Jean. He has amnesia, but now he remembers books and stuff. That must mean you two are destined to be star-crossed lovers."


    Jean''s eyes widened, and a pretty blush bloomed on her cheeks. "W-what are you talking about?" she stammered.


    "Don''t mind her," Tyson said, waving it off. "She''s just trying to goad me into a Halo match so she can try to assert her dominance over the newbie." He turned back to Jean. "Since Jubilee seemed to know exactly what I was doing, I''m guessing you told her. So your power is... Stop me when I get it. X-ray vision, remote viewing, precognition, reality manipulation, astral projection, mind reading..."


    "Telepathy," she confirmed with an amused nod.


    Jubilee gave Tyson a stern look, though her eyes still danced playfully. "Jean knows everything that goes on around here, so you better behave yourself, mister."


    Tyson nodded, but inwardly he mulled over the implications. If he had been doing what Jubilee had implied, Jean would have known. The thought made him shift awkwardly. Then an entirely different, somewhat amusing notion entered his mind. Given his increased musculature and height, he wondered if other aspects of his anatomy had changed proportionally as well... Before he could stop himself, his gaze flicked down. When he glanced back up, Jean''s fair skin had transformed from a peachy hue to a brilliant crimson that spread all the way to the tips of her ears.


    Jubilee noticed the telepath''s flaming cheeks. "Hey, what''s he thinking about that''s got you so flustered?" Jubilee asked.


    "N-nothing!" Jean stammered hastily, face still aflame. She quickly seized Jubilee''s arm and began steering her friend down the hall. "Come on, let''s go get dinner."


    Tyson stepped out, shut the door behind him, and followed with a barely suppressed grin.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The cafeteria of Xavier''s Institute was filled with the enthusiastic chatter of young mutants. Tyson followed Jean Grey and Jubilee, pausing to take in the scene around him. Unique appearances and abilities were prevalent among the students; some had different-hued skin, while others demonstrated minor uses of their powers as they conversed. It was an extraordinary sight, but to them, it was just dinner. What caught Tyson''s attention most was the aroma coming through his superhuman sense of smell. As they entered the cafeteria, the scents washed over him invitingly. The scent of roasted chicken and yeasty notes from freshly baked garlic bread made his mouth water. This was nothing like the bland, overcooked meals he remembered from school cafeterias from his past.


    He eagerly filled his plate, piling it high.


    Jubilee remarked, "Not bad, right? Trust me, the food''s as good as it smells here."


    "I''m just surprised," Tyson replied with a grin. "Most cafeterias I''ve been to served stuff I wouldn¡¯t feed to my worst enemy."


    A name surfaced, unbidden within his mind.


    Logan.


    But no, that wasn''t right. Logan wasn''t his enemy...


    He realized that thought came from Sabertooth. Creed''s influence was creeping in. He shook his head slightly, dispelling the stray notion.


    Jean added, "The chefs try to cater to the unique needs of our mutant students, preparing special dishes if required."


    Jubilee chimed in enthusiastically, spearing a forkful of salad. She regarded Tyson''s piled-high tray. "That''s way more food than I could eat in a whole day."


    He balanced the hefty tray in one hand, while flexing the sculpted muscles of his arm. "Well, I''m about three times your size. Gotta fuel these muscles somehow." He raised a questioning eyebrow at Jean. "So where are we sitting? Do you guys have a regular spot? Give me the social layout around here."


    Jean pointed toward a table occupied by some familiar faces. Cyclops, Storm, plus a few others. "That the professors'' table."


    Jubilee gave Tyson a playful wink. "Word''s gonna spread fast about the huge new guy who took down a villain solo. Everyone''s gonna wanna know how you managed to win. You''ve got some serious street cred already."


    As they walked to an empty table, Tyson felt like he was among peers. He was about to dig into his meal when Jubilee''s hushed voice interrupted his thoughts.


    "Uh oh, here comes Magik."


    Following Jubilee''s eyes, Tyson spotted a young woman approaching with an air of aloof confidence. Blue eyes complemented her pale skin. Platinum blonde hair hung in bangs with a long strand framing her face on each side. Her black boots clicked against the floor with each step. Her outfit blended edgy punk aesthetics with high fashion in a way that made a statement. More than one head turned to follow her progress through the cafeteria.


    The young woman reached their table and paused, her gaze moving dismissively over Tyson before settling on Jubilee and Jean. When she spoke, her words carried the trace of an exotic Russian accent. "So, this is the new guy I''ve heard so much whispering about?"


    Tyson bristled slightly at her casual dismissal of him. Clearing his throat, he said, "I''m Tyson."


    She looked him up and down languidly before replying, "Illyana Rasputin. But around here, they call me Magik."


    Tyson glanced around in puzzlement. "I''m not seeing a wand, robe, or crystal ball. What exactly makes you magical, unless you''re going to pull a rabbit out of those giant boots you''re rocking?"


    Beside him, Jubilee snorted, barely avoiding spitting out her soda.


    Jean''s voice was warm and diplomatic. "We were just finishing up an overview of the Institute for Tyson. He''s had quite an eventful first day."


    Illyana stared down Tyson. "I thought I''d come to see what all the fuss was about with the new kid. But honestly?" She scoffed, tossing her long blonde hair over one shoulder. "Color me unimpressed."


    Jean''s patience seemed to wear thin, her brows drawing together. "Illyana, if you don''t mind¡ª"


    But Illyana silenced her with a dismissive wave of one manicured hand. "I was just leaving. Enjoy your meal, newcomer."


    With a final mocking flourish, she extended her hand palm down toward Tyson in a clear challenge, as if expecting him to kiss it like some medieval knight. Tyson hesitated, his expression unreadable, muscles taut beneath his shirt.


    As he gazed at her outstretched fingers a darker urge seeped into his thoughts. Slowly, Tyson clasped Illyana''s hand in his gloved one. But before his lips could meet her skin, an invisible force halted his movement.


    Jean''s voice rang out in his mind.


    This isn''t you.


    Her words pierced the intrusive thoughts clouding Tyson''s judgment. He felt shame, realizing his actions had been manipulated by the fragment of Sabertooth''s psyche. Using his abilities to harm others out of anger wasn''t who he was.


    With a deep breath, Tyson gently lowered Illyana''s hand, giving it a light, conciliatory shake before releasing it.


    She turned and sauntered away, hips swaying, dismissing Tyson as a worthy threat.


    Jubilee tried to lighten the mood with a nervous chuckle. "Well, that was... intense," she said, shifting her weight between feet. "Tyson, remember, we''re all trying to get along here."


    "Thanks, Jean," he finally managed, "I almost lost myself there."


    Tyson realized now that Sabretooth''s insidious influence ran far deeper within him than he had believed. He would need to be on guard against the pull of his baser instincts.

 Arc 1 - Ch 5: Classes

    Chapter 5


    Arc 1 - Ch 5: Classes


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    Tyson awoke with first light, eager to start his day. He slipped out of bed and went down the dormitory hallway, the plush carpet soft under his bare feet. The institute was blanketed in early morning silence, most of its residents still fast asleep. Tyson appreciated the quiet calm as he entered the communal bathroom. The lights flickered on automatically, revealing the empty shower room. Tyson stripped off his sweats and stepped into one of the shower stalls, turning the faucet to release a steaming cascade. The hot water was a welcome relief, relaxing his muscular frame.


    Living in a school full of mutants, Tyson bet at least one of them was a peeper. The Professor said he''d had trouble reading Tyson, but Jean''s telepathic abilities seemed to pick up on his thoughts and knew what he was doing yesterday in his dorm room. As far as he knew, there could be someone invisible in the bathroom, or someone astral projecting, or looking through the walls. He chuckled ruefully at the situation as he rinsed the soap from his body. The curveballs kept coming, but he would adapt. This was his life now, for better or worse.


    He shut off the faucet, stepped out, and toweled off, ready to seize the new day.


    His first day as a student at Xavier''s Institute.


    With a resigned sigh, Tyson slumped into the hard plastic chair of his desk in Professor Xavier''s first-period Physics class. Despite his newly acquired superpowers, enhanced learning was not among them. And trying to keep up with the physics class, in the middle of June nearing finals, was proving to be an exercise in futility.


    Complicating matters further was the distracting presence of Illyana Rasputin, who sat at the desk beside him. Her proximity made it hard to focus on the lecture, especially when she seemed intent on needling him.


    Several desks away sat another distraction; a young woman whom Tyson couldn''t quite place. Though he was certain they hadn''t met the day before, something about her seemed familiar. More than once, he caught himself stealing glances in her direction trying to place her face, instead of paying attention to Professor Xavier''s lecture.


    "Physics isn''t your strong suit, is it Tyson?" Illyana said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Or is it simply my presence that has you so... unfocused?"


    Tyson felt the nearly overwhelming urge to snap back, to put Illyana in her place. But he held himself in check.


    "Maybe if you didn''t radiate such a distracting aura, I''d find this lecture easier to pay attention to," he replied evenly.


    "You should feel grateful. At least one of us here is worth noting." she gloated in her thick Russian accent.


    Throughout the entire class, she took pleasure in testing his self-control. Illyana''s every move seemed designed to capture his attention and draw his focus from Professor Xavier''s lecture. At one point, she deliberately let her eraser slip to the floor. Her attempt to capture Tyson''s attention was as transparent. With slow, deliberate movements, she leaned forward in her seat, arching her back to provide him a view down the front of her black top. The low neckline revealed just a hint of cleavage as she angled towards the floor. Tyson''s gaze followed helplessly along the line of her collarbone, down to the enticing swell of her breasts. For a moment she became his entire world, the classroom fading away as he found himself ensnared by her deliberate display. Illyana knew the effect she had. Something as simple as dropping an eraser became a subtle power play, a reminder that she need not rely on words to draw his focus.


    Raising back up, her eyes locked with Tyson''s. "Now how''s that for a distraction?"


    Tyson felt the feral instincts of Sabertooth stirring within him, threatening to override his self-control. Illyana was trying to provoke a reaction, and the primal part of him was taking the bait. He imagined grabbing her, feeling her smooth skin under his hands as he asserted his dominance. How long could she withstand his touch? Long enough for them to indulge in some mutual pleasure?


    He shook his head sharply, reining in those dangerous thoughts.


    Tyson fought to restrain the ferocious alter-ego that was now a part of his psyche. Sabertooth''s personality and powers may be fused with his, but he refused to surrender his control. Focusing his will, Tyson kept the ravenous beast caged, though Illyana''s antics tested the limits of his restraint.


    This was his new reality, for better or for worse. The influence of Sabertooth''s animal magnetism and hair-trigger temper threatened to overwhelm him. But Tyson was determined not to lose himself to the savage killer''s unsated appetites. He would need to adapt to these changes while retaining as much of his true self as possible.


    The door creaked open unexpectedly. Logan stalked in still wearing worn jeans and a simple white t-shirt. He scanned the room warily and his posture radiated tension.


    The students froze at the stranger''s sudden entrance. All except Tyson, who welcomed the interruption to the lecture.


    Professor Xavier remained unfazed, merely turning his attention to the rugged man. "Good morning, Logan," he greeted warmly. The clock''s relentless ticking marked the awkward pause before the shrill bell signaling the end of class.


    "I''d like your definitions of the weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk by Wednesday," Xavier said to the students as though nothing was amiss.


    Tyson''s gaze shifted between Logan and the professor, sensing the palpable tension in Logan''s coiled muscles. Raising his hands in a pacifying gesture, he spoke, "Take it easy, Logan. No need for claws here. It''s just a school," he said, hoping to defuse the volatile man.


    Logan relaxed and the class let out a collective sigh of relief.


    Illyana stood, shooting Tyson one last defiant glare before striding out of the classroom. Meanwhile, the petite brunette who had seemed so familiar to Tyson rose gracefully, packing her books into her bag. "Bye Professor," she said sweetly.


    "Goodbye Kitty," Xavier replied warmly. Tyson snapped his fingers as the name clicked into place. Kitty Pryde, Shadowcat. Of course.


    Logan stayed silent as he watched the students leave. His eyes spoke of mistrust and suspicion, at odds with the scholarly setting. His brows furrowing in confusion as he regarded Tyson. "Kid, is that you? What the hell happened?" he asked bewildered.


    Tyson chuckled. "Yeah, you missed a bit while you were napping," he responded lightly. And so he began recounting the rest of the harrowing encounter with Sabertooth, his voice painting a vivid picture of the battle. As Tyson spun his tale, the door opened and three new figures entered the classroom.


    The first was Ororo Munroe, following her was Scott Summers, and close on Scott''s heels was the redhead student Tyson had met yesterday, Jean Grey.


    As Tyson continued recounting his story, their faces displayed varying degrees of concern as they listened.


    Upon the completion, Professor Xavier steepled his fingers thoughtfully beneath his chin before replying, "You''ll be safe here from Magneto."


    Logan''s brows furrowed once more, creasing his rugged features. "What''s a Magneto?"


    "A very powerful mutant who believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity," Xavier explained calmly. "I¡¯ve been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you was an associate of his called Sabertooth."


    "Sabertooth?" Logan repeated, his tone incredulous. Then, with a glance at Ororo, he grumbled, "Storm." His gaze swiveled back to the Professor, a challenge flickering in his eyes. "And what do they call you? Wheels?" he scoffed derisively, his words dripping with disbelief and annoyance. "This is the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever heard," he said as he turned to leave.


    Scott Summers stood in the doorway, arms crossed, blocking Logan''s exit.


    "Cyclops, right?" Logan''s asked, grabbing the visor-wearing man''s shirt in his hands. "Get out of my way."


    Before tensions could escalate further, Professor Xavier''s calm voice cut through the charged air. "Logan, it''s been almost 15 years now, hasn''t it?" Xavier''s piercing blue eyes were steady, probing. "Drifting from place to place, never settling, never remembering who you are."


    Logan bristled, a snarl curling his lip. "I said shut up."


    Unfazed by the hostility, Xavier pressed on, his voice smooth and imploring. "Just give me a chance. I believe I can uncover the answers you seek."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Tyson''s sudden interruption broke the standoff. "Your name is James Howlett. Logan is just a nickname."


    A heavy silence descended on the room. Xavier and Logan both turned to Tyson, surprise flickering across their faces.


    Logan''s eyes narrowed, his voice underlaid with vulnerability. "How the hell would you know that?"


    Tyson tapped his temple. "Sabertooth knew you. His memories became mine when I absorbed him."


    Logan tensed, wary yet hungry for answers. "Explain. Now," he bit out.


    Tyson''s eyes took on a distant glaze as he delved into Sabertooth''s memories. "It started before the wars," he began, "Sabertooth had a cruel tradition with his brother, Saul. Every year on his birthday he would track him down, no matter where he was, and beat him mercilessly to assert his dominance."


    Tyson''s voice took on a harsh edge as he channeled Sabertooth''s simmering rage. "But one year, his brother was nowhere to be found. Turns out, Saul had been killed." Tyson locked eyes with Logan, voice heavy with meaning. "It was you. You were the one who killed him."


    "I don''t remember any of that," Logan responded.


    Tyson pressed on, lost in the dark tide of memories. "Sabertooth was furious. More because you had disrupted his tradition than out of brotherly love. He needed a new target for his violent obsession, someone to take his brother''s place. And who better than the one who stole his prey?"


    Logan''s face drained of color. But his eyes remained fixed on Tyson, desperate to understand, to reclaim the fragmented pieces of a forgotten life. "Keep going," he urged.


    "He tracked you across the wilderness," Tyson continued, his voice detached and mournful, "finding you at last amongst the Blackfoot people. There you had found a brief solace, a sense of belonging. And love, in the form of a woman named Silver Fox."


    Logan forced himself to ask, "What happened to her?"


    Tyson swallowed hard, a crack forming in his narration as his emotion seeped through the recollection. "Sabertooth took her from you, just as you had taken his brother. And then, to seal his vengeance, he forged a new tradition. Every year, on the anniversary of his brother''s death, he would hunt you down and beat you within an inch of your life, just as he had done to his brother."


    Logan sank into a chair, head bowed under the staggering weight of memories he did not possess. He radiated impotent rage and the raw need for closure. Professor X wheeled closer, placing a gentle, steadying hand on Logan''s slumped shoulder, offering silent support.


    For Logan, the revelation was a glimpse into a past he yearned to reclaim. For Tyson, it was a burden, bearing the memories and emotions of another man. Professor X''s eyes were solemn, knowing the story would only deepen Logan''s need to fill in the blank spaces, to find the closure that still eluded him. Jean watched with quiet empathy, sensing both men''s anguish as if it were a living thing.


    Tyson''s eyes took on a faraway look as he continued his tale. "You might not believe it, but there was a time when you fought on the same side."


    Logan let out a derisive snort, arms folded across his broad chest. "Yeah, that''s hard to picture."


    "The world was at war," Tyson said, "World War II, to be precise. Nations crumbling, innocent lives lost by the thousands." He paused, holding Logan''s skeptical gaze. "You and Victor fought alongside Captain America himself."


    A heavy silence fell over the room. Even Logan seemed momentarily taken aback, eyebrows raised in surprise.


    Professor Xavier leaned forward in his wheelchair, steepling his fingers with interest. "That''s a part of history few are privy to. Please, go on."


    Tyson nodded, his eyes glazing over as he delved into memories not his own. "The three of you were an unstoppable force. Victor was raw power and animal fury. Logan, you were tactical and skilled. Both of you were able to heal from any wound. And Captain America, the embodiment of freedom, led the charge. For a time, you cast aside your differences and united."


    Logan shifted in his seat, jaw tightening. "So what, we played at being heroes?" he asked gruffly.


    "War makes for unlikely alliances," Tyson said, "Enemies became comrades. The world needed saviors, and for a time, despite everything... you were."


    "What else? There''s more, isn''t there?"


    "The war changed much," Tyson began solemnly. "But some habits die hard. No matter where you went, Victor always found you. You spent time in Madripoor, then Japan. For a while, there was peace. Happiness." Tyson hesitated, then pushed.


    "You''d started a family."


    "Victor discovered your wife was pregnant." Tyson held Logan''s pained gaze. "He intended to end it. To kill her as he''d killed your lovers before. But fate intervened. Itsu was taken from you... before he could."


    The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees. Logan''s grief and rage were almost palpable, hanging heavy in the air. Lost in distant memories, haunted by ghosts, he could only sit in tortured silence.


    Tyson''s voice softened with empathy. "But the past didn''t end there. There was... the Weapon X program."


    Logan flinched as if struck, his body tensing. Pain flickered across his features anew at the mention of that name.


    Professor X leaned forward. "Logan, it''s important that we discuss¡­"


    "They took you in," Tyson interjected, continuing over the Professor, forcing him to fall silent. "Played with your mind, your memories. Grafted the unbreakable adamantium onto your skeleton, transforming you into... what you are now."


    "Sabertooth watched it all from the shadows. Your torture. The procedure of grafting adamantium to your bones. Twisted envy brewed within him as he witnessed the living weapon they forged you into. The memories get hazy here. Weapon X messed with his memories as much as they did yours, but Creed was always able to hold on to his better than you were. But in time, he lost track of you, prowling the wilderness and descending into feral savagery. His recollections become just flashes of fury and bloodlust, with scarcely a scrap of humanity left. His memories blurred, consumed by animal rage and instinct for years on end, until Magneto finally found him."


    "Fate brought you two together again while Sabertooth carried out his new master''s bidding." Tyson paused. Turning to face the professor, his expression grew solemn. "I can''t glean much about Sabertooth''s thoughts after his feral years roaming wild. But I do know Magneto sent him after me, not Logan. It was my scent he followed. I was his intended target."


    Xavier leaned forward, his eyes radiating compassion and resolve. "You have nothing to fear here, Tyson. Within these walls, you are safe. And should you leave the institute for any reason, we will ensure one of the professors accompanies you for protection."


    Logan sighed, the fight draining from his body. In its place remained only weariness. "What''s done is done. Anything else?"


    "That''s the heart of what I could easily access," Tyson replied, his voice returning to its normal timbre. "Memories tainted by hatred, jealousy, a thirst for power. Sabertooth''s perspective of your past is distorted, tinged with his own dark twist. But it''s a glimpse."


    Thick silence followed, saturated with pain, revelation, and reluctant acceptance. Professor X finally spoke, "These memories, however agonizing, are part of who you are, Logan. It''s vital to confront them, learn from them."


    Logan lifted his head, meeting Tyson''s gaze. He saw how the memories affected Tyson, and how the young man lived through them as he spoke.


    "You may have his memories, kid, but you''re not him."


    Vulnerability etched itself across Tyson''s face. His voice trembled slightly. "I know, intellectually, that I''m not Sabertooth. But when I tap into his memories, feel the raw emotions, the experiences... it''s hard not to believe that was me, that those were my choices."


    Professor Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair, fingers steepled in contemplation as he regarded Tyson. "It can be challenging to navigate even normal minds, you''ll have to contend with sorting which recollections truly belong to you, and which you have absorbed from others."


    Tyson shifted uneasily. "I feel like I''m being torn in two directions, Professor. Part of me wants to embrace these memories and follow where they lead. But there''s another part that recoils at what I see." He clenched his fists, the veins in his muscular arms standing out. "Even now, I have this urge to fight Logan, to give in to the animal rage I absorbed from Sabertooth."


    Xavier nodded sagely, his eyes gentle with understanding. "You have come to the right place. This school exists to aid mutants in controlling their abilities, and the class we offer our psychic students can help give you the mental framework you need."


    Surprise flitted across Tyson''s face. "But I''m not a psychic."


    "No, you are not," Xavier agreed. "Yet the techniques we teach can help organize and compartmentalize your memories. They will give you an inner structure, a means of separating your true self from the psyches you''ve absorbed."


    From across the classroom, Jean Grey added, "I''d be happy to work with you, Tyson. My telepathy, combined with my training, can help guide you through this."


    Tyson glanced between them. "Thank you, both of you. I just want to look in the mirror and recognize the person staring back at me."


    Jean stepped forward, placing a supportive hand on his broad shoulder. "You will," she said firmly, resolve glinting in her eyes. "With time and perseverance, you''ll find yourself again."


    Logan''s eyes darted around the classroom, lingering on the dark wood paneling and rows of leather-bound books that lined the walls. He asked, "What is this place?"


    "Anonymity is a mutant''s first defense against the world''s hostility," Xavier began. "To the outside world, this is merely a school for gifted youngsters." He paused, his piercing blue eyes meeting those of Scott and Ororo, two of his first students. "Cyclops and Storm were among my inaugural class here. I sheltered them and helped them understand and control their extraordinary abilities. In time, they learned to impart this knowledge to others." His wheelchair glided forward slightly as he surveyed those before him. "Most of our students are runaways. Frightened and alone, many possess gifts so extreme as to make them a danger to themselves and those around them."


    "Take your friend Tyson here," Xavier continued. "Burdened with formidable power, he is incapable of physical human contact, likely for the remainder of his life. Yet this morning he stood among peers, learning and growing. Not shunned or feared, but accepted fully for who he is."


    As the weight of Xavier''s pronouncement sank in, Tyson swallowed hard, his mouth dry. ''The rest of my life,'' the words echoed bleakly in his mind as he mumbled them aloud.


    Tyson refused to accept that.


    Steeling his resolve, he whispered under his breath, "Not if I can help it."


    Tyson''s defiant thoughts echoed in Jean''s mind. As she listened to his vow, a pang of sympathy welled up within her. She knew that struggle all too well; the burden of a gift that could feel like a curse.


    "Come on," she said gently, "The professor wants to talk to Logan, and we''ve got physical education next."


    Tyson glanced down at his physique, flexed his bicep, then back up at Jean, eyebrows raised skeptically. "Really?" he questioned. "What''s gym class going to do for me?"


    A rosy blush bloomed on Jean''s cheeks. "PE is as much about learning to control your powers as it is using them," she explained.


    Her words removed all traces of skepticism. "Alright then, let''s get to it!" he agreed eagerly.


    Tyson turned back to face Professor Xavier, pointing a dramatic finger at the wheelchair-bound man. Channeling an anime protagonist, he yelled with gusto, "I''m going to prove you wrong, old man!" Then, in a calmer tone, he addressed Logan. "If you decide to leave¡­ make sure you don''t go without saying goodbye." With those parting words, Tyson spun on his heel and strode out of the room following Jean.

 Arc 1 - Ch 6: Banished

    Chapter 6


    Arc 1 - Ch 6: Banished


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    Jean Grey strolled alongside Tyson. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees lining the path, rustling the leaves and playing with her long, fiery red hair. The wind carried Jean''s unique scent into his enhanced senses; rose and lavender overlayed with amber and the smell of fire.


    "Tyson, when you recounted Logan and Victor''s history... I felt it. All of it. Through your mind."


    Tyson halted, taken aback. He turned to face her, surprise etched on his features. "You did? I thought my mind was too difficult to read."


    "It is. Except when your thoughts are broadcasting so loudly. Or if I''m near you. I''m so sorry for the maelstrom of emotions you''re experiencing right now. It must be completely overwhelming."


    Tyson hesitated, grasping for the right words. "It''s like... I have two warring souls inside of me. One my own, the other a phantom of Sabertooth''s."


    A moment of shared understanding passed between them. "Sometimes I feel a similar tug-of-war. A sense that there''s another entity, another personality within me, fighting for control."


    Tyson''s brow furrowed with concern as he studied Jean''s face. Her admission stirred an uneasy memory. If he recalled correctly, Jean had a repressed personality he had seen take hold of her in the movies. Or worse, could she be referring to the Phoenix? Or heaven forbid, the Dark Phoenix?


    "You do?" he asked, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.


    Jean gave a solemn nod, her eyes downcast. She wrapped her arms around herself as if warding off a chill despite it being a comfortable summer day.


    "Ever since my powers started growing, I''ve felt...something. Another presence, deep in the recesses of my mind. Like a caged animal, pacing restlessly." She shivered. "At first, it was just glimpses, but it''s gotten stronger. Harder to ignore."


    Jean lifted her gaze to meet Tyson''s, her green eyes clouded with uncertainty. "The Professor says that an embodiment of my power. But when it surges up..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "It frightens me. Feels like I''m on the edge of losing myself."


    Tyson studied her with growing unease. "Have you told the Professor everything? Maybe there''s some way he can help get it under control."


    Jean gave a half-hearted shrug. "We''ve been working on techniques to keep it contained. Building mental barriers and such. But it''s getting stronger all the time. Like a dam about to burst." She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I just hope it''s enough."


    The defeat in her voice made Tyson''s chest tighten. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jean managed a small, grateful smile. But in her eyes, Tyson saw traces of a growing dread. As they approached the gym entrance she abruptly stopped and turned to face Tyson directly.


    "We''ll get together soon, I promise," she said, "If I can find balance within myself, you can too. I''ll help you in any way I can."


    "Thank you, Jean. That means a lot. I''m no psychic, but if there''s anything I can do, let me know."


    Jean gave his arm a light, reassuring squeeze. "Just being around you is nice. Your mind is quieter than everyone else''s."


    They strolled into their physical education class, joining the students already gathered on the outdoor basketball courts adjacent to the gymnasium. As they stepped onto the court, their teacher, Scott Summers, clapped his hands sharply to get everyone''s attention.


    "Alright everyone, today we''re playing basketball," he announced, his eyes hidden behind his distinctive ruby quartz sunglasses.


    Tyson''s face broke into an eager grin, his mind already envisioning how dominant he''d be in basketball with his new physique.


    As the game kicked off, his confidence quickly morphed into surprise and then thrill. One of the students caught the ball and then tossed it directly into open space. Before Tyson could even register the bad pass, there was a blur and a rush of air as the student disappeared, only to reappear and snatch the ball from midair. With two more teleporting blinks, the boy was in range to shoot, and the ball swished cleanly through the net. The other students burst into applause and cheers while the scorer shrugged modestly, chuckling at their reaction.


    Tyson leaned into the challenge. ''Well, at least it''ll be interesting,'' he thought.


    The ball was passed between players. Finally, it came to Tyson, who cradled it securely and bent his knees. Drawing on years of muscle memory from before he arrived in this world, he leaped upwards, arm extending, and released the ball in a smooth, practiced motion.


    But as the ball reached its peak, it froze in midair. Tyson''s spun around, scanning the court until he spotted Jean. She stood across from him wearing a playful grin, one hand raised subtly as she telekinetically held the ball aloft. With a cheeky wink, she directed the ball into the waiting hands of a teammate before turning and running down the court.


    Tyson jogged over to Jean, feigning annoyance through his smile. "Just wait until I get the ball next time."


    Leaning in, Jean dropped her voice an octave lower. "Looking forward to it," she declared before spinning on her heel and rejoining the game.


    All eyes were glued to the ongoing game, where the usual rules of basketball collided with the unpredictable abilities of the mutant students. Across the court, Shadowcat crouched low. As a teammate hurled the ball toward Tyson, he sprang into action, extending his arms outward to intercept it. But to his dismay, the ball passed harmlessly through his grasping fingers, then his torso.


    Stumbling, Tyson whirled around, he spotted the culprit.


    Shadowcat removed her hand from his back and was already moving for the loose ball. With agility granted by Sabertooth, Tyson raced forward, deftly maneuvering around her to snatch up the ball, passing it off to a waiting teammate.


    Dribbling down the court on the next play, he scanned for openings, his heightened senses picking up every sound and movement around him. Heading toward him was Illyana Rasputin. Tyson tensed, expecting her to shy away from his imposing size. Instead, she vanished, reappearing at his side to swipe the ball mid-dribble.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Not so good at this basketball, are you?" Illyana taunted. Lunging forward, Tyson grasped at the empty air as she teleported just out of reach, materializing across the court with the ball held aloft.


    Her eyes glinted with mischief beneath the residual glow of her powers. "Well, well. Looks like the big, bad new guy met his match, didn''t he?"


    She tossed the ball to another teammate, then teleported back to Tyson''s side. She slowly circled him like a cat toying with a mouse. Pausing before him, she cocked her head in mock sympathy. "What''s the matter, Tyson? Can''t brute force your way through me any better than you could brute force your way through Physics?"


    Illyana ignored the game, more interested in taunting Tyson. "You know," she whispered, leaning in close, "this could have been avoided if you''d just played nice."


    Deliberately, she reached up toward his face. He dodged back.


    Tyson warned, "This is me playing nice. Keep coming at me and I''ll show you how much of a brute I can be." he finished with a snarl.


    Illyana was not one to back down. She teleported to his side again. Tyson tried to dodge, but her power matched his every move. Still, he managed to say just out of reach. Until suddenly, Illyana disappeared.


    Tyson smelled her before he saw her; brimstone, smoke, and lilac with the barest trace of sandalwood.


    But it was too late.


    Illyana had teleported behind him. She reached her hand around his head, brushing her fingers across his face for only an instant. The world faded away momentarily as a rush of memories engulfed Tyson.


    She had a traumatic youth. She was abused but escaped her tormentors by retreating into her personal realm, Limbo. Time there moved differently, according to her will. She had greater control of her powers while within her domain. She forged the Soulsword from a piece of her very soul. She reunited with her with her brother, Colossus, escaping to the institute. She trained rigorously to control her portals and teleportation. Her youth had left scars, both visible and invisible. Those years shaped her resilience yet underneath her tough exterior lay vulnerability and a deep-seated mistrust of the world.


    The sounds of the basketball game faded into the background as Tyson focused intently on his hands. His left arm became encased in metallic armor as he invoked Illyana''s mutant ability that he had absorbed through her touch.


    Illyana flinched back, startled. The shock of Tyson manifesting her power struck her deeply. She recoiled as much from the pain of his touch as the surprise of his mimicking her gift. Her already pale skin blanched further, becoming ghostly white. She drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide.


    "You!" she began, her voice quivering with a volatile mix of pain and fury. "You''re not allowed to use your powers to harm other students!"


    Tyson cut her off sharply, his temper rising. "Me? You started this, Illyana. I warned you not to push me too far."


    She shouted over him, her voice thick with anger, "You''ll regret that! You can go to Hell!" Suddenly, she smiled evilly.


    "Well, maybe not hell. Limbo will suffice."


    Her expression twisted into a vengeful snarl. Without another word, Illyana swept her arm in a dramatic arc. The very air seemed to vibrate with dark energy. A portal manifested beneath Tyson, revealing glimpses of a hellish demonic realm.


    Before Tyson could react, the portal''s gravity seized him. With a cry of surprise, he plunged downward.


    The sudden shift from the basketball court to the hellish realm of Limbo was jarring, leaving Tyson disoriented as he tumbled through the portal. Looking up, he saw that the sky was a haunting blood red. Jagged rock formations jutted out from the ground. Distant screams and wails echoed through the smoky air, mingling with the ever-present stench of sulfur that clung to everything.


    Tyson landed hard, the impact shattering bones and forcing the air from his lungs in a painful gasp. He lay motionless, struggling to breathe through the searing agony. Then, blessed warmth spread through his body as his healing ability swiftly forced bones back into place, and knit them back together. The intensity of the pain followed by relief left Tyson reeling, but he used the moment to gather himself before unsteadily getting to his feet.


    He looked around warily, taking in the nightmarish realm. Molten lava flowed next to hardened black rock and jagged obsidian. The swirling red and black sky cast an ominous glow over everything. Massive pillars of stone jutted up randomly from the uneven terrain. Choking smoke and the stench of brimstone filled the air with each breath. In the distance, Tyson could see shadowy shapes moving atop some of the jagged peaks, their unearthly howls and roars echoing through the realm. Everything about Limbo emanated menace, even the very ground seemed to pulse with dark, sinister energy. Though no immediate threat presented itself, Tyson couldn''t shake the feeling of being watched, of being a trespasser in a realm where he was utterly unwelcome.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The dribble of the basketball and the energetic shouts of the players were cut short as an eerie silence descended on the court. All eyes were fixed in horror on the spot where Tyson had stood just moments before, swallowed up by the portal conjured by Illyana Rasputin.


    Illyana stood motionless, her breaths came in heavy rasps, a visible aura of crackling dark energy surrounding her. Silver light glinted in her eyes, matching the arcane glow of the armor now encasing her right arm. In her hand, she gripped a longsword. Summoning the portal had been an impulsive act, driven by raw emotion, but Illyana showed no signs of regret at banishing Tyson.


    Scott Summers recognized the precarious situation immediately. "Illyana!" he shouted, "Bring him back, now!"


    On the far side of the court, Jean Grey watched in horror as the portal swallowed Tyson, and then winked out of existence. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her breath caught in her throat. "Oh no, Tyson," she whispered, her voice quivering. She could feel their fledgling friendship slipping away, the possibility of a deeper bond cruelly snatched from her grasp. Panic and sorrow dueled within her usually serene green eyes.


    Scott reached Illyana and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. "Illyana! You have to bring him back. We don''t harm our own!"


    Illyana met his visor with a defiant stare. "He hurt me first! Let him rot."


    A cold gust of wind swept across the court, carrying with it the promise of an approaching storm. Students reflexively glanced around, half-expecting to see Ororo Munroe, the white-haired weather-manipulating professor known as Storm. But she was nowhere to be found.


    This 2was something else entirely.


    All eyes turned to Jean Grey as her feet lifted from the concrete. She floated gracefully, surrounded by an aura of raw psychic power. Her red hair whipped around her head, dancing wildly as if possessed. Jean''s deep green eyes burned with an intense fiery light, shifting to a vivid crimson. She radiated a palpable danger. The display transfixed everyone present.


    "Bring. Him. Back. Now!" Jean''s voice echoed, amplified, and layered as if spoken in harmony with another. The command resonated not just audibly, but psychically as well.


    All eyes locked between Jean and Illyana Rasputin, two of the academy''s most formidable mutants. Their brewing confrontation was impossible to look away from. Illyana, known for her fiery temper and stubborn defiance, never backed down from anyone. Yet something in Jean''s layered psychic voice gave her pause.


    This was not a request.


    The sheer force of Jean''s abilities reached out, enveloping Illyana''s mind and compelling obedience. The Russian girl''s fierce blue eyes glazed over, her usual spark replaced by a vacant, trance-like stare.


    Jean''s influence was unmistakable.


    A heavy silence fell, broken only as Illyana summoned a portal. The silver-hued gateway rippled before her, otherworldly and foreboding. Gone was Illyana''s characteristic bravado and swagger, replaced by a disoriented, almost lost expression. Jean''s command was a subtle yet irresistible manipulation of will and intent. Without a backward glance at her peers or the professor who looked on with evident concern, she stepped into the portal.


    Retrieving Tyson was now her sole focus in life.


    Around the gymnasium, hushed whispers broke out among those familiar with the extent of Jean''s abilities. Rarely were they so openly displayed, and rarer still was it to see them affect someone so strong-willed. The realization that Jean had not just commanded but controlled Illyana sent a chill down many spines, reminding all present of the delicate balance between capability and responsibility among mutants.


    The display of psionic might was both impressive and unsettling, hinting at the sheer force Jean could wield.

 Arc 1 - Ch 7: Limbo

    Chapter 7


    Arc 1 - Ch 7: Limbo


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Limbo


    Limbo was a nightmare realm, unlike anything on Earth. The sky churned with fiery oranges and deep purples, sporadically lit by crackling white lightning. Jagged obsidian spires jutted from the ground, towering over a hellish landscape of rocky crags and bubbling magma. The air was oppressively thick with the stench of brimstone and sulfur.


    In the distance, bone-chilling roars and agonized screams echoed through the empty void. Grotesque creatures stalked the land, horrors beyond imagination. Patches of murky green water glowed with an eldritch light, reflecting the apocalyptic scenery above.


    He needed to escape this place, to return to Earth, to the Institute.


    Tyson tapped into Magik''s power, visualizing the portal that would take him home. He pictured the basketball court at Xavier''s school, and the faces of his friends; Jean and Jubilee. But nothing happened. The portal refused to open. Panic surged as he felt the silver armor that had manifested on his arm fall away into nothingness.


    The realization dawned. Magik''s power had already faded.


    Her touch had been fleeting, the fall from the sky, and his healing had used up the moment of borrowed power. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. Panic would only make this worse.


    But he was trapped.


    "Think, Tyson, think," he muttered under his breath.


    His knowledge of this place was limited. Tyson didn''t retain memories from those he absorbed unless he had thought about them while he had them. And Magik''s memories were already gone. But he still held a scant few tidbits of knowledge that he''d thought of as he fell through the sky.


    Time flowed differently here. Minutes could stretch into eternity unless Magik willed otherwise. No sun, no moon, no way to mark the passage of time. He could be trapped for eons.


    That thought was more terrifying than any monstrosity roaming the bleak landscape.


    Wait.


    Another piece of knowledge he''d gleaned stood out in his mind.


    There were no creatures in Limbo.


    In all her time in this hellish realm, Illyana was certain of one thing. Limbo was empty. It''s why she''d hidden here when she was a child. There were no animals, no life...


    And certainly none of the horrors he now sensed in the distance.


    Tyson''s options were limited. Waiting for Illyana to return and rescue him was not a viable choice. From their brief encounter, he was uncertain if she would be in any hurry to help him, especially after he had inadvertently used his power on her. Tyson refused to languish, hoping for a rescue that may never come. He would take an active role in finding an escape from this hellish realm. The first step was to learn more about Limbo and its inhabitants. Perhaps he could find someone or something that might help guide him.


    "Time to meet the locals," he declared aloud.


    Tyson''s enhanced senses gave him acute environmental awareness. Sifting through the brimstone and ash, he detected a putrid odor reminiscent of rotting meat and damp, moldy soil. Guided by the stench, he found himself atop a jagged outcrop, gazing down at its source. The creature below was a wretched, pathetic sight. It stood barely higher than four feet, with a corpulent, bloated frame. Mottled blue-gray skin hung in loose folds, hairless and marked by oozing sores where maggots fed. A round, bald head sat atop its body, dominated by a drooling maw filled with jagged teeth. Spindly arms ending in sharp claws scraped futilely at the barren ground, probing its bleak surroundings. The being resembled a morbidly obese, tiny old man given claws to make him seem a threat. The creature acted almost feral, lost, and without purpose as it moved through the lifeless landscape.


    As Tyson observed, conflicting emotions rose within. Sabertooth''s predatory instincts viewed it as easy prey to be ended. But Tyson wondered if communication might be possible; whether this wretched creature might offer knowledge or aid in navigating Limbo.


    When the thing finally caught Tyson''s scent upon the wind, its reaction was instant. With an ear-piercing shriek, it turned and charged toward the rocky outcrop.


    "Easy now," Tyson called out, raising a placating hand. "I just want to talk."


    The creature appeared oblivious, focused only on its perceived prey. To call its attack a ''charge'' was perhaps an overstatement. The thing moved in a slow, lumbering shamble like an obese killer penguin. When it finally reached Tyson, each attack was blatantly telegraphed through clumsy, uncoordinated movements. The sight might have been comical, if not for the wicked claws that could easily rend flesh.


    Tyson easily sidestepped each swing, staying well beyond the creature''s grasp. "Last chance. Stand down," he demanded after evading another reckless swipe.


    He muttered resigned, "Of course, the drooling demon wouldn''t be interested in helping or giving directions."


    The creature''s beady eyes glinted with a mindless fervor as it shambled toward Tyson.


    Tyson suppressed a sigh, settling into a defensive stance as the creature approached. Communication appeared off the table. The thing was relentless, growing more aggressive with each failed attack. The creature lunged with a gurgling shriek, oblivious to its lack of speed or skill. Tyson pivoted smoothly, allowing its momentum to carry it stumbling past. As it flailed to regain its balance, Tyson flexed his fingers to extend talons from each nail. When the creature charged again, maw gaping, he slashed, opening a deep gash along its side.


    It stumbled, wheezing wetly, but quickly gathered itself for another assault. Tyson flowed forward, plunging his claws deep into its chest. As the creature gasped, Tyson''s mind flooded with disjointed thoughts.


    Flashes of hunger, rage, and fear. He felt no complex emotions or layered experiences, just base urges. He experienced the cold, relentless drive of an existence where survival was the sole motivator.


    Tyson retracted his claws, pulling back from the motionless creature. It lay dead, its life ended by the damage done by his claws before he could absorb its essence. Tyson let out a relieved breath. He couldn''t imagine what would happen if he permanently absorbed the twisted psyche of this demon. Its primal memories still echoed in the corners of his mind, impressions fading like a disturbing dream upon waking. He had glimpsed the rawness of its existence, driven purely by vicious instinct rather than conscious thought.


    Shuddering, Tyson pushed the lingering influence away and rose to his feet.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    He continued his cautious exploration, senses primed. The pungent odor of the demons had become familiar, allowing him to avoid the packs. But as he ventured deeper, an overpowering new scent assailed his nose.


    Tyson''s hackles rose instinctively. Whatever lurked ahead was far more dangerous than the pathetic creature he had easily dispatched. He moved stealthily between jutting rocks and stalagmites.


    Up ahead, nestled between jagged rocks, stood an enormous creature that made the other demons seem like flies in comparison.


    It towered at least eight feet tall with a frame covered in coarse ebony feathers. The creature''s head resembled a vulture, with a cruel curved beak and beady yellow eyes. Enormous draconic wings sprouted from its back. Taloned feet scraped against the harsh ground as the demon shifted, bones rattling from a belt of skulls around its waist.


    Tyson tensed, ready to fight or flee. But something about this demon unsettled him. While hideous in appearance, it had an unnerving intelligence in its gaze. This was no mindless beast.


    They sized each other up in tense silence before Tyson spoke. "Can you understand me?" he asked evenly.


    The demon tilted its head, sinewy neck twisting grotesquely. It let out a rasping laugh. "Understand?" it croaked, voice dripping with malice. "Yesss. But why speak with my food? You are merely a morsel that has lost its way."


    "I may be lost, but I''m no one''s meal," he replied, holding the creature''s baleful stare. "So if you''re thinking of trying something, think again."


    The demon unfurled its powerful wings to their full span, revealing itself like an unfolding threat.


    Steeling himself, Tyson said "Here''s my offer. Answer my questions willingly, and for each one, I''ll answer two of yours in return. Or I''ll pry the answers from you by force." He drew on what he knew of demons from supernatural lore he''d consumed in his previous life. In stories it was common for demons to profit from deals, he leaned on that hoping he might exchange information.


    But the demon only laughed, a grating, bone-chilling sound. "Such bravery from a snack," it mocked.


    Lunging forward, the demon slashed at Tyson with razor-sharp talons. But his mutant reflexes allowed him to narrowly dodge the attack, the wind from the demon''s claws brushed his cheek. It struck again, aiming a sweeping kick with a taloned foot. Tyson ducked and rolled away, avoiding the blow and coiling for a counterattack.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The glowing portal swirled open before Illyana as she stepped through into Limbo. The foggy compulsion that had clouded her mind at the Institute melted away, replaced by a surge of power as Limbo''s essence flowed into her. This place was hers, her domain; a sanctuary where none could command her will. Here, she drew strength from the very fabric of the dimension, her abilities magnified tenfold. Limbo was an extension of her being.


    She was in control once more, mistress of this realm. Strong enough now to resist the commands that had tried to bind her, bending her will to another''s. Though Jean had compelled her through raw psychic force, Limbo''s energies had burned away that crude control. Here, her mind was her own. Yet regardless of her strength, Illyana did not interpret Jean''s manipulation as a telepathic attack. To her, it had seemed only a request from a friend in need, not a violation.


    Even Limbo''s empowering influence could not reveal the truth that her will had been momentarily stolen.


    Oblivious, she retained the intention Jean''s command had etched into her psyche. She would still seek out Tyson, believing it to be her own choice... spurred by concern by her distressed classmate.


    Jean''s compulsion became Illyana''s intention.


    Limbo''s swirling energies embraced their mistress as she closed her eyes. Illyana could sense Tyson like a piece of him was of Limbo like he belonged. She''d retrieve him and return him to the institute.


    But there was a problem.


    Unease crept over her as she gazed around the fractured landscape. Strange presences lurked here, their auras harsh and intrusive compared to the subtle currents native to Limbo. She could feel them slithering across the dimension, sullying it with their unnatural imprint.


    There should not be anything here.


    The only presence that has ever inhabited Limbo were those she brought or sent here, like Tyson.


    Anger simmered in Illyana''s chest. How dare these interlopers invade her domain? Limbo belonged to her and her alone, bound to her very soul. She would purge them from this place, no matter their power or purpose. The land trembled in answer to her rage, cracks spread through the earth as she called on Limbo''s essence.


    First, she needed to find Tyson. His presence shone like a beacon amidst the contamination. With a thought, she teleported to his location, ready to confront whatever awaited them.


    She materialized atop a jagged rise, spotting Tyson below locked in battle.


    He was locked in fierce combat with a misshapen form vaguely resembling an enormous vulture. It possessed a jagged, bony beak and leathery wings. Lunging at Tyson, it emitted an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to momentarily stun him.


    Tyson shook off the shriek just in time to evade the creature''s attack, dodging claws and beak alike with effortless agility. When the thing did manage to land a blow, his mutant healing ability swiftly knit wounds back together. He rained heavy slashes upon the creature leaving it howling in pain. With a sudden burst of speed, Tyson darted behind the fiend. He leaped upon its back, sinking his claws deep into leathery flesh in one smooth motion. The beast thrashed wildly, desperately trying to dislodge him, but Tyson held fast. Then, swinging around its front, he brutally tore out the creature''s throat in a spray of dark blood. It stumbled and collapsed heavily, its death throes sending tremors through the ground.


    Illyana watched this gruesome display from atop a craggy rise, her boots crunching on the gravelly surface. She had found Tyson. Now she needed to discover how these vile things had invaded her domain and purge them no matter the cost. As she approached, shock raced through Illyana. While still unmistakably Tyson¡­ he had transformed.


    His once-human face now bore avian features, a prominent beak protruding where his nose and mouth had been. His fingers were vicious talons, and leathery wings unfurled from his back.


    "What in the seven hells was that thing?" she demanded, "What was it doing here? And what happened to you?"


    Tyson''s unsettling gaze met hers, his wings flexing as if testing their span. "You sent me here," he rasped, accusation heavy in his tone. "You don''t know?"


    Illyana watched in stunned disbelief as the inhuman features distorting Tyson''s face slowly receded. The beak protruding where his mouth and nose had been softened, reforming into the rugged yet handsome profile she recognized. His hands still sported talons, but they''d regained their human shape and looked more like vicious nails than something found on a bird of prey. Most astonishingly, the immense leathery wings that unfurled from his back appeared to dissolve, melting into his skin until no trace of them remained. Within moments, the transformation reversed itself entirely.


    Tyson stood before Illyana once more, looking as if the past few minutes had been only a nightmare. He stood motionless, his eyes closed as he took a deep breath. The remnants of the savage demon''s psyche still lingered in his mind, but he pushed them aside, regaining control.


    "Illyana," he began, "My powers... they''re not like other mutants. I absorb memories and skills when I touch someone, but it''s more than that. I take on their physical traits and their abilities. All of it becomes a part of me temporarily." Tyson glanced down, his voice growing distant. "It''s always active, this power. I can''t turn it off or control what flows into me. Each touch opens a floodgate of memories, emotions, fragments of their very self."


    He looked up, holding her gaze intently. "And it causes pain to those touched. This curse is part of who I am. But I didn''t mean to hurt you earlier."


    "I understand," she said, "Our powers manifest in ways we cannot choose. But we learn to accept them as part of ourselves."


    "I accept your apology, Tyson. Each of us bears scars from the manifestations of our gifts."


    Tyson blinked in surprise. "Uh, thanks¡­ I guess." he managed.


    He waited for her apology for touching him against his wishes, but it did not come. Then he frowned.


    Why had he apologized?


    Illyana was just as much at fault as he was, if not more. Sabertooth had been influencing his actions, making him quick to anger and lust. But this was different. Why was he suddenly so¡­ remorseful?


    Instead of apologizing in turn, Illyana''s attention had moved on from Tyson to the motionless demon, its grotesque features frozen in death. "You said you absorb their memories. Did you learn anything from this creature that might explain its presence here?"


    Tyson''s expression darkened. "Yes. This thing is called a Vrock. They usually hunt in small packs, but this one was alone. It was drawn here, to Limbo, I mean, by another. A demon, or a devil, who found this realm." His hands clenched into fists.


    "The demon is seeking to conquer Limbo. His name is Azazel."


    "And I know where he is," Tyson added grimly.

 Arc 1 - Ch 8: Azazel

    Chapter 8


    Arc 1 - Ch 8: Azazel


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Limbo


    Illyana and Tyson approached an imposing structure crafted from the raw, primordial stone of the hellish dimension. Demons of all shapes and sizes, horned, winged, and fanged, worked tirelessly upon what could only be described as a fortress. Their bulging muscles strained as they lifted massive boulders into place and chiseled away at the rock with claws or primitive tools.


    "I didn''t expect them to be this organized," Illyana muttered.


    "Isn''t this your domain? How can these demons be here, building right under your nose without your knowledge?" Tyson asked.


    Illyana scowled, gritting her teeth in frustration. "I don''t know. For years I thought Limbo only existed in my mind. It wasn''t until later that I realized this place was real. I was certain no one could enter without my power." She declared in exasperation.


    As they neared the fortress, an unsettling realization dawned on them. None of the demons seemed concerned by their presence. The creatures simply continued their tasks, ignoring the pair completely.


    "The other demons I''ve encountered were violent and hostile. Either these are of a different breed, or¡­"


    "Or we''re expected," Illyana finished. Her frown deepened, but her confidence remained unshaken. "It doesn''t matter. I''m still in control here," she stated.


    Pushing open the massive stone doors, they entered a cavernous hall. At the far end, atop a throne carved from jagged rocks, sat a figure who could only be Azazel. His skin was deep crimson marbled with shades of burgundy. Chiseled features were set in a face that was simultaneously hauntingly beautiful and deeply terrifying. Fathomless black eyes devoid of pupils gazed out, making it impossible to discern their focus, yet the weight of his stare felt like a physical touch. Lean, corded muscles rippled beneath smooth skin. Talons tipped each long, dexterous finger. His tail, a thick, powerful appendage with a spade-point at the end, thrashing with a mind of its own, added an extra layer of menace to his demonic presence.


    The devil''s crimson face split into a sinister grin, baring sharp teeth. He was clad in a mix of dark armor and cloth while a prehensile tail languidly swishing behind him. "Ah, the little queen of Limbo," he greeted, his gravelly voice dripping with contempt. "And... a playmate. How delightful."


    As Illyana stepped forward, her mystical armor shimmered into existence around her. The Soulsword manifested in her grip, glowing with righteous fury. "You trespass in my domain, hellspawn. State your business before I cut you down."


    "Your domain? Foolish child, realms are meant to be seized and conquered. I''ve found this one to be quite... accommodating."


    Illyana bristled, icy eyes narrowing. "You think you can just take over? I am Limbo''s rightful queen. I won''t let that happen."


    The demon leaned forward, coal-black eyes boring into Illyana''s defiant stare. "You? A mere girl playing at ruler in a world you hardly comprehend? You''re not fit to control this place."


    Illyana''s grip tightened on her sword, knuckles whitening. "You know nothing of what I''ve endured, what I can do. Limbo is mine. You will not steal it from me."


    "Brave words. But we both know you lack the power to stop me."


    The tension in the rocky chamber was palpable. Illyana knew she was walking a dangerous path. But she could not yield. Whatever the demon plotted, they had to put an end to it.


    Azazel''s depthless black eyes shifted to Tyson, alight with interest. "And you... who might you be? Do share your name."


    Tyson met that chilling gaze unflinchingly. "Where I''m from, giving one''s name to a devil is considered unwise. It grants them power over you."


    "Ah, a cautious one. I can respect that." Azazel leaned back against his throne of jagged stone, the tip of his tail curling and bobbing. "But name or no, you stand in my domain now, little man. And I have no intention of leaving."


    Illyana moved closer to Tyson, protectively. "We have no plans to leave either, hellspawn. Not until Limbo is free." She stood tall, chin lifted defiantly. No matter the demon''s arrogance, this realm remained hers to command. It resonated with her spirit, bending to her indomitable will.


    She would not yield it.


    Azazel vanished in a puff of crimson flame, leaving only the acrid scent of sulfur lingering where he once stood. He reappeared in the blink of an eye at Illyana''s side. He wielded a slender rapier, and with no previous warning, it now whistled as he thrust it toward her ribs.


    Illyana spun, but her Soulsword raised too slowly to parry the blow.


    Tyson shoved, pushing Illyana out of the way, and saving her life.


    She quickly regained her footing, going back at Azazel. The blades rang out in a discordant clang that echoed through Limbo''s throne room, sending sparks skittering to the floor. Before Azazel could press his attack, Illyana blinked away in a burst of light, teleporting across the room.


    Tyson seized the opening, launching himself at Azazel with talons extended. But the demon evaporated once more, brimstone stench mocking him. Tyson skidded to a halt, scanning for any sign of movement. At his side, Illyana reappeared, standing poised and ready, Soulsword glinting dangerously.


    What followed was a dance of blades that played out across Limbo''s newly constructed fortress. Azazel would materialize in a bloom of fire, only for Illyana to meet him, their swords ringing out in fierce harmony. No sooner had their blades locked than one or both would vanish, starting the deadly choreography anew. Bursts of crimson and silvery light marked their jumps, the only warning before their swords clashed again amidst showers of sparks.


    Tyson sought any opening to intervene. Though untrained in swordplay, he knew Illyana was outmatched in pure swordsmanship. Only his hit-and-run strikes kept Azazel''s skill from overwhelming her. Tyson leaped and dodged around stone pillars and jutting rocks, trying to predict the duelists'' next appearance. When the chance arose, he would slash at Azazel with adamantium claws, disrupting the demon''s rhythm before blinking away once more.


    Illyana''s blades clashed against Azazel''s in a shower of sparks, the demon matching her speed and ferocity blow for blow. They broke apart, circling each other warily.


    "You fight well," Azazel acknowledged with a hint of grudging respect in his mocking tone. "But Limbo will be mine."


    "This is my world," she retorted through gritted teeth.


    Azazel''s crimson gaze bored into hers with hypnotic intensity. "Why fight me, child?" he purred, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Together, we could rule this realm. Imagine the power we''d wield as allies instead of enemies."


    Illyana faltered, her focus dimming as his honeyed words wove an insidious spell over her mind.


    Tyson watched in dismay as her vibrant eyes glazed over, her proud shoulders slumping under the demon''s influence. He couldn''t imagine this fierce woman succumbing so easily. He approached cautiously, extending a hand. The barest brush of his skin activated his power, and he siphoned off a wisp of her life force.


    Illyana recoiled with a hiss, the pain shattering Azazel''s hold on her. Eyes blazing, she turned to Tyson, who withdrew his hand quickly.


    "Thanks," she muttered, "I owe you one."


    "A touching moment. But it won''t save you." Azazel mocked.


    Tyson stepped forward, standing protectively beside Illyana. "Let''s see about that," he responded.


    Azazel vanished, teleporting away in a flash. Illyana tensed, reaching out with her senses through her connection to Limbo. For a moment, his presence was gone, disappeared from her awareness.


    Then, with a silent reemergence, the demonic mutant was behind Tyson, rapier already thrusting forward.


    Tyson had no time to react. The point pierced through his back and emerged from his chest in a ruthless executioner''s strike. Dark blood immediately stained the shining blade. Illyana''s usually stoic face contorted in horror, blue eyes wide with disbelief. Her grip on the Soulsword faltered, its glow flickering uncertainly like a candle in the wind.


    Azazel withdrew the rapier from Tyson''s body, letting more blood drip along its length. He collapsed to his knees with a choked gasp, hands clutching at the gaping wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Illyana could only stare, frozen in shock at the sight of her classmate sustaining such a grievous injury right before her eyes.


    Azazel kicked Tyson''s weakened form, sending the young man sprawling limply across the fortress floor. Casually flicking the blood from his blade, the demonic mutant slowly approached Illyana. His voice was sweet as poisoned wine. "There is no point in resisting, dear Illyana. Join me, and together we shall reign supreme over this dimension and all others."


    Though stunned, Illyana felt an invisible pull from Azazel''s words, a dark seductive allure that clouded her mind. She struggled against it, but his voice wove an intoxicating, hypnotic spell that drowned out her resistance. He moved closer, yellow eyes locking onto hers with serpentine intensity.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    "You and I. Imagine the worlds we could conquer, the power we would share."


    His words were liquid silk, beguiling, and ensnaring. Illyana''s fiery will wavered, her mind losing itself in the web he wove. The Soulsword grew dim in response, mirroring her faltering inner light. She stood paralyzed, teetering on the precipice of complete surrender.


    Unbeknownst to Azazel, just a few feet away, the grievous wound on Tyson''s chest began to seal itself, flesh rapidly knitting back together in a remarkable display of healing ability. As his body mended, Tyson''s mind remained focused and alert. Through the brief contact with Illyana, he could feel the imprint of her power within him. The ability to teleport, and the connection to Limbo. Azazel was so intent on weaving his web of charm around Illyana that he would never see Tyson coming if he attacked now. However, the demon had already proven he could easily overpower them both in combat. With only a minute or so of borrowed power remaining, the odds of succeeding were slim. Yet Tyson knew he had to try, both to save Illyana and to reclaim this dimension from the devil''s influence.


    Fueled by determination, Tyson launched his surprise attack.


    He blinked into existence directly behind Azazel. Without hesitation, his hand snaked around the demon''s throat, fingers digging in, attempting to choke the life from his enemy.


    The instant Tyson''s skin made contact with Azazel, it was as if a tsunami of memories, emotions, and raw psychic energy crashed into him. He was momentarily disoriented, struggling to discern his thoughts and feelings from the flood that threatened to engulf his mind.


    He was one of the Neyaphem, an ancient race of demonic-looking mutants. He and others like him were banished to the Brimstone Dimension by the Cheyarafim, a group of angel-like mutants. Unlike the others, he could breach the dimensional void and return to Earth for brief periods, but eventually, the banishment took hold again. Regardless, over time, he would command a powerful following and develop a plan to return permanently. He was on Earth, with a lover, a blue-skinned beauty that could shift her appearance. She was not the only one. He experienced betrayal and regret. Over the millennia he honed his swordsmanship to a master level. He had a mastery of teleportation that was unmatched complemented by knowledge of the arcane arts. He could feel the pull and push of the dimensional portals and knew the precision and control required. He was defined by ambition and cunning. His charm was an inherent power that he used to manipulate, control, and influence. Underpinning it all was his overwhelming desire for power.


    Azazel was no novice when it came to combat. The very moment Tyson''s grip tightened, the air around them shimmered with crimson light. In a burst of smoke, both Tyson and Azazel disappeared, only to reappear several feet away in the blink of an eye.


    One¡­


    Again and again, they teleported, vanishing and reappearing across the area as they grappled. Each was trying to gain an advantage over the other.


    Two¡­


    The memories and experiences of Illyana Rasputin flowed through Tyson''s mind from his brief life-draining touch. He felt the connection to the dark dimension of Limbo, and he utilized this link to match Azazel''s teleportation skills. Tyson struggled to adapt to the influx of knowledge and power surging into him from both Illyana and now Azazel. He focused, working to blend their abilities into his own. Tyson began anticipating Azazel''s tactics before the devil even employed them, countering his every move. His understanding of his foe deepened as Azazel''s soul interwove with the others inside him, shifting the battle further in Tyson''s favor. His healing factor, amplified from Sabertooth, mended any wounds Azazel inflicted instantly. He outmaneuvered the devil, predicting each move and countermove.


    Three¡­


    Azazel, unaccustomed to being so soundly outmatched, growled in frustration. "How are you doing this?!" he hissed.


    Four¡­


    Azazel''s life force continued streaming into Tyson. The devil''s eyes widened in fear. "Who are you? Mephisto? Lucifer?"


    Five¡­


    "Release me!" Azazel spat, his voice cracking in desperation. His energy was depleting rapidly. He desperately tried teleporting again; a burst of crimson smoke engulfed the two, but when it cleared, Tyson''s iron grip remained unbroken. Azazel attempted it once more with the same result, again failing to free himself. This time they reappeared near Illyana, who was just starting to shake off the remnants of his charm.


    Six¡­


    Panic flooded Azazel''s eyes as he realized the extent of his defeat. The clawed fingers of his free hand danced in a pattern that Tyson immediately recognized as arcane spellcasting. An abyssal word of power squeaked past Tyson''s crushing hold on his throat.


    Seven¡­


    Time seemed to slow down for Tyson. With his heightened senses, the moment felt stretched and elongated. In the space of a single moment, Tyson recognized the distinct sensation of gathering energy around them. Azazel''s understanding of magic informed him that this wasn''t a spontaneously cast spell, its effects were manifesting too quickly. His mind sifted through the demon''s memories with blistering speed.


    Azazel had prepared contingencies.


    The spell took effect, extinguishing flickering candles lining the far wall that had gone unnoticed earlier. The pulsating energy of the spell signified a barrier solidifying around them.


    Eight¡­


    Frantically parsing Azazel''s recollections, Tyson grasped the scope of the trap. Private Sanctum disabled all teleportation, including Illyana''s and even Azazel''s. Could he break it?


    No. Counter it?


    Also impossible.


    They were trapped, isolated in this space... and yet, so too was Azazel, now at their mercy. Why would the demon use a spell that hindered himself while already weakened?


    Then Azazel''s rapier flashed with vicious speed, its tip thrust unerringly at Illyana''s heart with lethal precision.


    Nine¡­


    A horrible realization crashed down on Tyson. This was the trap, and he saw it too late.


    Maintaining his hold on Azazel meant Illyana''s certain death.


    But if he released the demon, they lost their advantage.


    Tyson had no choice. He let go, deflecting the rapier''s trajectory with a desperate swipe. The blade missed Illyana by mere inches, sailing past harmlessly.


    Freed from her trance, Illyana watched in dismay as Tyson sacrificed his advantage to save her life. She was regaining herself as Tyson deflected the blade wide of its mark.


    He saved her again.


    Tyson slashed at Azazel with his claws as he saw Illyana raised her blazing Soulsword, ready to rejoin the fray. But with a mumbled word from the demon, he sensed the Private Sanctum spell release.


    With teleportation restored, Azazel was gone in an instant. A crimson flash of fire heralded his escape. Thick red smoke wafted around the space where the demon had stood moments before. It dissipated slowly to reveal nothing. He''d vanished completely.


    Silence engulfed the room as Tyson and Illyana stood alone. They waited, muscles coiled tight as springs, anticipating an ambush that never came. A whole minute crawled by at a glacial pace before Illyana finally released the breath she''d been holding.


    "Do you think he''s gone for good?" she asked, lowering her flaming Soulsword slightly but not fully dismissing it. The blade continued to crackle with mystical energy, ready to continue the fight.


    "When I absorbed his life force, I felt his magic, his memories. He''s powerful and cunning, but taking that much out of him likely forced his retreat."


    Illyana regarded Tyson with a hint of gratitude in her heavy Russian accent. "You saved my life back there. Thank you." Her eyes roamed over his transformed appearance. "I wonder," she mused, "was he more afraid to face the two of us or the devil you''ve become?" She gestured at his reddened skin and the long, prehensile tail swishing behind him.


    Lost in the battle''s adrenaline rush, Tyson hadn''t noticed the physical changes.


    Absorbing Azazel had altered his body.


    Perhaps Illyana was right, and his devilish appearance had helped deter the demon as much as the siphoning of his strength. Azazel had asked if he was Lucifer. Fighting two defiant teenagers was one thing; facing the devil must be another matter entirely.


    When their gazes met again, a primal urge overtook Tyson, drowning out the reason in his mind. A predatory spark ignited in his eyes and she couldn''t look away, transfixed by his piercing gaze. Strange words tumbled unbidden from his lips in a low murmur, "She kissed a devil, and the hellfire no longer burned." His tone shifted, taking on a sly, inviting quality. "Come closer and get a better look. Tell me you like what you see. Desire me."


    Illyana''s usual mischievous glimmer faded for a moment as she stared, her eyes taking on an almost entranced quality. Then the sharpness returned to her icy blue irises and she prowled towards him. She circled him slowly, her gaze raking over every detail of his altered form. Her scrutiny had him shaking his head. He slowly recognized his words had felt wrong, unwanted.


    "Hmm," she purred, her voice dripping with an unfamiliar sultriness that made Tyson swallow hard. "The color of your skin, that tail..."


    She stopped directly before him, her face just inches from his own. The fiery intensity in her eyes softened, but the throaty allure remained in her voice as she whispered, "Just admiring the view. I like what I see."


    A chill crept into Tyson''s bones, seeping through his chest before sinking like a stone in the pit of his stomach. With dawning horror, he realized he had unintentionally tapped into Azazel''s seductive charm and used it against her. She''d parrotted his own words back to him at his behest. Now, her eyes were uncertain, reflecting a mix of confusion and vulnerability that twisted his gut with shame.


    He wanted to reject the intoxicating temptation of this power, to apologize for manipulating her. But then another voice whispered up from the shadowed depths of his mind, smooth and compelling, plucking at his deepest desires.


    Use it, the voice seemed to purr. She''s never been this vulnerable. Claim her as your queen.


    Tyson recoiled violently, shaking his head to dislodge the predatory thoughts invading his mind. Sabertooth''s feral instincts howled within, goading him to seize the vulnerable girl before him. Azazel agreed, deeming her a worthy mate. She would be his, at his side for all his conquests.


    Illyana gazed up at him, her fingers lightly brushing his shirt. Her blue eyes were clouded, and uncertain, yet longing peeked through the haze. She leaned closer, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear, her warm breath tickling his neck.


    "Tyson..." she murmured, his name a tentative caress on her lips. Before he could react, she placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek. The hesitant contact ignited something primal in him, stoking the embers of dangerous desire. Sabertooth snarled, thrilled by her vulnerability, urging him to take more. To dominate. To claim. Azazel added, To conquer.


    "Stop," he growled through gritted teeth, the single word both a demand and a desperate plea. She blinked, the fog in her eyes clearing for a moment as she peered up at him in confusion.


    "What did you do to me?" Illyana asked, her voice small but lacking accusation. Just uncertainty, and something deeper stirring beneath.


    Tyson''s heart wrenched with shame. "It wasn''t me, it was Azazel," he explained hurriedly. "I didn''t mean to... I''m so sorry, his power, it... it''s too strong."


    The insistent whispers in his mind grew louder, more tempting. The predatory instincts threatened to overwhelm him. He had to get away before he did something unforgivable.


    In a swirl of smoke, Tyson teleported across the chamber, putting distance between himself and the girl''s intoxicating vulnerability. He held up a hand, forestalling her approach.


    "Azazel, he¡¯s like you, he can teleport across dimensions. He stumbled upon Limbo by accident and he set about conquering it," Tyson called out, explaining Azazel''s history, all while wrestling for control against the demon''s influence.


    "Check the rest of this dimension for demons. I''ll wait here until this damned power fades," he implored, not trusting himself near her right now. Not with these urges churning within.


    Illyana vanished in a burst of light.


    Alone now, Tyson focused on his breathing, mentally tracking each slow exhalation.


    After an interminable wait, Illyana''s signature portal split the air, and she stepped through, disheveled and frowning.


    "There are hundreds of demons scattered throughout Limbo, uncontrolled," she reported gravely. "Too many for me to handle alone."


    Tyson looked down at his hands, now free of the red haze of Azazel''s influence. "It''s gone," he said with relief.


    Illyana''s expression softened, though wariness still lurked in her eyes. "I should bring you back now," she said. Tyson nodded, more than ready to leave Limbo.


    With a wave of her hand, Illyana opened a portal. They stepped through, together.

 Arc 1 - Ch 9: Consquences

    Chapter 9


    Arc 1 - Ch 9: Consequences


    Date: Friday, June 4, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    The net gently swayed in the breeze as Tyson''s feet met the familiar asphalt of the basketball court. He watched Illyana step into one of her portals on the far side of the court. Thinking he was hallucinating, he looked over to see she was still standing at his side.


    For a moment, it was as if they were caught in some cosmic time loop, fragments of the past blurring into the present.


    Or perhaps it was his first glimpse of how time flowed differently in Limbo.


    Before he could consider further, a vision appeared that sent chills racing down his spine. Floating above the court was Jean Grey, though not as he remembered her. Gone was the gentle warmth in her eyes, replaced by a blazing crimson that seemed lit from within by fire. Her long red hair, usually so soft and free, now whipped around her head like wild fiery tendrils. She was wreathed in an aura of sheer power, almost visible like shimmering heat waves rising from the sun-scorched pavement.


    Both captivating and deeply unsettling, she was dangerous beauty personified.


    Tyson stared, transfixed. How much had he missed since his time in Limbo? Illyana took a cautious step back, her body language revealing her unease. But Tyson barely noticed, unable to tear his gaze away from the raw power Jean radiated. The air was dense with a palpable tension that pressed down on Illyana, making her tremble.


    "Jean?" Tyson called out cautiously.


    For a long moment, nothing changed. But as his voice echoed across the court, recognition seemed to stir deep within her fiery eyes. Gradually the intense glow faded, and the blazing crimson of her eyes softened. The winds whipping her hair into a frenzy slowed to a gentle breeze. And the eerie fiery silhouette dancing around her dispersed with the intangible wind.


    It was as if reality exhaled in relief, the fabric of the world relaxing as the tension receded. Jean drifted downwards, her feet settling onto the court. The final traces of power vanished and her posture softened as the hardness left her face. She seemed almost fragile now, disoriented like a sleepwalker guided back to wakefulness by Tyson''s voice.


    Before he could fully process this transformation, Jean''s eyes regained clarity. She closed the distance between them and pulled him into a tight embrace. "You''re okay!" she exclaimed in relief. The warmth of her hug contrasted sharply with the cold, distant being she had been mere moments before.


    Illyana watched the reunion warily with her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her Soulsword. Tyson returned Jean''s hug, careful not to touch her skin. Despite the growing number of questions in his mind, he tried to comfort her.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson, Jean, and Illyana sat opposite Professor Xavier''s desk. Their body language conveyed a mix of emotions. Tyson sat relaxed, though his shoulders were slumped, Jean''s hands fidgeted nervously in her lap, while Illyana wore a defiant scowl, though her darting eyes betrayed her apprehension.


    Professor Xavier gazed at each of them in turn. Steepling his fingers contemplatively, he began in his calm, authoritative tone, "It is only natural for teenagers to quarrel and butt heads. Youthful passion and the quest for identity has frequently led to heated disputes, even outright brawls." He paused, ensuring he had their full attention before continuing. "However, when those involved possess uncanny abilities, such confrontations become far more dangerous. They have the potential to escalate into full-blown catastrophes."


    Jean visibly winced under the weight of his words.


    "I founded this school to provide young mutants a safe haven. A place to be educated, grow into their powers, and hopefully learn to wield those abilities for the greater good of all humanity."


    Illyana bristled, her temper flaring. "But Professor¡­"


    Xavier raised a hand, cutting her off. "I''m not assigning blame to any one of you exclusively. However, you must all grasp the gravity of your powers, and the devastation they can sow if misused."


    "We never meant for things to spiral like they did. It just... got out of control." said Tyson.


    "Indeed," Xavier nodded sagely. "But that is precisely why you are here. To learn discipline, to understand your abilities, and to ensure they are applied wisely."


    "We''re so sorry, Professor," Jean said softly, eyes downcast.


    Xavier surveyed them somberly. "I know. I believe in each of you and your potential to do good in this world." The room fell silent as the professor''s words sank in. After a weighty pause, he continued, "All I ask is that you learn from this experience and strive to do and be better. I don''t ask this to shame you, but so that you learn from this experience. Each of you played a role in the unfortunate incident on the basketball court."


    His eyes settled on Tyson. "Had you been more open with your peers about the instability of your abilities, the entire conflict may have been avoided."


    Tyson protested, "I was trying..." but he stopped speaking. The professor''s words struck a chord of truth within him. Suddenly he felt an overwhelming sadness and guilt over what his power had caused. He knew his power was a danger to all. "You''re right," he said heavily. "I should have warned them. If I can''t control it, I need to be more aware of the risk." Regret weighed down his broad shoulders. But even as he slumped, he turned his head and narrowed his eyes.


    Where did that come from?


    Why was he suddenly overwhelmed with regret. That wasn''t like Sabertooth¡­


    Turning next to Illyana, Xavier''s expression grew sterner. "And you, Illyana. Since arriving here, few have challenged you directly. Yet at the first sign of confrontation, you saw fit to banish a classmate to Limbo."


    Illyana met his gaze unflinchingly, her accent lending a sharp edge to her words. "No one hurts me without consequences, Professor. But Tyson and I have settled our differences. It won''t happen again." Her jaw was set stubbornly despite the promise.


    Xavier sighed, shaking his head almost imperceptibly before his eyes softened on Jean. "And Jean," he said gently. "We''ve been taking small steps towards control for years now, and though we''ve made great strides, those barriers I erected are weakening. In the coming weeks, we''ll need to reinforce them."


    "I''m trying, Professor," Jean whispered, "Every day I try. But sometimes, it feels like there''s too much power to control."


    Xavier nodded sagely, his expression gentle. "The power is yours, a part of you. With time and training, you will learn to master it."


    Jean bit her lip, wishing she shared his faith. For now, all she could do was keep trying, pushing back against the frightening torrent within.


    Believing his students sufficiently chastised, Xavier changed topics. "Now, let''s discuss your encounter in Limbo. I understand you had a run-in with Azazel."


    At the mention of the name, Illyana''s back straightened. "You know of him?" she questioned, her voice carrying an undertone of urgency.


    The professor leaned back in his motorized wheelchair, steepling his fingers pensively. "I''m familiar with him from past events," he began, his expression darkening at the memory. "During the early days, a rogue group of mutants intended to start World War III, believing it would lead to mutant ascendancy. Azazel was one of them."


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Professor X''s eyes refocused on Illyana as he continued. "I¡¯m going to reach out to a contact of mine who is more familiar with the sort of mystical threat Azazel poses, especially considering that Limbo is involved."


    Illyana¡¯s eyes darted between Professor X and Tyson, anxiety evident in the way she bit her bottom lip between her teeth. She pushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, unconsciously. "So, what do we do in the meantime? Limbo is filled with demons, and if Azazel returns, I can''t fight him off alone."


    "Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor," Professor Xavier replied gently, ¡°If you find yourself face-to-face with Azazel again, retreat may be the wisest course of action. You''re safe here in the institute. Even if Azazel possesses the capability to reach us, he would be ill-advised to attempt it. There are many powerful mutants within these walls, myself included."


    "But the demons. Limbo..." she protested weakly.


    "We''ll find a way," Tyson said reassuringly.


    A hint of a smile tugged at Illyana¡¯s lips as she questioned in a lighter tone, "We?"


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson awoke feeling strangely refreshed despite it being the second day in a row he was up before dawn. As he showered, he sifted through memories inherited from Sabertooth, realizing that he required little rest to sustain his body.


    When Tyson entered the dining hall, the first signs of activity stirred. He filled a plate and settled at one of the long tables. Moments later, Jean joined him. They ate in companionable silence, the only sound the gentle clink of cutlery on dishes.


    Jean seemed to bask in the calm stillness of the early hour. "I enjoy the quiet," she explained softly. "When most of the institute is asleep, the mental noise is much less."


    Their tranquility was interrupted by Jubilee''s vibrant arrival, sparks dancing at her fingertips as she bounded into the hall. "Good morning!" she sang out cheerily plopping down across from them. Their breakfast became livelier with Jubilee''s chatter filling the space.


    As the dining hall began to fill, Professor Ororo approached their table, the scent of nature preceding her. Tyson detected an almost synthetic edge like it lacked the earthy richness it had previously when they first met in the Canadian wilderness.


    "Professor, did you change your perfume?" he asked.


    "I did, how sweet of you to notice," Ororo replied. Her expression grew more serious as she continued, "I heard about what happened in PE yesterday."


    Tyson tensed, hoping the incident would be forgotten. To his surprise, Ororo''s next question was, "Outside of that mishap, do you like basketball?"


    "Uh, sure," Tyson answered cautiously, unsure of her intent.


    "Would you like to see a game?" she proposed. "After yesterday''s events, maybe it''s best you get a night away from the institute." Her eyes shifted between Tyson and Jean as she spoke.


    Tyson furrowed his brow in confusion. "Like an actual basketball game?"


    In response, Ororo produced three tickets with a secretive smile. Tyson took in the embossed writing.


    Lakers vs. Knicks.


    He glanced at the date. Tonight. But it was June. Basketball should be late into the post-season. A quick inspection of the tickets confirmed these thoughts, "Finals tickets?" he asked incredulously, "How?"


    Jean''s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she studied the tickets. "Is this a good idea, Professor?" she questioned carefully. "Tyson hasn''t been here very long. He''s still adjusting. After losing control yesterday, I''ll need to spend time with Professor Xavier to repair my mental barriers. A basketball game will have thousands of people in range of my telepathy."


    Ororo met their uncertainty steadily. "What better way to adjust than bonding with friends outside these walls?" she countered. "Being together, away from this place, might help take your minds off yesterday''s troubles, even if only for a night."


    Jean''s eyes narrowed, her emerald irises darkening with unease as suspicion continued to gnaw at her. Though Professor Monroe''s words held logic, Jean''s instincts screamed in warning. Before she could raise her doubts, Jubilee''s enthusiastic voice pierced the tense silence.


    "We''d love to go!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement at the prospect of a night out.


    Tyson glanced at Jean, noting her furrowed brows and the tightness in her jaw. But the temptation of experiencing something normal, something thrilling yet mundane, was too alluring to resist. With a genuine, lopsided smile, Tyson turned to Ororo. "Thank you, Professor," he said, gratitude and disbelief blending in his deep voice.


    Jean and Jubilee echoed the sentiment, their voices ringing with surprise and anticipation. Ororo inclined her head in acknowledgment. "I have some papers to grade and errands to run. I''ll catch up with you on the train."


    Tyson watched the professor depart, his rugged features pensive. Turning back to his friends, he asked in bewilderment, "You guys normally go to games like this?"


    "Nope!" Jubilee replied, popping the ''p'' with an exuberant grin. "But this is awesome! I''m so gonna get Kobe and LeBron''s autographs." Her enthusiasm was infectious, causing the corners of Tyson''s lips to quirk upwards despite himself.


    Tyson stared at her incredulously. "Lebron?" he asked in confusion.


    Jubilee''s mouth dropped open in dramatic outrage. "How do you remember videogames but not know who LeBron James is?" she exclaimed. "Did you seriously forget about NBA 2K?"


    "Lebron is, like, the king of New York!" She shook her head in exaggerated disappointment before adding thoughtfully, "Or maybe that title belongs to Diddy..."


    Jean remained silent, her emerald eyes distant and hands clasped around her ceramic mug as if drawing warmth from its heat. Tyson leaned across the table. "Hey, Jean? You okay over there?"


    Her lips twitched into a slight frown, the motion barely visible. "Professor Munroe has always been difficult for me to read telepathically, but just now it was far more difficult," she admitted after a moment.


    Jubilee waved a hand, brushing aside Jean''s trepidation. "Oh c''mon, I''m sure it''s nothing to worry about!" she exclaimed, bouncing a little in her seat. "The Professor''s probably been practicing." Her brown eyes danced with anticipation as she leaned forward eagerly. "So are we doing this or what? I''m not missing the chance to get Kobe and LeBron''s autographs!"


    Tyson attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, you heard her. Jubilee''s heart is set, so no backing out now." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I''m game if you both are."


    Jean hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her face. "Professor X said we shouldn''t leave the school without a teacher. But with Professor Ororo going with us..." But she nodded after a moment, resolve settling on her delicate features. "Yes, let''s do this." Her earlier concerns set aside for the time being.


    It was late afternoon as the trio of young mutants reached the front gates, anticipation building for the night ahead.


    "Man, I can''t believe we''re going to see the Lakers tonight!" Jubilee gushed, turning to Tyson with an enormous grin. "Courtside seats, baby!" Jubilee whooped loudly, launching a spray of colorful fireworks from her palms. She grabbed Jean''s arm eagerly. "C''mon, let''s hustle before we miss the train!"


    Jean cast one last uncertain look back at the Institute but Jubilee''s enthusiasm proved infectious. Tyson gave an encouraging nod. Together, the three young mutants set off.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    As the Metro-North zipped down the tracks, the view outside transitioned from suburbs to tightly packed buildings and graffitied walls. Jubilee bounced excitedly in her seat, chattering away about the Big Apple.


    "Alright, so we''re taking the Metro-North," Jubilee began, her finger tracing the route on the map, outlining their route. ¡°The Metro-North will zip us straight into Grand Central station," she announced, tracing a path with her finger. "From there, we''ve got options. The subway is fast but crowded. Cabs get stuck in traffic. Or we hoof it. Madison Square Garden is just over a mile down 7th Ave." She looked at them expectantly. "So what''ll it be?"


    Tyson jokingly flexed his massive bicep. "I could just scoop you both up and run there in a few minutes."


    "Tempting," Jean laughed. "But I think we''ll survive the walk. Plus we might find a hot dog stand or two on the way. You''ll need your hands free for that."


    Tyson groaned, amused by the friendly teasing about his enhanced appetite.


    Jubilee narrated as they passed each station. "Crestwood, Tuckahoe, Bronxville, Fordham. We''re in the Bronx now. Welcome to New York City!"


    Their conversation meandered on as the train groaned ever closer to its destination, each stop ratcheting up the buzz of excitement shared between the three friends. Despite yesterday''s confrontation with Illyana and Azazel, for now, they were just teenagers on an unexpected urban adventure.


    Looking out the window, they saw a man shuffling down a crowded street, heaving a casket behind him. He attracted glances from passersby, but Tyson''s mouth fell open in astonishment. "Is that... a casket?" he exclaimed, pointing out the window. "Who just drags a casket around in broad daylight?"


    Jubilee dissolved into giggles at his reaction. "Welcome to the city," she said, giving his arm a playful punch. "It''s not all towers and Broadway shows. We''ve got our fair share of weirdos too. Folks accept it and go about their business."


    Jean smiled, shaking her head. "I''m not sure this is exactly the cultural and learning experience Professor Xavier wanted his students to have."


    Tyson was about to point out another eye-catching sight when the train''s sliding doors opened, and someone entered their increasingly crowded compartment. As he turned, he saw a familiar face.


    "Professor Ororo," Tyson greeted.


    Ororo offered a smile in response. In a flash, her hand shot out from the folds of her long coat, a hypodermic needle glinting in her grip. With viper-like speed, she plunged the needle towards Jean''s exposed neck.


    Tyson''s eyes went wide with alarm, but his reflexes weren''t fast enough to stop the needle. He could only watch helplessly as it pierced Jean''s pale skin, eliciting a shocked gasp from the redhead''s lips.


    Just as quickly as it struck, Ororo withdrew the needle, leaving Tyson and Jubilee frozen in stunned silence. Jean blinked rapidly, her emerald eyes clouding in confusion. A soft gasp escaped her parted lips and she swayed unsteadily for a moment before collapsing sideways into Tyson''s broad shoulder, unconscious.

 Arc 1 - Ch 10: Repercussions

    Chapter 10


    Arc 1 - Ch 10: Repercussions


    Date: Saturday, June 5, 2010.


    Location: Bronx, New York


    The needle glinted menacingly as Ororo lunged towards Jubilee next. Panic erupted in Tyson''s chest, his instincts screaming at him to act. Though no speedster, Tyson''s absorbed powers gave him reflexes beyond any normal human. He shot out a hand, his fingers clamped around Ororo''s wrist with the crushing strength of a vice, halting the needle mere inches from Jubilee''s vulnerable neck.


    Jubilee shrank back, her usual bubbly bravado replaced by naked fear.


    His hyper-focused senses washed over the scene, taking in every detail as his mind raced to make sense of Professor Ororo''s inexplicable actions. When logic failed him, animal instinct took over. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as he sought the familiar scent of the woman he now held at bay. Ororo''s scent lived in his memory, imprinted from when they''d first met days earlier.


    The subtle scent of nature and the faint but unmistakable undercurrent of rainstorms. He first encountered it in the Canadian wilderness, amid the pine trees and fresh, icy air.


    Instead of Ororo''s distinctive aroma of an impending rainstorm, this imposter carried a flat, artificial fragrance akin to a sprinkler spraying water across a lawn.


    His grip on her wrist tightened as the truth clicked into place.


    Earlier at the table, this woman''s scent also lacked Ororo''s unique signature. The fraud had been masquerading as their professor all day.


    Any concerns Tyson might have held about leaving the institute were assuaged by the thought that Storm would be watching over them.


    But now, with Jean unconscious in her chair, he chastised himself for not staying alert.


    Only one person could be standing before him wearing Ororo''s face and attempting to mimic her scent.


    The shapeshifter, Mystique.


    Tracing his eyes over the long-sleeved turtleneck and gloves she wore, he noticed that she was completely covered. It denied him any chance to make direct contact, triggering his power.


    Mystique had come aware that skin contact was the key to his ability.


    His arm kept her at a distance for now, but his other side was weighed down by Jean''s unconscious form leaning against him. Another concern tickled the back of his mind. If events unfolded as in the film, then Mystique was not the only adversary lurking nearby. Sabertooth was no longer a concern, but others remained. Toad, the agile mutant with his lashing tongue. And of course, the grand mastermind himself. Magneto. The thought of facing the metal-manipulating mutant set Tyson''s nerves on edge. For all his newly gained strength, Magneto was in a class of his own. Tyson was no match for him, especially here.


    A train car was essentially a giant metal box, ripe for Magneto''s control.


    Tyson''s mind raced as he analyzed the situation unfolding. The other Brotherhood members would make their move any moment now. His claws itched beneath his skin, eager to emerge for battle. He imagined tearing apart Mystique, shredding Toad to pieces, then finally killing Magneto...


    No.


    Those weren''t his thoughts. That was the influence of Sabertooth surfacing again. Tyson knew that he was no match for the metal-manipulating mutant mastermind.


    Not on his own.


    The strain was evident in Tyson''s eyes as he struggled with the difficult choice he was now forced to make.


    "Sorry about this," Tyson murmured apologetically though Jean could not hear him.


    One muscular hand remained locked on Mystique''s wrist, while his other arm cradled Jean''s limp form. Tyson wrapped his free arm around the unconscious Jean and grasped the fabric of his own shirt, slicing through it with a single claw extended from his fingertip. The shredded fabric fell away, exposing the defined muscles of his chiseled chest and rippling abdomen. As he finished cutting through his clothes, Jean''s head lolled toward his bare skin. Tyson hated to take advantage of his friend''s vulnerability, but he knew what needed to be done. With Jean perilously close now, Tyson whipped his claw toward the false Ororo''s face. The movement caused Jean to slump heavily against his exposed body.


    The fake Ororo tilted her head, narrowly avoiding Tyson''s vicious swipe.


    Her mocking laughter rang out through the train car. "Did you think it would be that easy?" she taunted.


    Her appearance rippled and morphed before their eyes, her smooth brown skin shifted into a vivid azure hue. Lush white hair shortened and shifted to a vibrant cherry red. Gone was the visage of Ororo; now Mystique stood smugly before them in her true form.


    "You''re making a mistake," Tyson warned.


    Mystique''s full lips curled into a self-assured smirk, unperturbed by his grip on her arm. She cocked her head, regarding him with an air of casual arrogance. "Am I?" her response dripped with condescension. "Or is it you who has made the mistake?" She leaned in closer, her face inches from his. "There''s no X-Men here to save you this time."


    As their tense standoff continued, Jean''s limp body slowly listed into Tyson''s muscular frame. Time seemed to slow. He could feel the soft brush of her long red locks against his bare chest as her head lolled forward. He steeled himself for the onrush of memories soon to flood his mind, and as the exposed skin of her forehead grazed his chest, Tyson began a mental countdown.


    She was playing in a suburban backyard, laughing as she levitated toys around her. She felt fear when she first discovered she could hear people''s thoughts. Her powers bursting forth unpredictably made her feel isolated and different. Whispers followed her in school, children pointing and parents pulling them away, not wanting their children to make friends with a mutant. She struggled to keep the voices in her head at bay, but then she was discovered by Magneto and Xavier. The professor created mental walls to contain her power. In her teenage years, she found her place at the institute, a home where she wasn¡¯t an outcast. She was compassionate and protective of those she loved. She bore the weight of her powers with grace, always striving for control. She was a mediator, often the voice of reason. The mental walls Xavier built were beginning to weaken, she could feel something else within her. Beyond the walls was¡­


    One...


    Suddenly, a sharp sensation pricked at Tyson''s temples, as though a dam had burst within his mind, unleashing a deluge of thoughts, emotions, and voices. He could hear the distant murmurs of every passenger on the train. Their hopes, fears, memories, and desires were laid bare.


    It was overwhelming.


    The cacophony of inner voices threatened to drown him, each psyche an open book for him to peruse. He sensed the young mother''s worry for her child, her fear of judgment from other passengers mixing with warm pride. The anxious thoughts of the young man across the aisle bombarded Tyson, his nerves over an impending job interview plagued by self-doubt. In the back of the car, an elderly woman''s nostalgia for her youth washed over him in bittersweet waves.


    With Jean''s telepathy now intertwining with his senses, he felt awash in a sea of empathy. Tyson could almost taste the kaleidoscope of emotions; the sweet joy of reuniting with a loved one, the spicy arousal of a furtive glance, the bitter tang of jealousy and regret. Each sensation was distinct and overwhelming. The sudden depth of insight was intoxicating. He saw himself reflected in every mind, his hopes and fears mingling with those of the strangers around him. For a moment, the lines between their psyches blurred into a collective consciousness, at once beautiful and terrifying in its intimacy. Tyson clung to his sense of self, even as Jean''s power threatened to dissolve the boundaries between himself and all the minds in the area.


    Two¡­


    The cacophony of voices echoing in Tyson''s head was deafening, each distinct thought and emotion crashing together like waves in a turbulent sea. With Jean''s memories came a glimpse of the discipline she had honed under Professor X''s tutelage, the mental barriers erected to restrain the full torrent of her telepathic abilities.


    But Tyson didn''t have those walls.


    He was left as a raw, open conduit for the psychic maelstrom. One sensation rose above them all.


    Anger.


    It may have come from the simmering bitterness of a passenger seated nearby or drifted from some distant mind. Perhaps it emanated from the feral corners of Tyson''s psyche, where Sabertooth''s animal fury lingered.


    But the source did not matter.


    The sheer intensity of this anger resonated within Tyson, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He felt the heat of it rising as the emotion built upon itself, resentment feeding resentment. A floodgate had been opened, and with Jean''s powers unrestrained, the full force of this rage poured through Tyson''s mind unchecked, an unstoppable psychic tsunami.


    Three¡­


    Tyson clung desperately to his sense of self, struggling not to be swept away in the riptide as the anger crested. But he was drowning, the mounting fury threatening to dissolve the boundaries between his mind and the others that now intruded upon his thoughts.


    A moment of focus surged through his mind, honing his awareness to a razor''s edge. His senses flared, warning him of imminent danger. He felt the hostile intent radiating from a nearby foe; the unmistakable sensation of an enemy poised to strike.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Toad.


    Tyson zeroed in on the villain just as his long, slimy tongue shot out towards an unsuspecting Jubilee. Still reeling from the shock of Ororo''s unexpected attack and Tyson''s forceful response, Jubilee looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, oblivious to the sneak attack.


    With a mental shove as forceful as a wrecking ball, he lifted Toad''s scrawny frame and flung him across the car. Surprise registered on Toad''s face. His trajectory ended with a loud crash as his body slammed into the rear wall and slumped to the floor in a limp pile.


    Around them, passengers screamed in terror at the man sent violently hurled through the cramped, lurching train car.


    Four¡­


    Mystique struggled against Tyson''s iron grip, but his hand remained locked around her arm like a vice. She watched in mounting horror as his free hand swung towards her in slow motion.


    She strained her muscles to their limits. Mystique was far stronger than she looked, her shapeshifting powers granting her strength beyond the greatest of humans. But it wasn''t enough to break Tyson''s grip on her wrist. More than that, some invisible, telekinetic force, gripped her entire body, preventing her from twisting away.


    Five¡­


    Tyson guided Jean into the seat beside him ensuring not to make any further direct skin contact. He knew even a few more seconds of touch could prove devastating, if not lethal. "Keep her safe, Jubilee," he said in a low voice. "Don''t worry about me. Escape if you can."


    His massive hand clamped over Mystique''s face, smothering her features from chin to hairline. A ragged cry died in her throat as she felt her life force being leeched from her body in a torturous rush.


    She was a young blue-skinned girl shunned by a world that hated her for being different. She attempted desperately to fit in, but hiding her unique complexion was challenging; her power was difficult to control. When she mastered it, the world around her became a canvas, and she was the brush, able to paint herself into any scene or situation. She could become anyone, or anything, with just a thought. She allied with Magneto who shared a dream of a world where mutants wouldn''t have to hide who they were. She became whoever she needed to be to plot against those who sought to harm their kind. She was a baroness, a mother, a terrorist, a crime lord, a murderer, and more; she had taken as many titles as she had forms.


    As the memories flooded into his mind, Tyson felt his cells become malleable, his rigid form loosening into a fluid adaptability. Along with Mystique''s shapeshifting came a measure of mental discipline. Raven Darkholme had learned to control her power by compartmentalizing her mind, a necessity for becoming other people, without losing herself. This ability granted Tyson a sliver of respite against the overwhelming psychic might inherited from Jean. Although far from perfect, Mystique''s psychic fortitude gave him a foothold, a chance to filter the barrage of sensations and emotions from Jean''s telepathy. His mind calmed ever so slightly as he felt Jean''s commanding presence alongside Mystique''s cunning intellect, both guiding and influencing him from within. The two mutants'' powers and experiences melded into his psyche. Tyson focused, clinging to that foothold, striving to balance their clashing wills with his own.


    One¡­


    The clashing psyches warring within Tyson sent contradictory impulses surging through his mind. Aggression vied with passivity. Cunning clashed with timidity. But one drive cut through. They were under attack.


    Aggression won out.


    Two¡­


    With sudden force born of superhuman strength, Tyson lunged across the train car, dragging Mystique along by her head still gripped in his hand. He slammed her into the wall beside the window. Glass shattered from the impact, allowing outside air to whip wildly into the train. The metal wall groaned and buckled under Tyson''s strength.


    The abrupt violence sent shockwaves through the panicked passengers. It wasn''t only psychological, in his anger, Tyson released a telekinetic wave. Commuters in the immediate area were knocked down or away, out of their seats and into the aisles. Others scrambled and screamed, tripping over abandoned luggage and other passengers in desperation to flee the fight.


    Three¡­


    Tyson was merciless in his assault. Mystique''s head and torso were now embedded in the battered wall. For Tyson, time seemed to slow, the chaos around him faded as he focused on his target. She struggled furiously, pummeling his arms and clawing at his fingers, but her strength was nothing compared to his might. She was trapped, her life ebbing away beneath his unrelenting grasp.


    Four¡­


    Tyson''s inner voices clashed in tumultuous debate, some pleading with him not to take another life with his touch, others insisting they did not kill, that was not who they were. But the darkest parts cried out in bloodlust, reveling at the thought of snuffing out Mystique''s life force. Her struggles were weak, it wouldn''t be long now¡­ only seconds. But one thought rose above the rest.


    Killing her would be a waste.


    As Tyson sifted through the kaleidoscope of her memories, an evil grin spread across his face.


    He would break her instead.


    His skin rippled as it transformed, darkening to a deep crimson, the change creeping from his fingers up his arms like licking flames. Tyson''s features contorted; his jaw extending slightly as his face pulled taut over high cheekbones. His eyes flooded black, from sclera to pupil, becoming pools of endless midnight. A wild mane of jet-black hair sprouted from his scalp and a prehensile tail with a spade tip unfurled behind him.


    His body shifted into a perfect doppelganger of Azazel.


    He pulled his hand back from her face. Mystique remained pinned by an invisible force. His telekinesis held her prisoner against the battered train wall. Her yellow eyes went wide with dismay and recognition. A malicious pleasure radiated from him, an aura of domination and control. He leaned in close, his cool breath tingling her skin.


    "I''m back, Raven... and I want our child."


    His voice dripped malevolence as he unearthed one of Mystique''s deepest secrets.


    Tyson, the false Azazel, loomed over her. Though he bore the demon''s visage, he lacked Azazel''s inherent charm. He could not enthrall Mystique as the real Azazel had beguiled Illyana. But manipulation was not solely the devil''s domain.


    The train car thrummed with unseen power as Tyson channeled the full might of Jean Grey''s telepathic abilities. Psychic energy built like an overwhelming tide, pressing against Mystique''s mind. The very air grew dense, charged with psionic potential. She had always prided herself on her mental defenses. Constant shape-shifting made her mind an ever-shifting labyrinth that protected her against telepathic intrusion. But Azazel''s sudden appearance, coupled with Tyson''s intimate knowledge of her weaknesses, and Jean''s overwhelming telepathy, left a crack in her armor. And Tyson seized upon it ruthlessly.


    The mental assault slammed into her like a battering ram besieging a fortress. Mystique''s golden eyes went wide with dismay as the sheer magnitude of the psychic attack overwhelmed her. The false Azazel leaned in, his breath cold against her skin.


    "You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dripping with cruel certainty. "Forever tainted by my touch."


    It felt like invisible fingers worming their way into her mind, unraveling the very threads of her identity. Mystique''s defiant facade faltered, her eyes clouding with fear, confusion, and anguish. She recoiled from the mental and physical violation, movements staggered as if struggling through quicksand. The strong-willed shapeshifter suddenly seemed fragile, shaken to her core. The brutal psychic attack and cruel words left a permanent mark on her psyche.


    But Tyson''s domination of Mystique''s mind was interrupted as the train car shuddered. Metal screamed as it warped and twisted around them, causing him to freeze and the hair on his neck to stand on end.


    The rigid walls peeled open like the skin of a fruit, metallic tendrils unfurling and reaching for him with serpentine hunger. Above, the roof split apart, unveiling the sky and the figure descending from on high.


    Magneto.


    He floated down with outstretched arms, radiating raw power. Gravity seemed to bend to his will, his descent steady and deliberate. To Tyson, he looked every inch the messiah come to mete out judgment.


    Around him, the train car continued its nightmarish transformation. Under Magneto''s control, the metal lining the walls and chairs rippled as if alive, slowly advancing on Tyson. The metal appeared almost liquid while under control of Magneto''s power. But Tyson knew that beneath that deceptive fluidity lay a strength when wielded by an Omega-level mutant.


    Regardless of the danger looming ever closer, Tyson found himself reluctant to release his captive. Mystique''s golden eyes were wide with naked fear. His telekinetic grip kept her pinned.


    A flash of uncertainty flickered through him as he had a moment of introspection. He wondered if his brutality was the lingering influence of Sabertooth''s bestial instincts slowly seeping into his psyche. Or was it a calculated ruthlessness instilled by Mystique''s memories, an unwillingness to relinquish control of a nearly defeated enemy? And was it Jean''s inherent compassion that now stirred within, urging him to show mercy? Tyson had no answers. The voices of those whose powers and memories he''d absorbed clashed within him. Allies and enemies vying for dominance.


    Unsure what Magneto valued more; saving his shapeshifting ally or capturing Tyson for himself caused the young mutant to hesitate. Would the metal-wielding supremacist''s devotion to his cause outweigh his loyalty? Indecision paralyzed Tyson, even as his window for action shrank with each passing second. He knew he couldn''t afford the luxury of time to think with Magneto descending upon him like an avenging angel.


    Tyson had to act, and fast.


    Under the perceived slow motion of his enhanced senses, Tyson sprang into action. His muscular arm tightened protectively, almost possessively around Mystique''s slender frame. Her shape felt feather-light against his formidable strength as he carried her bridal style, like an awkwardly large football that he now had to safeguard. Each long stride carried them closer toward escape even as the encroaching tendrils of metal slithered after them. Sabertooth''s predatory instincts had honed Tyson''s reflexes to a razor''s edge. Now they guided his every movement, turning the train car into his playground. His enhanced agility allowed him to flow between passengers. He ducked under grasping arms, and pivoted around flailing bodies, using each surface to propel himself forward. The feral power coiled tightly in his muscles unleashed with each dodge and swerve, while Magneto''s makeshift weapons lashed just out of reach.


    Tyson was a hunter now, with the train exit in his sights. He tuned out the chaotic cries rising around him, focusing only on his target ahead. Just a few more steps until he breached the car, escaping into the city with his prize still in hand. The predator within urged him on, guiding his steps toward the doors.


    Until a sudden, invisible force jerked him to a halt.


    Confusion flashed across his face as Mystique was ripped from his clutches, her body flying backward through the air.


    How?


    Tyson''s mind raced, searching for an explanation. Then it hit him from within her memories. In his haste to absorb Mystique''s past and weaponize it against her, he overlooked something in her recent thoughts.


    Magneto planned a contingency in case he might need to use his abilities on one of his own. Mystique wore weighted metal plates concealed under her disguise. And now Magneto was calling to those plates, his power dragging Mystique from Tyson''s grasp.


    Quickly countering, Tyson tapped into Jean''s telekinetic gift, halting Mystique''s flight mid-air. Her body went rigid, suspended awkwardly as Tyson''s will held firm against the pull of Magneto''s power.


    In a flash, Tyson''s claws sliced through the fabric of Mystique''s outfit, shredding it to ribbons. The weights beneath tumbled free. Magneto''s hold continued dragging the released metal weights through the air toward himself.


    Tyson bared his teeth in a savage grin, ready to reclaim his prize.


    He wasted no time in scooping up Mystique and continuing his retreat. In tearing apart the train car to use the metal against him, Magneto had created several holes that offered escape routes.


    Suddenly, an impact like a gunshot rocked him from behind. He staggered, biting back a grunt as pain reverberated through him. It felt like being struck by a charging bull. Though his body absorbed Sabertooth''s resilience, it couldn''t negate the full force of the blow. Then more impacts followed in a ceaseless barrage. After the third crushing blow, he stumbled, dropping Mystique and leaving her in favor of using his arms to defend himself.


    Finally, Tyson spun around angry and shocked to see the source of the relentless assault. Magneto''s ferrokinesis altered the weights from Mystique''s vest, shaping them into menacing bullets. He''d turned Tyson''s clever move against him, wielding the weights as instruments of his downfall. Tyson realized these were more than bullets, they were huge, like cannonballs, and accelerated to bone-crushing speeds. With each hit, the train car shuddered under the impacts of their force. His bones shattered with every strike, healing just in time for the next.


    Mystique''s limp form lay forgotten, as all his focus narrowed to withstanding the bombardment.

 Arc 1 - Ch 11: Rumble in the Bronx

    Chapter 11


    Arc 1 - Ch 11: Rumble in the Bronx


    Date: Saturday, June 5, 2010.


    Location: Bronx, New York


    Tyson could feel the tide turning against him as Magneto''s attacks intensified. Though he had held his own so far, the writing was on the walls, and it did not bode well.


    The clamoring chorus of psyches raged inside Tyson''s mind, mixing with all the mental chatter from the people in the area was becoming unbearable. All around him, the train''s metal warped and writhed, animated by Magneto''s power into tendrils snaking toward him.


    The psyches within him reached a unanimous verdict. This train car was a death trap.


    He couldn''t stay here, not with so much metal at Magneto''s command. And his friends were still aboard. If he stayed, he put them at risk as well.


    Tyson crouched low, coiling his muscles like springs wound to their limit. With an explosive burst, he launched himself upward with every ounce of his superhuman strength, rocketing out of the opening in the train car''s roof toward the open sky above. He seized Jean Grey''s telekinetic power, using it to defy gravity''s pull before it could drag him back down. The gusting winds whipped through his hair and clothes, as he flew with the power of Jean Grey and his will.


    The train rumbled onward without him, leaving Tyson hovering in midair as Magneto followed, rising from the train on currents of magnetic force.


    For a moment, hovering in the sky, he felt free. But below, he could see Magneto''s swirling metallic tendrils pursuing him skyward like a nest of angry snakes.


    Tyson braced himself as the metallic storm surged toward him. Jean''s telekinetic power coursed through him, but it was wild and untamed. He had only partial control since she had only ever harnessed a fraction of her full potential. Still, raw psychic energy simmered within, yearning to be unleashed.


    As the first razor-edged shards neared him, Tyson thrust his arms forward and unleashed a massive telekinetic wave. The invisible force smashed into the oncoming metal, momentarily halting its advance. But Magneto''s will drove the shards onward, refusing to be denied.


    Tyson felt the immensity of Jean''s gift swirling within him, both empowering and overwhelming. Magneto''s decades of experience gave him a decisive edge when it came to control. But Tyson matched it with the strength he borrowed from Jean.


    "You can''t win this!" Magneto''s voice echoed across the distance, brimming with arrogance.


    Tyson''s face hardened with determination. Playing defense would only delay the inevitable. He needed a new tactic, and fast. Reaching out with his mind, he gripped the swirling metal fragments, struggling to slow their relentless approach. At the same time, he turned his focus toward the ground, seeking a different weapon. Below, the streets were lined with parked cars and sparse trees, all surrounded by gray asphalt. The cars were useless, easy pickings for Magneto''s powers. Instead, Tyson seized sections of the road itself, ripping them free and launching the jagged chunks of pavement upward in a furious barrage.


    The concrete missiles rocketed toward Magneto. Tyson flung them relentlessly, finally turning his stolen power from defense to offense.


    The air crackled with energy as Tyson and Magneto clashed in a spectacular display of power. Jagged chunks of asphalt rocketed through the sky, propelled by Tyson''s telekinetic might. Each deadly projectile was met with a shimmering wall of magnetic force as Magneto deflected them with swift gestures.


    Tyson allowed himself a fierce grin as one particularly massive slab of concrete narrowly missed his foe. But Magneto quickly regained his composure, bringing his hands together with a look of intense focus. The air around him pulsated and hummed as he summoned a stronger magnetic shield, done with simply blocking each attack.


    Noticing the shift in strategy, Tyson began hurling full slabs of asphalt directly at the master of magnetism, testing the enhanced defenses. As expected, they were effortlessly diverted, skimming along the curved surface of Magneto''s shield before careening to either side.


    Undeterred, Tyson adjusted his tactics, focusing his telekinetic power. With a deep breath, he tore the street below into tiny, granulated fragments, gathering them into a swirling mass overhead. Then with a grunt of exertion, he unleashed them in a widespread volley, the asphalt rocketing forth like pellets from a shotgun. The air was filled with a blurred chaos of high-velocity shrapnel. Magneto''s eyes widened briefly in surprise before he whirled his hands, strengthening his shield''s spin to deflect the incoming fire. Most of the shards were turned away in puffs of dust and sparks, but a few found their mark, grazing past Magneto''s armor and leaving behind scratches and trails of grit.


    Magneto''s decades of experience gave him an edge, allowing him to wield magnetic forces with practiced finesse. But Tyson''s raw psychic might kept the master of magnetism at bay, matching his attacks blow for blow.


    "Impressive," Magneto called out mockingly, his voice dripping with contempt. "But how long can you keep this up, boy?"


    "You may have the advantage of experience, old man," he shot back, "but I have Mystique''s memories. I know why you''re so desperate to capture me, to stick me in that machine of yours. That contraption is a death sentence, and I have no intention of letting you put me in it."


    He lowered himself onto the nearest rooftop. Without needing to concentrate on levitation, he could bring more power to bear. Reaching out with his telekinesis, he attempted to wrench Magneto''s helmet free, to expose his mind. But he lacked the fine control needed for such a maneuver. Magneto''s shield held fast, preventing any direct telekinetic strikes.


    "If you believe in your cause so deeply then get in the machine and sacrifice yourself," Tyson called out.


    Magneto''s eyes narrowed, his arrogance finally giving way to anger at this upstart''s audacity. "Then who will lead the new mutants?" he sneered.


    Tyson knew he couldn''t have long left with Jean''s power. He had hoped to overpower the master of magnetism quickly, but Magneto had matched him. Without Xavier''s mental barriers, Jean''s raw psychic energy coursed through him unchecked and he lacked the discipline to control it to the point he could challenge Magneto evenly. Soon the power would fade. He should retreat while he still could. Yet the aggressive, feral part of him howled to kill this old fool who dared hunt him down like an animal. Another voice, calmer but no less firm, whispered that Magneto would never stop pursuing him. And one last voice, more tired than the rest, cried out they just wanted to be left alone.


    Tyson''s inner turmoil waged on as he continued his relentless psychic barrage against Magneto, bombarding the master of magnetism with wave after crushing wave of telekinetic energy and hurling debris.


    With subtle flicks of his fingers, Magneto commandeered the metallic framework of the surrounding buildings. Like liquid metal come to life, the girders and pipes began to slither and crawl down the edifices, guided by Magneto''s imperceptible manipulations. The tendrils of metal snaked toward Tyson, creeping up on him from both sides of the street while his attention stayed fixed on trying to shatter Magneto''s shields.


    Magneto''s face was a mask of intense concentration, betraying no hint of the intricate maneuvers happening just out of Tyson''s sight. Years of experience allowed the metal-wielder to multitask, dividing his powers between maintaining his protective bubble against Tyson''s psychic barrage, and stealthily maneuvering the liquid-metal tendrils into position for a devastating pincer attack. Tyson''s senses remained oblivious to the mortal danger coiling around him.


    Multiple metal tendrils crept over the edge of the rooftop. Without warning, they shot out from the edge piercing through Tyson''s body, causing him to gasp in pain. The element of surprise had been on Magneto''s side, and he used it ruthlessly.


    Tyson''s eyes widened in shock as the cold metal tore through his flesh. The pain was immediate and intense, stealing his breath away. He looked down to see the tendrils protruding from his chest and abdomen, their razor-sharp tips dripping with his blood.


    "You should have surrendered when you had the chance," Magneto''s voice rang out, tinged with a cruel satisfaction.


    Tyson was so focused on his telekinetic assault that he failed to notice Magneto''s stealthy maneuver. The metal tendrils began to writhe and twist inside him, sending fresh waves of agony coursing through his body. With a herculean effort, Tyson reached out with his borrowed telekinetic power, attempting to push the metal out of his body. But Magneto''s control was absolute, and the tendrils remained firmly in place, their edges sawing at his insides with every movement. Blood began to pool around Tyson''s feet, staining the rooftop a dark crimson.


    Magneto descended slowly from the night sky, his cape billowing behind him as he hovered just above the rooftop. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he regarded the boy falling to his knees before him.


    "I must admit, you''ve proven to be quite the challenge," Magneto said, his tone almost conversational despite the circumstances. "But in the end, you made a grave mistake when you killed Sabertooth. Had you not been gifted his extraordinary healing abilities, I may have needed to hold back so as not to kill you."


    Tyson gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as the metal tendrils twisted deeper into his torso. Blood dripped from his lips, splattering on the concrete below.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "Fear not, you may yet survive the machine and live to see me reshape this world into a mutant utopia," Magneto continued. "Think of it as an opportunity. And if you don''t¡­ Well, your sacrifice will help usher in a new age for our kind."


    The metal tendrils in his body began to retract, pulling him toward the edge of the rooftop where Magneto hovered. Tyson''s feet dragged across the blood-slicked surface as he was inexorably drawn towards his captor. The metal tendrils coiled around him like a constrictor, squeezing tighter and tighter. He struggled against their vice-like grip, but even the strength he had absorbed from Sabertooth could not break him free. Fear and shock widened his eyes as his breaths came in short, strained gasps. Each inhale carried the sharp, metallic scent of his blood.


    Despair began to eclipse the pain. The thought of being reduced to a mere power source for his enemy clawed at his mind as fiercely as the metal piercing him tore his body. His fingers twitched weakly in a futile attempt to find some handhold, some small bit of leverage to free himself. But the metal only responded by constricting further, biting deeper into him.


    This would not be his end. Raw and all-consuming, the fires of his determination channeled into the remnants of Jean''s telepathic abilities.


    His eyes, dulled moments before by agony, now glowed.


    Blazed.


    Every ounce of pain became fuel for one final, desperate act. His scream was a mixture of anguish and fury, that promised untold destruction and used the last bit of breath in his lungs. But it also carried a telepathic pulse so potent it brought everyone nearby to their knees, hands clutched over their ears as a tidal wave of suffering crashed over them.


    Tyson focused this energy, this collective pain, directly at his target. He bore down on Magneto''s shields with everything he had left, causing the magnetic barriers to fluctuate and warp.


    Magneto''s expression shifted from triumph to alarm. He responded by squeezing the metal coils around Tyson impossibly tighter. The tendrils morphed further, no longer just ropes threading through the young man.


    Hundreds of sharp spikes erupted from the metal.


    Metal spikes pierced his flesh eliciting an agonized scream that echoed through the open rooftop. Despite the pain, he refused to give in. Calling on the last remnants of Jean''s telepathic power, he battered against Magneto''s shields.


    Reaching deep within himself, he tapped into a vast, untamed well of psionic energy. With a guttural roar, Tyson focused everything he had into one final psychic assault.


    Fiery energy blazed from his eyes.


    Unleashing a telepathic blast more powerful than anything he had managed before. The very air rippled with psychic force as he brought his full might down upon Magneto''s defenses.


    But as Jean''s borrowed power rapidly faded, so too did Tyson. A feeling of numbness crept over his tortured body. The agony of his impaled flesh receded, along with his rage and desperation.


    As his world dimmed, the last embers of defiance slipped through Tyson''s fingers. Darkness encroached on his vision, beckoning him into its cold embrace. He struggled feebly against its pull, but it was no use. With a last gasp of defeat, his eyes closed, and his body went limp.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Illyana Rasputin strode purposefully through the halls of Xavier''s Institute. Her face was set in a determined frown, blue eyes flashing with annoyance and concern. She''d spent most of the day mulling over her confrontation with Tyson and their battle with Azazel in Limbo the previous day. The memory of it still left a bitter taste in her mouth.


    As she approached Professor Xavier''s office, Illyana couldn''t shake the nagging feeling that something was off. Throughout the day, she''d sensed Tyson''s presence around the institute. She couldn''t quite explain why, but she had an inexplicable awareness of his location. That was, until dinner, when she went to confront him and realized that sensation had vanished completely.


    She''d scanned the cafeteria, searching for his face among the crowd of students, thinking that her senses were playing tricks on her. His usual table, where he often sat with Jean Grey and Jubilee, was conspicuously empty. Illyana had hesitated, debating whether to check his room. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her.


    She''d made her way to the boys'' level of the dormitory, knocking on Tyson''s door. When no answer came, she used her powers to teleport inside, only to find the room empty. No sign of Tyson, Jean, or Jubilee.


    Now, standing before Xavier''s office door, Illyana knocked firmly. At the professor''s invitation, she entered, her eyes immediately locking onto the wheelchair-bound telepath.


    "Professor," Illyana began, her voice tight with barely contained frustration, "I need to know if Tyson''s been expelled."


    Xavier''s brow furrowed slightly at the abrupt question. "Expelled? No, Illyana, I spoke with you all together. No further punishment was given to any of you for your misunderstanding. Why would you think that?"


    Illyana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. "He''s not in his room, not at dinner. I can''t..." She hesitated mentioning that she sensed him earlier and couldn''t any longer. "Jean and Jubilee are missing too."


    The professor''s expression grew serious. He closed his eyes, his fingers pressing against his temples in concentration. Xavier reached out with his powerful telepathic abilities, searching for the missing students. Illyana watched, her impatience growing with each passing second. She could feel the tension building in her shoulders, her fingers twitching with the urge to do something, anything. After what felt like an eternity, Xavier''s eyes snapped open. The grave look on his face sent a chill down Illyana''s spine.


    "Illyana," he said, "please return to your room. Don''t worry. I''ll find them."


    She opened her mouth to protest and demand more information, but Xavier held up a hand to silence her.


    "Please," he continued, his tone brooking no argument, "return to your dorm."


    Illyana stood there, frustration and impatience brewing within her like a gathering storm. She wanted answers, and needed to know what dire situation had prompted the professor''s reaction. But Xavier dismissed her presence, his wrinkled brow and grave tone conveying that his thoughts were already far away and ahead, focused on whatever unseen crisis demanded his attention.


    With visible effort, Illyana bit back the torrent of questions poised on her tongue. Whatever was happening, clearly the professor wasn''t going to speak on it further. Not now. She could see the tension in his eyes. This was serious. Lives could be at stake.


    Clenching her fists, Illyana pivoted sharply and strode from Xavier''s office. The door slammed behind her with a resounding thud that echoed down the empty hallway.


    As she marched back to her dorm, irritation simmered within her. Whatever was going on didn''t involve her. Wasn''t her problem. She didn''t care what happened to those other students... Tyson with his smug grin that set her teeth on edge, Jean and her insufferable perfection, Jubilee always bouncing around like an over-eager puppy. At least that''s what Illyana told herself. But try as she might, she couldn''t ignore the cold tendril of dread snaking up her spine. Couldn''t forget the look of grim concern that had clouded Xavier''s face. Something was very wrong.


    Brushing off her thoughts, Illyana buried any of her feelings on the situation underneath layers of outward indifference.


    Professor Xavier gathered his team of X-Men. Tyson''s absence was alarming enough. But finding that Jean and Jubilee were also missing made the situation far more urgent.


    "Tyson is missing," Xavier stated, his tone heavy with worry. "Illyana couldn''t find him at dinner, and the other students are not responding to my telepathic calls."


    Cyclops adjusted his visor, his jaw set. "Any idea where he might''ve gone?"


    "I''m not certain. But we need to find them and ensure they''re safe," Xavier replied. The creases on his forehead deepened as he focused his telepathic abilities.


    Colossus clenched his metallic fists, the resounding thud echoing through the room. "We will bring them home," he rumbled.


    Logan didn''t need any convincing. He''d come of his own volition. He felt a strong connection to the boy after Tyson had revealed so much of his hidden past to him. "Let''s move."


    As they prepared to depart, Xavier picked up on something through his telepathy. A news broadcast had drawn the attention of several students. He quickly switched it on.


    Glimpses of flying debris, a train, and figures battling in the sky as a headline flashed across the bottom of the screen.


    ''Unknown Mutants Wreak Havoc in the Bronx!''


    "That''s where he is. Damn, kid''s always fighting," Logan grumbled.


    Without wasting another second, the X-Men sprinted toward the Blackbird.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The Blackbird hovered momentarily before landing with a gentle thud atop the devastated rooftop. As the X-Men disembarked, the full extent of the destruction came into view. The entire block resembled a warzone, littered with rubble and twisted metal. Massive chunks of asphalt had been ripped from the street below, evidence of a titanic battle. At the epicenter lay a sight that froze the heroes in their tracks.


    The limp body of Magneto, his leg twisted at an awkward angle. His cape was splayed beneath him, his eyes closed in unconsciousness.


    Just a few feet away, a metal cocoon wound tight as a vise, with the unmoving form of a person inside.


    "Is that...?" Cyclops began, but Logan''s stony expression silenced the question on his lips.


    Ororo approached the cocoon, sorrow, and anger warring in her eyes. "It''s Tyson," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.


    Logan''s claws sprang forth with a snikt. "We need to get him out. Now."


    As Logan''s adamantium claws sliced through the metal bonds, he peeled back layer after layer, revealing a horrific sight. The inner coils weren''t just wrapped around Tyson, they had been cruelly embedded into his flesh. Thin spikes of metal pierced through his skin at multiple points, anchoring him in place, their sharp tips embedded in muscle and organs.


    Cyclops inhaled sharply, hesitation in his voice. "Logan, are you sure we should¡­"


    "We''ve got no choice!" Logan spat. "We need to get him out of this thing, whatever it takes."


    The sight was ghastly. Logan had to summon every ounce of fortitude to keep from recoiling in horror. Each agonizing pull on the cruel spikes was met with a sickening squelch as the metal tore through flesh and muscle. Dark blood pooled around them, turning the scene into something from a gruesome nightmare.


    Storm''s eyes brimmed with tears, her voice trembling, "Could he survive this?"


    Logan grunted jaw clenched with determination as he carefully gripped another spike, using his adamantium claws to delicately slice open a gap around its base. "If he heals like me, he''s got a chance," he rasped, though the doubt in his gravelly voice was evident. The boy''s injuries went far beyond anything they had ever witnessed.


    Colossus walked over to the edge of the rooftop and puked, unable to offer any meaningful assistance. Cyclops barked orders, "Storm, take Colossus and go check the train station for Jean and Jubilee. Search for any damaged train cars."


    Each wretched spike Logan removed was a reminder of the depths Magneto would sink to for his cause. "He''s just a kid," he muttered through clenched teeth, more to himself than anyone, as he continued his grim task.


    The final spike was the most harrowing, lodged precariously close to the boy''s heart. Logan inhaled slowly, centering his focus. With utmost care, he maneuvered his claws around the spike''s bloodied shaft, never taking his eyes off Tyson''s ashen face. Then, in one swift motion, he wrenched it free, holding his breath as he waited desperately for any faint sign of life from the broken form before him.

 Arc 1 - Ch 12: Aftermath

    Chapter 12


    Arc 1 - Ch 12: Aftermath


    Date: Sunday, June 6, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    Monitoring equipment beeped and hummed as Tyson lay motionless in the bed, surrounded by an array of machinery. IV lines snaked under the thin sheets, steadily administering fluids and medications. The steady beep of the EKG provided a faintly reassuring cadence, indicating his heart still beat, albeit weakly.


    Jubilee sat vigil by his bedside, her vivacious personality dampened by worry. She had shed her signature yellow jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. Her face was etched with concern, brown eyes fixed on Tyson''s unconscious form, willing him to wake. Absentmindedly, she twisted one of her hoop earrings between her fingers as she spoke softly.


    "Come on, Tyson," she pleaded, a quiver in her usually upbeat voice. "You''ve got to pull through this."


    She reached out and gently clasped his hand in both of hers. She''d added a pair of matching yellow gloves to her outfit for this very purpose, hoping that her touch might stir him.


    The room was filled with pensive silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic beeps of the monitors. Then, a faint flicker of movement. Tyson''s fingers twitched ever so slightly. His eyelids fluttered, and a soft groan escaped his lips. Jubilee''s breath caught in her throat as she watched his chest rise and fall more noticeably. Her breath caught in her throat as Tyson began to stir, the steady beeping of the monitors quickening ever so slightly. She leaned forward, hope and apprehension warring within her.


    "Tyson?" she whispered, giving his hand another gentle squeeze.


    His head turned toward her, recognition flickering in his amber eyes as they struggled to open. Tyson''s strong brow furrowed as he awoke, accompanied by a grimace.


    Jubilee smiled encouragingly despite the concern in her warm brown eyes. "Hey," she said, keeping her voice soft and soothing, "you gave us quite the scare, you know."


    Though relief washed over her at the signs of his awakening, she could see the lingering disorientation and pain etched into the hard lines of his face.


    Tyson''s amber eyes were glazed and unfocused. He blinked slowly, taking in the medical recovery room. Recognition dawned on him as his gaze settled on Jubilee, who sat vigilantly by his bedside. Her eyes, usually so full of mischief, were now shimmering with relief, the tracks of tears visible on her cheeks.


    "Jubilee?" he croaked, his voice rough. Panic flared in his chest as memories of the battle came rushing back; being bound helpless in Magneto''s metallic grasp, the searing pain as the spikes pierced his flesh.


    "Damn... he got you too? I hoped I''d distracted him enough that you and Jean would be safe."


    Jubilee let out a laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief. She gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "No one got me, Tyson. We are safe. At the institute. You beat him."


    Her words slowly sank in through the haze of fatigue that clouded his mind. "Didn''t feel like I beat him," he muttered bitterly. In his memory, Magneto had seemed an unstoppable force.


    "It doesn''t always have to feel like a victory to be one," Jubilee said softly.


    "Yeah, guess you''re right," he admitted. Already he could feel some of his confidence returning.


    Her eyes regained their familiar sparkle. "Always am," she quipped with a playful wink.


    Despite the lingering aches in his body, Tyson huffed out a quiet laugh. Trust Jubilee to be able to lift his spirits. He tried to piece together the fragmented memories of the past few hours. Shifting in the infirmary bed, the crisp white sheets rustling, he turned his attention back to Jubilee.


    "So," he said, trying to inject some humor into his voice, "what did I miss while I was out cold?"


    "Oh, you know, just the usual around here. Epic superpower showdowns, dramatic rescues, primetime news drama. For us, it was a pretty typical weekend." Her tone then shifted, becoming more somber. "When you didn''t show up for dinner, Illyana got worried. She went straight to the Professor, saying you two had some kind of telepathic link?"


    "We don''t have a link, not that I know of. I thought I had a decent resistance to telepathy, and Illyana''s no telepath..." He trailed off, making a mental note to ask Illyana about it later.


    Jubilee continued, "Well, your big fight with Magneto made the evening news! But they''ve got it all wrong. They think you''re some demonic villain, especially after witnesses reported you attacking that blue shapeshifter lady. By the time the X-Men arrived on the scene, you and Magneto were both out cold."


    Tyson''s eyes widened as realization set in. "Wait, so everyone saw me like... that?" His mind raced, imagining what chaos his demonic form must have caused.


    "Yeah. People are freaking out, claiming it''s a sign of the end times or something. Magneto''s in jail, but there are already activists rallying to free him." She swallowed hard, raw emotion in her eyes. "You told me to keep Jean safe, so I carried her off the train at the next stop. Professor Ororo found us waiting at the next station."


    "Good thinking," Tyson said, relief evident in his voice.


    Jubilee let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "At first, when I saw the Professor, I thought she was that shapeshifter again. I was ready to fight her off to protect Jean, especially after everything that went down. But then I saw Colossus was with her, and figured if he trusted her, I should too."


    Tyson chuckled, picturing the scene. "Sounds like you had quite the evening too."


    Jubilee fidgeted with the silver bracelet on her wrist, the metal links clinking together as she anxiously rubbed her fingers over them. She bit her lower lip, gathering her courage before the words spilled out in a hushed whisper. "I''m sorry."


    "Sorry? For what?"


    She exhaled a shuddering breath, struggling to articulate the guilt that had been gnawing at her. "For not helping. When Magneto attacked... and Mystique..." Jubilee''s voice caught in her throat. "I just froze. I was useless. I didn''t do anything."


    "Do you know what happened after I jumped out of that train car?" he asked gently.


    Jubilee shook her head, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "Not really. The Professor only told us it was bad."


    "Magneto did unspeakable things," Tyson began, his voice quivering slightly at the memory. "He used metal to bind me, coils that wrapped around and pierced into my body. It was like being caged in a medieval torture device." He paused, inhaling a shaky breath as he relived the torment. "Honestly Jubilee, I don''t know how I survived it. And I never, ever want to see you, or any of my friends, endure anything close to what I went through."


    Horror dawned in Jubilee''s eyes as she imagined the unthinkable agony Tyson had suffered. "But I could have helped!" she cried. "If I hadn''t been so useless, so weak, I could have-"


    "No," Tyson interrupted, his tone firm but kind. "When you''re outmatched like that, if you see a chance to get away, you take it. Promise me."


    "But Tyson, I-"


    "Promise me, Jubilee," he insisted.


    She nodded reluctantly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Okay, I promise."


    Tyson''s expression softened. He reached out and took her small hand in his, engulfing it in a gentle grip. "Good. Remember, there is bravery in knowing when to fight and when to run. You did the right thing. And look at us now, safe and sound."


    Jubilee stared down at their intertwined hands, contemplating his words.


    "I know you''re strong, Jubilee," Tyson continued gently. "But until you have the proper training and backup, it changes things." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Someday you''ll be ready. But until then..."


    She yearned for the day when she could prove herself and show that she was more than just a young mutant still learning to control her powers. "Until I''m ready, I''ll be careful," she promised.


    Tyson''s lips curved into a smile, relief relaxing the tension in his features. "That''s all I need to hear."


    After Jubilee left, Tyson stood slowly, testing his legs. The lingering aches and pains had faded, it seemed his healing factor had repaired the damage from the battle. He began peeling off the flimsy hospital gown, revealing his muscular, sculpted physique underneath.


    Just then, the door swung open and Illyana strode in. Her blue eyes widened slightly, taking in the scene of Tyson''s naked form standing in the middle of the room. A hint of amusement flickered in her gaze.


    "Well," she drawled in her thick Russian accent, "you are certainly in better shape than the rumors suggested."


    Tyson didn''t rush to cover himself, unashamed of his body. After their last tense encounter, he wasn''t sure where he stood with the feisty blonde. Her unexpected arrival had caught him off guard.


    "A little warning would have been nice, Illyana," he stated evenly, grabbing his clothes.


    As Tyson finished fastening his pants, Illyana''s expression softened. "I just came to see how you were doing," she admitted, a touch of vulnerability in her usually brash tone.


    Now fully dressed, Tyson allowed a wry smirk. "Well, from the looks of it, you got to see everything," he joked, hoping to break the lingering tension.


    Illyana''s lips held the faintest hint of a real smile. She was relieved at his easy humor; it seemed that it was his attempt at creating some camaraderie between them, shattering any awkwardness from his nudity and their last contentious confrontation.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Illyana sauntered forward, the sway of her hips deliberately alluring as she closed the distance between them. Leaning in, she placed her hands on her hips, the posture accentuating her figure. He towered over her and her position drew Tyson''s gaze to her ample cleavage. The low-cut neckline of her blouse revealed smooth, alabaster skin that disappeared tantalizingly into the hints of a lace bra. Tyson''s eyes lingered for a moment too long, unable to resist the tempting view.


    Catching his admiring glance, Illyana asked, "Like what you see?" her lips curled into a coy smile that was playful and challenging. "Not so modest are you mister, peeking down my shirt during class."


    "Well, that''s hardly a fair trade. A little peek doesn''t compare to you catching me in nothing but my birthday suit."


    Illyana quirked one golden brow, intrigued. "Oh? And what would you consider an even exchange?" she asked, leaning in closer. Tyson could detect notes of jasmine and brimstone in her scent.


    Adopting a mock thinking pose, Tyson looked upward as he tapped his chin in faux contemplation. "Hmm, let me think. Maybe if, next time we''re in Limbo, I happen to catch with say¡­ just your sword¡­ then I''d say we''re square."


    To Tyson''s surprise, she gave a slow nod in agreement. "Alright, deal," she agreed.


    Blinking, Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, not having expected her to accept.


    Illyana''s grin turned wicked, dangerous, and alluring all at once. Leaning in until he could feel her breath, she purred, "On one condition."


    Tyson met her gaze unflinchingly, excitement thrumming through him at her proximity. "What''s that," he challenged.


    "Next time we''re in Limbo, you help me clear out the demons," she proposed. "Do that, and you''ll get a show."


    Tyson allowed his fangs to extend, a wicked smile spreading across his face. His pupils narrowed into predatory slits, eliciting a moment''s hesitation from Illyana as she sensed the primal danger he radiated. He could smell her fear, and it was intoxicating.


    "Deal."


    But Tyson reined in his savage instincts, retracting his fangs as his eyes returned to normal.


    Seeking to lighten the tension after his shift, he declared dramatically, "A quest! To save the princess of Limbo and slay the demons haunting her. The prize? The hand of the princess herself."


    Illyana arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hand? I think not. No touching allowed... that would be too dangerous with you." She winked, referencing his life-draining touch.


    Tyson chuckled. As Illyana turned to leave, Tyson called out, "Hey, I''ve been hearing things about some kind of connection between us. But honestly, I''ve never sensed anything like that."


    Illyana paused, and for a moment her challenging gaze dimmed, replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost wistful.


    "Limbo is a part of me. There''s this lingering resonance of the dimension that never fully leaves me." Her eyes grew distant, as though peering into a hidden realm only she could see. "For some reason, when we returned from our battle with Azazel, I sensed traces of Limbo clinging to you. From the moment we stepped onto that basketball court, it was there." She refocused on Tyson, her tone contemplative. "I don''t know if it''s because of the time you spent in Limbo, our fight with Azazel, or something else entirely. But during dinner, that connection faded. I couldn''t sense you anymore, and I knew you had gone. That''s why I told the Professor."


    Tyson''s brows furrowed as he processed this unexpected bond between them. "Thank you for telling him, Illyana," he said earnestly. "If you hadn''t noticed, I might not be alive right now."


    For a fleeting moment, Illyana''s steely facade softened. "You''re welcome," she responded, her voice warmer than usual. As she turned to leave, Tyson caught a hint of satisfaction in her eyes and a subtle swing in her hips.


    Illyana smiled privately to herself as she walked away.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Huddled together on Jean''s bed, Jubilee and Jean''s faces reflected a mixture of awe and unease as they watched the shaky video footage. It depicted the epic battle between Tyson, disguised in demonic form, as he dueled with Magneto. Though the video quality was grainy, it clearly displayed Tyson suspended mid-air, radiating power.


    "That''s... that''s gotta be my ability he''s using," Jean whispered. Her fingers drifted to the screen as if she could reach through and grasp the raw energy on display. "But how? He seems so much stronger than I''ve ever been."


    Jubilee leaned in, squinting at the pixelated images. Her yellow jacket was draped haphazardly over the back of the desk chair, forgotten in their absorption. "Maybe he touched Magneto at some point and borrowed his abilities? Coulda happened off camera."


    Jean slowly shook her head, red hair spilling over her shoulders. "Even if he did, look at how he''s flying. And it''s more than just controlling metal. He seems to be manipulating everything around him." She furrowed her brow. "I can''t fly, or exert that level of power and he''s doing both at the same time."


    Jubilee chewed her bottom lip as she studied the incredible display of Tyson''s abilities. ¡°Uh Jean, I heard about you kinda floating the other day on the basketball court during gym class.¡± She said. Still, seeing Tyson command such raw force left her awestruck. "So what does this mean? Is he getting way stronger or something?"


    Jean took a deep breath, closing the laptop. She met Jubilee''s concerned gaze. "I don''t know."


    Jubilee responded, "Maybe there''s still a lot about your powers we still don''t understand."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Magneto''s cell was sterile, every surface molded from thick panels of transparent plastic. Devoid of even a scrap of metal, the room was designed to isolate his abilities, rendering the master of magnetism helpless. The minimalist furnishings; a cot, table, and chair were all made of hard plastic polymers.


    Yet Magneto carried himself with unbowed dignity, his posture erect and authoritative. His hair was neatly groomed, and his eyes stared defiantly at the walls of his enclosure. But even his stoic demeanor could not completely mask the occasional winces at the pain that lanced through his leg. A heavy plastic cast encased his femur, purple bruising visible beneath its transparent shell, a lingering reminder of his ferocious battle with the mutant Tyson. The youth''s raw power and potential lurked in Magneto''s thoughts. Tyson had proven a worthy adversary, giving Magneto a challenge he had not experienced in some time.


    Leaning back, Magneto brooded, ignoring the throbbing of his leg. His injuries would heal. What concerned him more was the world outside this cell. Their fight had been too public. Tyson''s abilities would stir things, change them, and open new possibilities. For Magneto, this meant opportunity.


    Outside, the guards monitored their prisoner through security feeds. The plastic prison was proof of the fear Magneto provoked, despite his current helplessness. Now, to the guards, he was just an old man in a cast, lost in contemplation.


    With a gentle hum, a bridge extended from the wall, allowing Professor Charles Xavier access to the cell, rolling in a plastic wheelchair. Once inside, the two locked eyes, their shared history rippling between them.


    "Erik," Xavier greeted solemnly.


    "Charles," Magneto replied, his tone tinged with irony, "I wasn''t expecting company. To what do I owe the pleasure?"


    Xavier exhaled heavily, "I came to speak with you about your methods, old friend. The violence, the anger... it isn''t the solution."


    Magneto chuckled mirthlessly, "Ever the idealist, Charles. But the world is not as black-and-white as you perceive it."


    "It''s because there is so much gray that we must lead with compassion," Xavier countered, "Understanding and communication can achieve what force cannot."


    Magneto shifted, leaning forward slightly and wincing as pain flared in his injured leg. The movement pulled at the still-healing bone, again reminding him of his recent defeat at the hands of the very boy at the heart of their discussion.


    "Do you remember when we found Jean?" he asked, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "The raw, untamed power within her? It was...magnificent. But you took that and dimmed it, smothered it behind your walls and teachings. You made her less than she was meant to be."


    "I helped her control it, Erik. So she wouldn''t hurt herself or others."


    Magneto waved this off impatiently. "Control. Always control with you. That boy, Tyson, possessed the same power, but unfettered by your restraints. And what happened when he unleashed it? The world trembled beneath that power. But you..." His voice took on a mocking lilt. "What will you do? Shackle it? Diminish it as you did with Jean?"


    Xavier met his old friend''s zealous gaze steadily, his voice calm but resolute. "What happened was hundreds of innocents suffered. You caused millions of dollars in damage and turned the Bronx into a war zone. You''re fortunate Tyson maintained his guise as Azazel. His deception painted you as a hero to the public, instead of someone trying to abduct a minor. And you''re even luckier he didn''t kill you." Xavier paused, inhaling slowly to maintain his composure.


    "I will guide him, teach him to understand himself, and his place in this world."


    "And if the boy does not fit neatly into your little boxes, Charles?" He gestured sardonically to the plastic prison surrounding them. "Will you try to cage him too?"


    "He deserves a chance, Erik. Just as you did. Just as we all did." Xavier''s voice rang with quiet conviction.


    Magneto''s expression hardened, all traces of mockery gone. "The world has changed, old friend. Power is the only language it understands. And the boy Tyson... he speaks it fluently."


    Xavier met his old friend''s steely gaze unflinchingly. "Then I will teach him to use that voice for good."


    Magneto barked a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Our definitions of ''good'' have always differed, Charles. But by all means, try. It will be...entertaining to watch."


    Xavier sighed heavily, realizing this visit likely would not bear the fruitful reconciliation he had hoped for. "Remember the man you were, Erik. Before the world tried to make you believe you had to become someone else."


    Magneto held Xavier''s earnest gaze for a long moment before looking away. "Some memories are best left buried in the past."


    As Xavier silently rolled his chair down the corridor, he couldn''t help but wonder if some small part of the old Erik, the friend he once knew, still lingered deep within, buried beneath the layers of pain and cynicism life had forged.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The grand trophy room was shrouded in somber stillness, the air heavy with the musty scent of aged wood and worn leather. Along the walls hung the severed heads of predators that stared down with glassy, lifeless eyes, lions, tigers, and other beasts frozen in timeless scenes of savage moments.


    At the room''s center sat a rugged man atop a luxurious leather chair, its deep mahogany hue contrasting his tanned skin and the white lion fur draping his broad shoulders. With one hand clutching a vodka bottle and the other a glass, his muscular arms rested on the armchair like a king overseeing his kingdom. Deep wrinkles carved from years of intense expeditions crisscrossed his weathered face. Dark hair, streaked with gray, was slicked back from his high forehead, framing intense eyes that once burned bright with the thrill of the hunt but now stared, empty and disillusioned.


    With each sip, not for pleasure but for escape, his restlessness grew. The world''s deadliest beasts had all fallen before him, leaving a haunting void. Tilting the bottle, he refilled his glass and lamented, "Is there nothing left that can challenge me?"


    Seeking anything to spark interest, he turned to his computer and browsed the news. One headline caught his eye.


    ''Mutant Battles Demon in the Bronx.''


    Out of curiosity, he clicked the article from New York City. A shaky video loaded, showing chaotic scenes of a mutant locked in heated combat with a red-skinned figure, its arrow-tipped tail lashing through the air.


    He scoffed, muttering, "A hoax. Tricks of lighting and camera."


    Yet as he scrolled, more videos appeared, each from different angles, all depicting the same.


    The demon was real.


    The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and a striking woman strode into the room. She was tall and slender, with smooth cocoa skin. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and piercing, framed by long lashes. The woman wore a figure-hugging forest green dress, slit provocatively up one thigh to reveal a toned leg decorated with swirling tribal tattoos. Her mass of raven curls cascaded down her back, with a few loose tendrils framing her sharp, elegant facial features.


    An intricate gold necklace adorned her neck, its blood-red gemstone pendant pulsing with an inner fire. Golden bangles chimed softly on her wrists and ankles as she moved with predatory grace. Her full lips were painted a deep crimson. Everything about the mysterious woman whispered of faraway lands, ancient rituals, and supernatural allure.


    The woman''s lilting voice interrupted the man''s thoughts as she draped herself lazily over his shoulder.


    "What has you so intrigued, my love?" she purred.


    He gestured wordlessly at the computer screen, where shaky footage showed a horned, red-skinned figure battling wildly above the streets of New York. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with newfound interest.


    "A demon. In New York City."


    The woman leaned closer, studying the blurry images. A genuine smile crossed her face for the first time in months. If chasing this supposed demon was what it took to reignite his passion, she welcomed it.


    "Perhaps this is the challenge you''ve been seeking," she mused, trailing long nails lightly across his shoulders.


    A familiar spark flared in his eyes as a wolfish grin spread across his face.


    "If this demon is real, I will be the one to hunt it," he declared.


    The woman''s smile widened, pleased that the man she loved had rediscovered his thirst for the hunt. Together, they would uncover the truth behind this supposed demon and finally end his restless boredom.

 Arc 1 - Ch 1x: What If?

    Chapter -1X: What If?


    In the vast realm of the cosmos, a tapestry of stars, swirling galaxies, and ethereal nebulae interwove, creating an endless expanse of celestial beauty. Amidst this great vastness, a curious sight caught one''s attention: a radiant portal, tiny yet ever-expanding. This portal, shimmering with iridescence, offered glimpses into a myriad of realities and timelines, a mosaic of worlds within its depths.


    Emerging from this kaleidoscope of possibilities was The Watcher himself. His skin was a muted shade of blue and his large head was disproportionate to his body. As his eyes darted from one portal to another, one could almost perceive the weight of endless eons and infinite stories they held within. He was the embodiment of silent observation, an ageless guardian of the multiverse.


    "I am The Watcher," he intoned with an air of detached wisdom. "From universe to universe, I''ve observed. Seen the crescendos and abysses of each, the heroes, the foes. Yet, I remain, forever, a bystander. To watch, to understand, that is my eternal vow."


    "Time. Space. Reality. These aren''t merely stages of a linear journey. Rather, envision them as an intricate prism, branching endlessly into threads of what once was, what might have been, and what is yet to unfold."


    As one gazed deeper into the portal, memories from the world unveiled themselves. But not as one might remember them. There was Professor Xavier in his iconic wheelchair, Wolverine with his fierce metallic claws, and Jean Grey exhibiting her formidable telepathic might. But peculiar twists interrupted the familiar.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Jean Grey sat confined to the wheelchair, while Professor Xavier emanated an energy, a flaming aura reminiscent of the powers of creation and destruction...


    Wolverine, leading not as an X-Man, but as the head of the Brotherhood of Mutants in Magneto''s place¡­


    The Watcher continued, "Each choice made, every path either embraced or shunned, gives birth to a new reality. A universe teeming with its own potential, repercussions, and tales."


    The narrative accelerated as the portal displayed its alternate realities with increasing urgency. There was Magneto, but not as the leader of the Brotherhood; he instead stood as a shield, safeguarding humanity...


    Storm''s commanding presence arose, a hammer in her hand channeling the powers of a god¡­


    As the portals surrounding The Watcher continued their dance of realities, he posed a question to the unseen observer, a challenge to one''s very understanding of existence, "Why reveal these alternate tales? What purpose does it hold? It is a quest, dear reader, to expand the realms of your understanding, to challenge the confines of your beliefs, and to always ponder on one perpetual query: ''What If?''"


    In the ever-shifting landscape of the cosmos, while other portals shimmered and danced, a new one emerged distinct and demanding attention. This portal pulsed with an unfamiliar energy, intriguing The Watcher.


    He moved towards it, his flowing robes trailing behind him. As he neared, the portal offered glimpses of yet another set of possibilities. Each flash within it was a tantalizing taste of a story yet to be explored. Among the familiar faces of mutants, a new one stood out. This face had rugged features, a sharp jawline, and intense, almost fiery eyes. He learned this was Tyson, a variant of the mutant, Rogue.


    The Watcher, intrigued by the new portal, murmured to himself, "A play of fate, an alternate strand in the grand tapestry. What stories you must hold."


    Diving deeper into this portal''s visions, The Watcher focused on this particular reality¡­

 Arc 2 - Ch 1: Slice of Life

    Date: Monday, June 7, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY.


    Tyson stared blankly at the tray before him. The cafeteria of the Xavier Institute was calm, most students had yet to stir from their sleep. The early morning light streamed in from the large windows, illuminating the wooden tables and the few people seated at them.


    "What are you thinking about?" Jean asked softly, breaking the silence.


    Tyson looked up. "Just the week I''ve had.¡± He smirked. "You could say that. It''s been... eventful."


    Jean¡¯s red hair cascaded down her back as she leaned in, her fiery green eyes narrowing with genuine interest and curiosity. "Tyson, you''re a bit of an enigma here. I can''t peer into your thoughts. While I enjoy the quiet you bring, I¡¯m curious about what¡¯s going on in your head."


    Tyson hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as he recollected. "On Wednesday, I woke up in the back of a truck, somewhere up in the cold wilderness of Canada." He paused, drawing a deep breath. "Didn¡¯t even know I had powers till I touched someone. I absorbed their life force. Ended up in a cage fight with Logan and realized I could absorb his ability as well."


    Jean gently said, "You''re not the only one here who''s felt lost or out of place. Not having complete memories or control over our powers... it''s something many of us have struggled with."


    Tyson''s eyes, usually bright and curious, were shadowed as he shared his tale. His voice was barely above a whisper, but every word echoed with gravity. "The day after the cage fight... Sabertooth came for me." His eyes momentarily darkened. "I ended up... taking his life. Now, every memory, every dark impulse of his, it''s all lodged in my mind. Sometimes, it feels like I''m losing myself in his past."


    Jean''s green eyes focused on him intently, her brow furrowed with concern. In that comforting, measured tone she often had, she said, "You did what you had to for survival. Sabertooth was dangerous."


    Tyson shook his head, "No, Jean. He didn¡¯t want to kill me. They wanted to capture me, for some reason. But when I touched him, I couldn''t separate myself from his instincts. I went too far."


    Jean hesitated for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "We all have moments where our powers take control and we act out of fear or instinct. It doesn''t define who we are. It''s what we learn from it and how we move forward that matters."


    Tyson looked at her, his gaze searching for reassurance. "But I still can''t control. And Professor X doesn¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever be able to. What if he¡¯s right?"


    With a gentle firmness, Jean replied, "You''re here at the Xavier Institute for a reason. We''ll help you. We learn and grow together."


    Tyson''s expression was weary, "On Friday, just as I thought the week couldn''t get any crazier, I got banished to Limbo during a basketball game." He paused, letting out a breath, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of the chaotic events. "Illyana found me as I was battling a demon. The whole realm was invaded. We found the source, the devil, Azazel. Together, we managed to force him to retreat."


    Jean''s face darkened momentarily, memories of that day coming back to her. When she realized Illyana had taken Tyson to Limbo, her emotions spiraled, fearing for the safety of her friend. She''d momentarily lost control, an overwhelming surge of her power erupting. But, she pushed those memories aside and focused on Tyson. Meeting his eyes with her intense, yet compassionate gaze, Jean said, "You and Illyana drove Azazel off. That, to me, is a victory."


    Tyson grinned back, "True." he continued, "That was just the beginning. Saturday should have been simple. You were there. We were supposed to go see the NBA finals, get some signatures, and enjoy the game. But instead..." He swallowed hard, the weight of the memory evident in his eyes. "It was a setup. Magneto was waiting. Facing him... it felt like trying to withstand a force of nature. I genuinely believed it was the end for me."


    Jean''s gaze was steady, her eyes filled with understanding and empathy. She wanted to ask Tyson about the level of power he demonstrated while using her ability, but she didn¡¯t need empathy to see Tyson¡¯s inner turmoil. Instead, she paused before she responded calmly, "Tyson, every battle we face, every challenge thrown our way, it''s an opportunity to grow. Remember, Magneto might be formidable, but the fact that you held your ground against him speaks volumes. It wasn''t the end. You''re still here, with me, sharing your story."


    Tyson met Jean''s eyes, finding solace in their depths. "It''s hard to see past what happened."


    With a soft, reassuring smile, Jean replied, "That''s why we''re here for each other. To remind one another of the hope and strength we possess, even when we can''t see it ourselves."


    The hum of the Xavier Institute slowly came to life around them. After his time of introspection passed, Tyson smiled and said, "All in all, I''d say my record for the week is 2-1-1. Not a bad start, eh?" He smiled weakly, "2 wins, Sabertooth and Azazel. 1 loss to Wolverine. And a draw against Magneto. Quite the week, huh?"


    Jean smiled back, her eyes twinkling. "3 wins if you count the blue woman¡­ Just another week at the Xavier Institute."


    Tyson looked around the cafeteria. More students were arriving, and the ambiance was filled with conversations, laughing, or studying. Jubilee joined them, taking a seat with her breakfast tray.


    Tyson muttered to himself but loud enough for Jubilee, who sat across from him, to hear, "This week''s gotta be better, right?"


    Jubilee, with her signature yellow jacket, looked up from her food and raised an eyebrow. "That¡¯s the kiss of death, Tyson," she remarked, half-jokingly. "You know you can¡¯t say stuff like that! The karma gods are watching."


    Tyson chuckled, despite himself. "Come on, Jubes. After everything that''s happened, things have to start looking up."


    Jubilee smirked, twirling a spark of fireworks around her fingers, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Every time I''ve said something like that, something bizarre happens."


    Jean spoke up, "Do you remember today''s schedule?" She brushed a strand of her red hair behind her ear. "We''re starting with Physics, so make sure you''ve got your notes. P.E. is right after. And, Tyson?" She looked at him pointedly, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Try to keep both feet in our dimension this time."


    Jubilee snorted, "Yeah, avoid any interdimensional portals on the court, okay?"


    Jean, holding back a laugh, continued, "And don¡¯t forget, we have Psychic class today. I expect you to be there this time. Last time class was canceled because of the Limbo incident."


    Tyson cleared his throat, "Understood, Mom, I mean, ma¡¯am."


    For Tyson, Physics was a lost cause. The board was filled with Professor X''s neat handwriting detailing formulas and principles. He tried to concentrate, but the words seemed like an indecipherable puzzle. Seeing his struggle, Jean, seated next to him, whispered, "Don''t worry. We all have off days."


    "Days¡­¡± He snorted humorlessly.


    When the bell signaled the end of Physics, Tyson was the first out the door, ready for P.E. Scott, with his signature red glasses, was already setting up for basketball.


    "All right, split up into teams! Illyana, and Tyson, same team today. Let¡¯s keep it civil please." Scott commanded his voice firm but fair.


    Illyana caught Tyson''s eye and motioned for him to join her side. The game played out without incident, and the students dispersed, ready for their next class. Tyson''s anticipation grew as he approached the room for Psychic class.


    At the front sat Professor X, a gentle smile on his face. "Welcome, students. Hello, Tyson, this is where we learn to explore and master our innermost abilities."


    As the students settled down, Tyson felt the weight of the challenge ahead. He anticipated Psychic class would be difficult because he didn¡¯t have any psychic abilities.


    As the students settled down on their mats, Professor X wheeled himself to the center of the room. "Today," he began, "we will journey into the depths of our subconscious through meditation."


    Jean, whispered to Tyson, "Are you ready for this?"


    Tyson shrugged, "Not expecting much."


    With a nod, Professor X began. "Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. In... and out..."


    As they all complied, the atmosphere changed. It felt like a warm, protective cocoon enveloped them. That was Professor X''s doing, of course, using his powers to heighten their meditative experience.


    "Imagine a door," Professor X continued, "It¡¯s the door to your innermost mind. Walk towards it and open it."


    One by one, the students found themselves stepping into personalized rooms within their minds. For Tyson, it was a vast, white room, a blank canvas of sorts. He looked down at himself. He was back to his average build, the way he remembered himself before all the transformations and battles. It was how he looked when he woke up in the back of that truck. But minus the painful signs of malnourishment. But the room wasn''t empty. Two figures stood in front of him. One, a menacing presence.


    Sabertooth. His feral eyes were locked onto Tyson.


    The other was unexpected. A figure with haunted, hazel eyes. She wore long gloves that extended to her elbows as a guard against the dangerous gift she bore. She exuded an aura of vulnerability; surrounded by a tangible air of tragedy and heartbreak.


    Ann Marie. Rogue.


    Sabertooth growled, "You thought you could defeat me?"


    Rogue wore her melancholy, her voice was heavy as she made a simple declaration, ¡°We killed him.¡±


    Tyson asked skeptically, "What do you both want?"


    Sabertooth smirked, his fangs crept over his lips, "To remind you of your weakness. All your strength comes from me. Without me, you¡¯re nothing."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Rogue stepped back, placing more physical distance between herself and the others in the room. She began speaking but suddenly the room echoed, almost like a knock on his subconscious. The stark whiteness morphed into a swirling vortex of memories, fears, hopes, and dreams.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Back in the classroom, it was the end of the period. At Xavier¡¯s announcement, students began to stir from their meditations. Yet, Tyson remained unmoving. As he sensed the whirlwind of emotions within Tyson''s psyche, he paused. Charles Xavier approached the metaphorical door that stood as a barrier to Tyson''s deepest subconscious.


    Professor X gently whispered, "It''s time to return, Tyson. Remember, your mind is a realm where you have the power." He gave the psychic equivalent of a knock at the door.


    Charles waited. Moments turned to minutes, and finally, he sensed Tyson''s consciousness receding. He flew through the door like he was being sucked through a drain; pulling away from this inner sanctum and not even noticing Xavier as he moved toward the waking world.


    Professor X looked in and saw the others inside his subconscious. Sabertooth looking menacing, and a girl looking meek. Their visages were as solid as Tyson¡¯s himself. But in Xavier¡¯s experience, that should be impossible. Phantom recreations of objects and memories were commonly present in the subconscious.


    Not completely realized personalities.


    And certainly not ones just as vivid as the original. Even in the cases of schizophrenia or ¡®multiple personality disorder¡¯, Xavier hadn¡¯t seen anything like this before.


    So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and gently closed the door. Then, from his pocket, he produced an ethereal key. Inserting it into the door''s handle, he turned it with a soft, almost inaudible click.


    He locked the door.


    At least for now, Tyson¡¯s subconscious would be beyond his reach. He did this not to imprison Tyson''s psyche, but to give the young man time, to offer a respite. Charles hoped that, in due course, Tyson would find the strength to face and tame his inner voices. But until that time, this door would remain a bulwark against those¡­ things inside.


    In the real world, Tyson''s eyes snapped open, frustration clouded his features as he found himself back in the classroom. He abruptly stood, drawing the attention of his classmates.


    Blue eyes looked at him with concern. Jean reached out gently. "Tyson?"


    "I need more time," he burst out with desperation. "I barely got to find anything out. Just when things were becoming clearer, I was forced to come back."


    Professor X''s calm voice broke through, "Tyson, please sit."


    With a heavy sigh, Tyson complied.


    "Understanding oneself is not a race," the Professor said gently. "It''s a continuous journey, one that often doesn''t have a clear destination."


    Tyson''s gaze was downcast. "I felt so close to answers, to some understanding."


    Jean, her voice soft, added, "We all feel that way sometimes, Tyson. It''s part of this journey we''re on."


    Professor X wheeled himself closer, meeting Tyson''s gaze directly. "Your mind is vast and multi-faceted. The path of control, of self-discovery, is not one you can complete in a single class or session. It''s about patience, persistence, and embracing every step, no matter how small."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    On Wednesday, amidst the usual midday chatter of the cafeteria, there was a distinct shift in the atmosphere at Tyson¡¯s table. This had happened only once before, and Tyson suspected a similar cause. He looked up and as expected, Illyana approached. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down in loose waves, shimmering with every confident step she took. A silver choker necklace rested on her collarbone, and her black leather jacket draped effortlessly over her shoulders.


    Jean and Jubilee stopped mid-conversation. Both their eyes widened, their words tapering off.


    "Hey," Illyana greeted her focus locked onto Tyson.


    "Hello, Illyana," Tyson replied, slightly curious.


    Jean and Jubilee exchanged glances, uncertain of what to expect next.


    "Are you free this evening?" Illyana inquired, her tone casual but with an underlying hint of anticipation.


    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened with surprise. "Wait, are you asking him on a date?" she asked incredulously.


    A flash of annoyance crossed Illyana¡¯s face, but it was quickly replaced as a playful smirk tugged at her lips. "Maybe I am," she replied coyly, her gaze never leaving Tyson''s.


    Tyson hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of everyone¡¯s eyes on him. "Yeah, I''m free," he finally responded, trying to sound nonchalant.


    Illyana''s lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Great. I''ll come by your room at 8 then," she stated. With a final, lingering look at Tyson, she turned and sauntered away, leaving the trio in a state of stunned silence.


    Jubilee blurted out, "I can''t believe that just happened!" Her eyes darted from Jean to Tyson, her disbelief evident. "And you''re just going along with it?"


    Tyson nodded, a little defensive, "Yeah, I am."


    "But why?" Jubilee pressed, her hands animatedly emphasizing her words. She knew Tyson was different after what he''d shared about his fight with Magneto, but this was unexpected.


    Tyson turned to his friend. "Weren''t you the one who said it wasn''t about the physical? I can''t touch Illyana, just like I can''t touch anyone else. What''s the harm in getting to know her? Maybe there''s more to her than we think."


    Jubilee bit her lip and retorted, "Don''t use my own words against me," She blurted out, "I didn''t mean with her¡­" Her eyes widened in realization at what she''d just said. She swiftly covered her mouth with her hand, mortified. "Uh, I mean, that''s not what I meant!"


    Tyson struggled to suppress a grin. "Are you jealous, Jubie?" he teased, emphasizing the pet name.


    Jubilee''s face turned an even deeper shade of red. The playful nickname from him threw her off balance. "I¡ªWhat? No! I''m not... I just¡ª" she stammered, flustered.


    Seeing her genuine embarrassment, Tyson softened his teasing tone. "Hey," he began gently, "Would it make you feel better if I came by to play games with you?"


    She looked up, meeting his eyes, and without much thought, blurted out, "Yes!"


    Tyson chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, and Jubilee buried her face in her hands, trying to hide her blush.


    Tyson followed Jean and Jubilee through the winding hallways of the Xavier Institute. They finally arrived at a door that swung open to reveal a spacious room that seemed to embody both girls'' personalities. Jean''s side was immaculately organized, with neatly stacked books, a minimalist desk, and delicate touches of decor like small potted plants and softly glowing fairy lights. In stark contrast, Jubilee''s side was a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors; posters of pop bands and action movies plastered the wall, a small explosion of clothes and accessories strewn about, and a comfy-looking beanbag chair positioned perfectly in front of a large TV screen.


    Shelves holding an array of video game consoles and stacks of games indicated that this was Jubilee''s gaming area. As Tyson took in the vivid details, the distinct aroma of vanilla filled his nostrils.


    "So," Tyson started, trying to sound casual as he examined the surroundings, "what do you want to play?"


    Jubilee, with a twinkle in her eye, handed him a game case. "Red Dead Redemption," she said with a grin. "It''s brand new, just came out last month. You up for giving it a try?"


    Tyson glanced at the game cover, nodding appreciatively. "Sounds like a plan," he replied, his curiosity piqued.


    Tyson tilted his head, smirking slightly as he held up the game controller, "So, how do you want to do this? Do you want to go first, or should I take the lead? It''s my first time, after all." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, having fun with the innuendo.


    Jubilee rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a half-smile, half-grimace. "You''re impossible," she muttered, trying to stifle her laughter. "You¡¯re such a dork. It''s single-player.¡±


    He winked, handing her the controller. "Kidding. Go ahead, Jubie. I''ll just sit back and enjoy the show. I like to watch." He lounged back on the beanbag, a mischievous grin on his face, ready for their gaming session to begin.


    Jubilee shot a sly look at Jean, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Jean likes to watch too, you know," she teased, her grin widening.


    Jean''s face flushed a shade of pink, and she playfully threw a cushion at Jubilee. "Jubie! Don''t drag me into your nonsense," she exclaimed, feigning exasperation but failing to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.


    Tyson chuckled, raising an eyebrow at Jean. "A voyeur?" he jokingly asked.


    Jean shook her head, laughing. "You two are impossible."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As the evening wore on, Tyson found himself completely engrossed in the world of Red Dead Redemption. Not just in the game, but in Jubilee''s animated narration and hilarious commentary as she maneuvered her character through the wild landscapes of the Old West. She had an uncanny knack for bringing the game to life as her hands deftly moved over the controller. Jean occasionally chimed in, and the room was filled with their shared laughter, groans of frustration, and shouts of triumph. For Tyson, it was an oasis of fun in a world that had shown him its darker sides all too often.


    However, as the clock''s hands inched past seven, Tyson became acutely aware of the time. "I should probably head out," he said, rising from the beanbag. "Need to get cleaned up before Illyana arrives."


    Jubilee paused the game and looked up at him, a hint of disappointment in her eyes. But she quickly masked it with a playful pout. "Ditching me for the witch, huh?" she teased, but her tone was light.


    Tyson gave her a soft smile, "Thanks for letting me hang, Jubie."


    She grinned, nudging him playfully. "Anytime. Just remember who you hung out with first.¡±


    Tyson stood in front of the mirror, squeezing a towel around his damp hair as it dried. He glanced down at his reflection; he was wearing the identical sweatpants and shirt he''d been given when he arrived at the institute. A soft sigh escaped his lips, realizing he needed to do some shopping soon, or at the very least, ask someone where he could get more suitable clothes.


    He glanced at the digital clock on his desk. 7:59. Just a minute to go.


    At 8:03, there was a gentle knock on his door. Tyson felt a brief jolt of anticipation, mixed with a tinge of nervousness. He idly wondered if she was a few minutes late on purpose, making him wait a few minutes as a power move or to make him feel more desperate. He was probably reading into it too much, but It was hard to tell with Illyana.


    Opening the door, he was met with the striking figure of Illyana Rasputin. Her long, straight blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders; her bangs hid her forehead creating her signature look. She wore a black leather jacket, zipped halfway to reveal a white top underneath. Dark jeans clung to her tall, lean frame, and a pair of combat boots completed her outfit. Her piercing blue eyes assessed him. Resting on her back within a scabbard was her Soulsword. The weapon''s eldritch glow was subdued but it was unmistakable even in its sheath. Despite her ''normal'' attire, that sword was a stark reminder of her otherworldly abilities.


    She raised an eyebrow as her gaze briefly swept over his sweats. "Ready to go?" she asked with a hint of amusement in her voice.


    "Seeing as you brought a sword," he started cautiously, "I''m assuming this isn''t an actual date? And a scabbard? I thought that thing just magically appeared."


    Illyana, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, stepped closer. Her fingers settled on his shoulder, gently pushing him a step backward into his room. The door closed with a soft click behind her. "I assumed you knew that based on how you''re dressed. But, it''s a date," she said, her Russian accent adding a layer of mystery to her tone. "It''s a date like none you''ve ever been on before."


    Before Tyson could fully process her words, the atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically. With a flourish of her hand, Illyana conjured a swirling portal in the very center of the room. Its edges were framed with shimmering blue and gold, like flames frozen in time. From the depths of the portal came the distant sound of growls and the distant clatter of chains. Shadows writhed, hinting at the nightmarish realm that lay beyond.


    "A date where we slay demons," Illyana proclaimed. The excitement in her eyes was palpable.


    He straightened his posture and looked Illyana in the eyes. His voice was playful yet carried a teasing undertone, "Don''t forget your promise."


    Illyana''s blue eyes sparkled with mischief and something more alluring. She glided toward him, her boots clicked softly against the floor. As she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers dancing lightly over the fabric of his shirt, careful not to touch his skin. Leaning in, Illyana''s face drew dangerously close to Tyson. Her eyes held his, intense and piercing. Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel the warm breath she exhaled, teasingly tickling his mouth. The space between them was charged with anticipation, the air thick with tension.


    With her voice barely above a whisper, sultry and dripping with seduction, Illyana murmured, "I didn¡¯t forget¡­ I have my sword. Just like you asked." She let the words linger for a moment, allowing Tyson''s mind to race.


    The promise in her tone was evident, and the seductive game she played was clear. Tyson was ready to embark on his quest. ¡°Fuck it. Let¡¯s kill some demons.¡±

 Arc 2 - Ch 2: Return to Limbo

    Date: Wednesday, June 9, 2010.


    Location: Limbo


    Date: Wednesday, June 9, 2010.


    Location: Limbo


    The ground was a mix of rocky outcrops and scorched earth. Lava-like rivers flowed, glowing bright and casting an additional, surreal light. The air seemed to ripple with energy, and in the distance, dark, looming cliffs jutted out against the horizon. Tyson''s heightened senses were on overdrive. The scents in the air were far more complex than the last time he''d been in Limbo. The acrid smell of sulfur tinged with the stench of countless demons reached his nostrils. His eyes narrowed as he looked down from the elevated ridge they stood on. Below, the landscape was swarming with writhing forms. Misshapen creatures with glaring eyes, sharp claws, and an aura of menace were copious.


    "What happened here?" Tyson''s voice was full of concern, even a touch of disbelief.


    Illyana sighed. Her eyes reflected the weight of her situation. "Time passes differently in Limbo," she began, her Russian accent even more pronounced as she continued, frustrated, "I have a small amount of control over it, but not enough. Since our fight with Azazel, every time I return, there are more demons. Now," she paused, taking in the overwhelming sight, "there are thousands."


    Tyson surveyed the seemingly endless horde of demons sprawling below them. The sheer scale of this task made him gulp. Even with his power, the idea of battling thousands of demons was, to put it mildly, daunting. He felt a pang of sympathy for Illyana. Her realm was being overrun. But then he turned to her, his eyes narrowing. "You tricked me!" he exclaimed incredulously while pointing at Illyana. "The deal was¡­ You¡¯d strip for me when the demons were all killed. But with this many? You knew it was an impossible task!"


    Tyson brought a hand to his face, groaning into his palm. He mumbled, ¡°It¡¯d be easier to just go to a strip club.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not old enough.¡± Illyana reminded while chuckling softly with a playful smirk on her lips. Adopting a mock innocent tone, she responded, "Aww, don''t think so poorly of me, Tyson. Help me out here, and I promise, I''ll make it worth your while."


    Then she reached up, slipped off her jacket, and unbuttoned her top. Tyson watched as Illyana began stripping. Her confident demeanor and playful teasing were disarming. She glanced at him with a cheeky grin. "What? Did you think I was going to ruin this outfit?"


    Tyson could only shake his head. ¡°You¡¯re going to do that, now? Here?¡± He gestured to the demons below. ¡°I¡¯d love a show, and I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but is this the time?¡±


    Illyana continued to shed her attire, ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Limbo is connected to me, this is my safe place. Even with all the demons around.¡±


    Tyson wasn¡¯t so sure, but the sight of her removing her clothes was enticing enough that he didn''t interrupt. Each article of clothing she removed revealed the intricate, delicate lace of her underwear beneath. The fabric clung to her curves sensuously, yet left just enough to the imagination. The ambient glow of Limbo made her skin gleam, and every motion she made seemed deliberate and seductive. Her confidence was palpable, and it was clear she was in her element, unfazed by her surroundings.


    Then, with a motion of her hand, a portal materialized. Through the shimmering oval, Tyson caught glimpses of Illyana''s room, which seemed a stark contrast to the hellish landscape of Limbo. She reached in and pulled out a set of athletic wear.


    Turning back to face Tyson, she took her time putting on the new attire. The tight clothing hugged her figure, accentuating her athletic build. Each movement she made while dressing felt like an intimate performance just for him. The fabric of her top stretched across her breasts, while her leggings emphasized the toned muscles of her legs. Every action, every pull of fabric was intentional, and Tyson couldn''t help but appreciate the show.


    Finally dressed, Illyana struck a playful pose, hands on her hips and one foot slightly in front of the other. She flashed a confident grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "See? Worthwhile, right?" she said, "Now, let''s get to it."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    As the duo neared a horde of demons, Tyson reached out, halting Illyana in her tracks. "Look, Illyana, we took down Azazel together, but this is a different kind of fight," he said, gesturing toward the writhing mass of demons below. Illyana frowned, her eyebrow arching, but she stayed silent, allowing him to continue. "Those creatures might not be as tough as Azazel, but we shouldn''t underestimate them."


    Tyson began recounting his second demon encounter. "Remember the massive bird demon I fought when you found me here? Before you showed up, it released a debilitating screech. It left me dazed and vulnerable. That thing didn¡¯t waste any time capitalizing on that; it landed several devastating slashes before I recovered." He rubbed his side as if recalling the pain from the demon''s blows. "And it wasn''t just that. It released these...spores. Made me feel sick, off-balance. My healing helped me push through, but without it, I''m not sure how I would''ve fared."


    Illyana''s intense blue eyes scanned the demon-filled horizon, processing Tyson''s words. The mention of the bird demon''s capabilities made her look thoughtful, maybe even a little wary. "I can handle myself," she said, her Russian accent giving the statement a hard edge.


    Tyson nodded, acknowledging her strength. "I know you can. You put up a hell of a fight against Azazel. But it wouldn''t hurt to be a bit more strategic. My powers make me a decent tank.¡± At her blank stare, he reworded his meaning, ¡°My ability is specialized for absorbing damage. Let me engage these new creatures first. Let''s find out what they can do. If they have any tricks up their sleeves, I should find out with my healing as a safety net. Once we know what we''re dealing with, then you can dive in."


    She contemplated for a moment before reluctantly agreeing. "Fine," she muttered, gripping her sword''s hilt tighter. "But if you''re in over your head, don''t be too proud to call for backup."


    Tyson grinned, "Deal. Let''s do this."


    Tyson examined the assembly of hunched creatures. These demons, with their mottled grayish-green skin, were a disconcerting sight. Each bore beady, yellow eyes and their mouths were filled with jagged, mismatched teeth. Their lumpy, misshapen bodies were a far cry from any creature on Earth, with elongated arms that ended in clawed appendages. The way they moved was an unsettling combination of walking upright and lumbering; much like a gorilla.


    Not far from them, Tyson assessed the situation. He bent down and picked up a hefty chunk of Limbo rock. Winding up, he launched it towards the demons with all his might. Though his aim wasn''t precise, the sheer number of targets made it almost impossible to miss. Thanks to his superhuman strength, the rock hurtled through the air like a bullet, finally striking one of the twisted beings square in the chest.


    With an outraged shriek, the demon focused its beady eyes on him, recognizing the source of the attack. Rage evident in its features, it lunged towards him, claws outstretched. Its screech of pain and anger seemed to act as a signal for others of its kind. Two more of the ghastly creatures, drawn by the noise or perhaps sensing an opportunity, joined in the charge, hurtling towards Tyson with a surprising turn of speed.


    Using the jagged terrain to his advantage, Tyson quickly sidestepped behind an outcropping. He couldn¡¯t see the incoming targets, but Tyson¡¯s sharp senses alerted him to the hints of the approaching demons. As the first demon rounded the corner, it was met with the swift brutality of Tyson''s attack. He lunged and delivered a crushing punch straight into the demon''s face. The impact resonated with a sickening crunch, sending the creature flying backward, lifeless even before it hit the ground.


    He was in a chaotic abyss, surrounded by darkness, fire, and a cacophony of monstrous roars. He felt... small. Weak. A lowly demon spawned from the chaotic abyss. Hunger and fear were the primary drives along with the persistent ache of never being satiated. The taste of rot and decay was oddly comforting. A cloud of nauseating green gas surrounded him, one of the few defenses against larger, more powerful demons. This stinking cloud could confuse and deter any who came too close. Fear dominated his existence. Layered within these primal emotions and experiences, was a profound resentment. It was dimly aware of its weakness and had a deep-seated drive to become something more.


    The next creature, attempting to leap onto Tyson, found itself intercepted mid-air. With a fierce swipe of his clawed hand, Tyson tore through the demon''s slimy flesh, leaving it disemboweled and twitching.


    However, with each fatal blow Tyson dealt, the creatures released a nauseating, greenish gas. It swirled around him like a foul, tangible cloud. The gas was thick and cloying, reminiscent of rotting vegetation and decaying meat. While the poison didn¡¯t hamper his physical abilities much, the stench was overpowering, making each breath a gag-inducing challenge.


    As the final demon rushed him, Tyson sidestepped its charge, catching it by its elongated ¡®arm¡¯. With one swift, powerful motion, he swung it into the rock face, silencing its malevolent snarls forever. The beast''s demise added to the already pungent atmosphere.


    Tyson grimaced; he was unharmed and the noxious fumes had little effect on him, but the smell was horrid.


    As Illyana approached the aftermath of Tyson''s bout with the demons, the greenish gas cloud wafted up to greet her. Her face twisted in revulsion, and she choked, the pungent smell assaulting her nostrils like a punch. She waved her hand in front of her nose and staggered a step backward, eyes watering. Catching her breath, Illyana broke into a fit of laughter, pointing a teasing finger at Tyson. "Is that the cologne you put on for our date?¡± She snickered, holding her nose in mock horror. ¡°I have to say, your suggestion to attack first was a great idea."


    Tyson falsely laughed, ¡°Ha. Ha.¡± he replied, "Just making sure our date is unforgettable." Brushing off some lingering demon residue from his clothes.


    Tyson moved stealthily, positioning himself at the edge of the demon group''s sight. He hurled another rock into the midst of a few of them, gauging their reaction, prepared for any other tricks they might have up their sleeves. When they displayed no additional special abilities beyond the noxious gas emitted, he and Illyana agreed on their tactics.


    Illyana positioned herself away from Tyson. They began their well-coordinated attack. Tyson lunged forward and went toe-to-toe with the creatures. His powerful swipes and strikes sending them reeling, while the sickly green cloud billowed out around him. But he wasn''t alone. Each time Tyson engaged a group, Illyana used her glowing portals to appear just behind or beside the demons. The Soulsword''s sharp edge would swiftly slice through them. Before the gas could envelop her, Illyana would retreat, repositioning herself for another precision strike. She danced around the battlefield like a wraith. Together, Tyson''s raw power and Illyana''s cunning use of her portals ensured that the demons stood little chance.


    Tyson looked down at his hands, they had elongated. His knuckles stretched out, and his fingers became long and thin, tapering to vicious-looking points. He felt a tugging sensation at his ears, which now stretched out horizontally, sharp at the tips. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a puddle of dark liquid on the ground. His face had contorted into a feral visage, resembling a blend between a pig and a wild dog. His once firm jaw now sported a snout-like extension, and his skin, normally a warm hue, had turned a sickly shade of grey.


    "That is not a good look," Illyana unnecessarily stated, her eyes wide as she took in his altered appearance.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    "It''s these demons. I don¡¯t have a weapon so I still absorb a portion of their traits when I come into contact with them," Tyson grumbled, his voice more growly than usual. "It''s not permanent, so long as I¡¯m careful. But it''s making me feel... different."


    He clenched his elongated fists. The feral changes also brought with them an increase in aggression and bloodlust. He felt the urge to charge back into the horde, to lose himself in the frenzy of battle.


    Illyana placed a hand on his shoulder, "Stay with me, Tyson. Focus. You''ve got this."


    Tyson took a deep breath, fighting against the raging instincts that threatened to consume him. He gave Illyana a determined nod, "Let''s finish this."


    With every demon Tyson encountered, his relentless drive grew. The battlefield seemed to blur around him as he moved with a singular focus, unleashing powerful strikes on any demon that came his way. The feral changes to his physique might not have enhanced his abilities much, but they certainly didn''t diminish his combat prowess. His mind became consumed by the heat of battle. Abandoning the initial tactics, Tyson relied on brute strength to tear through the ranks of the grotesque creatures.


    Illyana observed the transformation in Tyson''s combat style. She swiftly adjusted her tactics to match his. Her portals were placed to direct his unbridled rage to the densest clusters of demons, allowing him to unleash his fury where it would be most effective. The horde, though vast in number, was no match for Tyson''s newfound savagery. In his rage, he didn¡¯t bother dodging. The demons landed several brutal hits on him, opening massive gashes in his skin. But his rapid healing capabilities quickly mended each wound. As the last demon was felled, Tyson stood amid the chaos. His clothes were torn, but his healing factor had already sealed any wounds.


    Illyana waited before approaching him. When she did, her expression held a hint of concern. "That was... intense," she remarked, watching as Tyson tried to regain his composure.


    Tyson shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering psychic absorption. After a few minutes, his facial features began to revert, losing the elongated snout and pointed ears. The grey hue of his skin shifted back to its normal tone. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Illyana. "These creatures... they''re primal, like animals," Tyson started, his voice holding a hint of fatigue. "They communicate in their demonic tongue and share some sort of telepathy, but it''s not sophisticated. Mostly, I was just feeling their instinctual drives."


    Illyana tilted her head slightly, "You took on a lot back there. You okay?"


    Tyson chuckled lightly, flashing her a confident smile, though it didn''t completely reach his eyes. "I''m good. But, my clothes? Not so much."


    Illyana smirked, glancing over his tattered attire. The demon¡¯s claws had done no lasting damage to Tyson, but his clothes had been reduced to rags, hanging from his large frame. She quipped, "Well, it''s nothing I hadn''t seen a few days ago." She winked playfully.


    Their flirty banter was suddenly interrupted. A crippling terror washed over them, making their hearts race and their breaths shallow. It was like a dark cloud had descended, pressing down on their souls. Tyson clenched his fists, his knuckles white. He knew this wasn''t normal. He possessed superhuman stamina, his heart shouldn''t be racing without reason. His psionic resistance allowed him to shake off the unnatural dread.


    Illyana¡¯s face was pale. It took her a moment longer than Tyson to shake off the fear; her strong will allowed her to push past the dread. She looked at Tyson with narrowed eyes and asked, "What was that?"


    Tyson replied, "I don''t know, but it wasn''t natural. Something, or someone, is messing with us."


    Illyana gripped her Soulsword, ready for the next challenge. "Well, they picked the wrong duo to mess with."


    Then suddenly a relentless droning noise overwhelmed the area. It was reminiscent of a monstrous swarm of flies all buzzing and beating their wings at the same time. It was so intense that Tyson and Illyana both reflexively covered their ears as their faces contorted in pain. The noise intensified, and Tyson''s eyes darted around trying to pinpoint its source. Meanwhile, Illyana was less able to weather the sudden assault on her senses. She staggered and her face paled. She gave Tyson a brief, alarmed look before dropping to her knees and collapsing.


    Illyana lay unconscious on the ground. The droning had done its insidious work, rendering her vulnerable and defenseless. Tyson, alarmed, scanned the surroundings and looked up just in time to see a figure emerging from a shadowy crevice above. The creature was a monstrous hybrid of a fly and a human. Its massive body, covered in dark chitinous plates, bore two sets of buzzing wings that seemed to struggle under the weight of its foul form. Long, slender arms, reminiscent of a human¡¯s but corrupted in design, hung from its thorax. Four other limbs, jagged and insectoid, scratched at the air as the creature descended. Its head was the thing of nightmares: a twisted, exaggerated human face, with compound eyes that gleamed malevolently. A sharp horn-like nose jutted out and dripped with a viscous fluid.


    But what truly sent shivers down Tyson¡¯s spine was the creature''s tiny, gnashing mouth, surrounded by black bony ridges instead of teeth. As it drew closer, the hollow, rasping sound it emitted filled the air, a ghastly reminder of its ability to render its victims unconscious with just the sound of its wings.


    His healing factor repelled the debilitating effects of the fly demon¡¯s aura and droning. With a feral growl, Tyson unsheathed his claws and summoned his superhuman speed and agility as he sought to close the distance between him and the creature.


    The creature¡¯s compound eyes recognized Tyson''s intentions. The creature flexed its wings and soared into the air, intent on keeping its distance. Its strategy became evident as it employed evasive tactics. The demon pulled away in the nick of time, evading his retaliatory strikes.


    Tyson felt the wind rush past him as he propelled himself forward, leveraging his unparalleled agility to spring off a jagged outcrop. Every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation as he saw their paths converging, the fleeting opportunity almost palpable. Just as victory seemed within grasp, the demon shifted its course with alarming dexterity, evading him effortlessly.


    Cursing under his breath, Tyson pivoted to see the demon darting dangerously close to Illyana''s prone figure. A chill of dread washed over him, but he shook it off, his instincts and reflexes firing in perfect tandem. "No you don''t!" he shouted.


    Before the demon could get within arm''s reach of Illyana, Tyson was already there. Realizing it was outpaced, the creature banked sharply and took to the skies once more, seeking the safety of altitude. The demon circled high above, its eerie silhouette contrasting starkly against the bleak Limbo sky.


    Tyson acknowledged that as long as the demon remained in the air, he was at a disadvantage. He eyed Illyana''s unconscious form, coming up with a plan. Her teleportation could be the key. All he needed was a touch. He rushed toward her, but as he did, the demon let out a shrill, otherworldly screech. Almost instantly, an oppressive, impenetrable darkness manifested around Illyana, creating a barrier that seemed to swallow all light. It was like staring into a void, the blackness so profound it was palpable.


    The darkness seemed to mock him with its absolute blackness. But Tyson wasn''t deterred. Relying on his heightened senses, he stepped into the black. He couldn¡¯t see anything, but he had a rough idea of his location, and he had Illyana¡¯s scent.


    Before Tyson could reach Illyana, something colossal slammed into him from above, pinning him to the ground. The massive creature loomed over Tyson in the dark. He was pinned and disoriented. He struggled to make sense of the sudden attack, his eyes darted around, searching for the unconscious Illyana, the monstrous demon on top of him, but his vision was entirely obscured by the inky blackness.


    The moment the creature''s form made contact with Tyson, his power activated, and the demon¡¯s life force transferred through him. A wave of memories, experiences, and emotions crashed over him.


    Suddenly, he was soaring above an abyssal expanse, the rush of wind under large, leathery wings. The Chasme¡¯s world was painted in hues of crimson and obsidian, an ever-shifting landscape of torment and chaos. Its most potent weapon, its droning wings, could lull any living being into a deep, vulnerable sleep. Then there was its aura, just by being in its presence, the aura could cripple one''s will to fight, making them easy prey. Its sharp, elongated proboscis was a tool for feeding, capable of draining life force. Its very nature was to dominate, to instill terror, and to revel in the suffering of others. Arrogance, as clear as the midday sun, dominated its essence. It viewed other beings, even other demons, with a certain disdain. Everything was either prey or an obstacle, with no in-between. But amidst all this, there was also a hint of trepidation, a sliver of fear. Hidden beneath layers of haughtiness was an ever-present dread of being hunted. The demon''s world was one of constant peril, where power dynamics shifted rapidly. And while the Chasme was a fearsome predator, it was also prey in the eyes of mightier entities.


    Clarity washed over Tyson. "Deep down, you''re just as scared as those you terrorize," he spoke in the demon¡¯s abyssal tongue. "Just like you fear¡­ this time¡­ you¡¯re the prey."


    The Chasme, hissed in fury, its wings vibrating with increased intensity. As the demon''s vitality flowed into Tyson, it began to alter him. First, his nose began to stretch, changing its shape and structure to mirror the creature''s horn-like nose. The changes didn''t stop there; soon, gossamer, fly-like wings sprouted from his back, rapidly growing and stretching out. The magical darkness still blocked his view, but he assumed the creature was also fighting blind.


    While the demon dwarfed Tyson with its nearly nine-foot length, it did not match up to Tyson''s inherent strength. Flexing his muscles, Tyson''s claws dug deep into the demon''s flesh, anchoring him. With a growl of determination, Tyson leveraged his enhanced strength and forced the creature off him. The demon screeched, writhing in his grip, but Tyson, dug in with his claws to maintain a firm and relentless hold.


    With a primal roar, Tyson used every ounce of his power to force the massive demon backward. They broke through the border of the area of magical darkness. The creature''s back collided with the imposing stone cliff wall behind it, sending a resounding thud echoing throughout the surrounding rock. Dust and small debris dislodged from the impact, raining down around them. Pinning the behemoth against the rock with one hand, Tyson''s eyes blazed with intensity.


    He was momentarily caught off guard when it suddenly thrust its head forward. The horn, wickedly sharp and curved at the end, punctured Tyson''s skin with surprising force. He gasped as the unnaturally hollow tongue, reminiscent of a pulsating straw, slithered from the creature''s maw and began draining the blood from his new wound.


    He could feel the warmth of his blood being siphoned. With a frenzied movement, Tyson''s free claw lashed out, carving through the creature''s horn and its vile tongue. The black ichor, thick and putrid, poured forth, sizzling and emitting a nauseating stench as it met the air.


    The creature hissed in pain, recoiling from Tyson and the wounds he''d inflicted. But as Tyson looked down at his injury, an unsettling realization took hold. His wounds, which typically healed almost instantaneously, now oozed a dark, viscous substance. The puncture seemed to pulse, as if alive, and instead of sealing itself rapidly, the healing process appeared stunted, visibly struggling against an unseen corruption.


    Ignoring the pain and the disturbing sensation, Tyson continued his assault on the demon. He pierced the creature''s exoskeleton again and again, causing it to shriek in agony with each attack. As the creature''s life force dwindled, Tyson, sensing its impending demise, quickly disengaged.


    Tyson broke contact, stepping back.


    H took no chances making sure he didn''t absorb any more of the demon''s essence. The last thing he wanted was to become too much like one of these monstrosities.


    Though formidable in size, the demon looked pitiful in its final moments. Its legs flailed weakly in a desperate bid to defend itself. Its droning wings faltered, producing an uneven and off-kilter buzzing that filled the air. The vibrations grew weaker, sounding like the last sputtering beats of a broken machine. With a final, feeble swipe of its leg, the demon''s energy ebbed, and it crumpled to the ground. Its massive body lay defeated, the life drained from it, its wings now silent and still.


    Tyson turned his attention to Illyana. He approached her cautiously, the weight of concern evident in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to touch her. He watched her chest, and the steady rise and fall assured him that she was breathing. Her face, though pale, showed no signs of distress. He gave her a few moments, hoping she''d stir, waiting for any sign of movement, a flicker of her eyes, or a twitch of her hand.


    After a few minutes, she failed to regain consciousness. Tyson gently brushed his fingers against the soft skin of her throat. For that brief instant, a torrent of memories flooded Tyson''s mind, images flashing like a slideshow played at high speed. But amidst the whirlwind of memories, something else surged within Tyson. He felt Illyana''s ability. With the borrowed power coursing through him, Tyson focused on the familiar surroundings of the Xavier Institute. Visualizing his dorm room, he willed a shimmering portal into existence. He gently cradled Illyana¡¯s limp and vulnerable body in his arms. He stepped forward, leaving behind the hellish landscape of Limbo; replacing it with the familiar sight of his room at the institute.


    The portal closed behind them with a soft whoosh. Leaving Tyson gently lowering Illyana into his bed, hoping she would soon wake.


    Illyana''s eyelids fluttered open for a brief moment, a hint of confusion shining in her sapphire eyes. "What... happened?" she murmured, her voice weak.


    Tyson, standing beside the bed, offered a comforting smile. "It''s okay, Illyana. We''re back at the institute. You just need some rest." Nodding faintly, she let out a sigh of relief, her eyes drifting closed once more. Within moments, she was lost in the world of dreams.


    Illyana lay sprawled across the bed, her platinum blonde hair splayed out like a halo around her head. Her chest softly rose and fell with every breath causing a few stray strands of hair to move. Her lips, slightly parted, bore the ghost of a smile as she fell back into unconsciousness.


    Shaking off the events of the day, Tyson grabbed a towel. Thankfully the grime and residue from the demon''s foul gas didn''t stick to him, but the thought of a hot shower, with the steam and the sensation of water cleansing his skin, was a welcome one.

 Arc 2 - Ch 3: United

    Date: Thursday, June 10, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY


    As the first rays of sunlight streamed into the room, they illuminated the corners and cast a golden hue on the furniture. The light gently played on Illyana''s face, coaxing her out of the depths of sleep. She stirred, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Across the room, Tyson was seated on a chair, engrossed in his physics textbook. Hearing her movement, he glanced and set the textbook aside. "Morning," he greeted with a small smile playing on his lips.


    Illyana stretched, her gaze settling on the textbook. She arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Studying physics all night?"


    He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, I¡¯ve gotta learn it somehow..."


    She smirked, pushing herself into a sitting position. "And here you are, just being the perfect gentleman, watching over me. But not like a creep just watching me sleep."


    His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Well, I have to be on my best behavior for the first few dates, don''t I?"


    Illyana¡¯s light, melodic laughter filled the room. "Dates, huh? Interesting choice of words. Assuming you¡¯ll get another." She then grew more serious, her eyes searching his. "But really, what happened?"


    Tyson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That noise was a giant fly demon. After you went down, it tried to get the drop on me. The thing had a nasty bite when it connected. But when it touched me I got some of its... features." He made a face, indicating his distaste. "Managed to get the upper hand, though, and took it down. Once it was out of the picture, I touched you to get your power briefly, and brought you back here."


    Illyana shuddered, her face pale. "I remember that awful buzzing. That was the last thing I heard." She looked up, gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Tyson. I owe you one. You were right about the demons, and I¡¯m glad you came with me."


    He waved it off with a devilish grin. "You¡¯re worth it.¡± He coughed into his hand, ¡°I mean you made it worth it, with your show last night¡­ But keep in mind what happened. Maybe avoid exploring limbo alone until you have a handle on all the different kinds of demons?"


    Illyana nodded. Her eyes took in the room, noting the bare walls and the single bed. She smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Brought me back to your room, huh?" Her tone was teasing and her lips curled into a playful smile.


    Tyson responded with a smirk of his own, leaning against the edge of the bed, "Yup. I know, scandalous. But, let''s be honest, not nearly as scandalous as seeing me without clothes." He added, "It''s still pretty early. If you hurry, you might avoid getting caught doing your ''walk of shame''."


    With a sultry sparkle in her eyes, Illyana said, "It''s not a walk of shame if I have nothing to be ashamed about." The words dripped with confidence. With a deliberately slow and stretching motion, she pushed herself up, showcasing her toned figure. Each step she took towards him was deliberate, filled with alluring intent. Closing the distance between them, she leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a fleeting kiss. Tyson felt the flow of Illyana¡¯s power and life force, but she didn''t flinch away in pain. Instead, she leaned closer, her warm breath tickling his ear as she whispered, "Thanks for the date. I had fun."


    Tyson stood to his feet and walked her to the door, holding it open for her. As Illyana began her exit, he asked, "So¡­ How about a second date?"


    Illyana''s hips swayed with a pronounced rhythm. Without breaking her stride, she cast a look over her shoulder, her lips curling into a mysterious smile. "I''ll think about it," she teased, her voice echoing slightly as she disappeared around the corridor''s corner.


    After tidying up his room, Tyson headed towards the cafeteria. Typically, he was one of the first ones there, sharing breakfast with Jean before the crowd of the other students filled the room. Jubilee would eventually stumble out of bed to join them; it was their daily ritual.


    However, today was different. As he pushed through the doors slightly later than usual, his eyes darted towards their regular spot, and sure enough, Jean was already there. But she wasn''t alone; Jubilee was beside her, and both focused on him as he entered. Tyson knew that look; somehow, they''d known something was up with his ''date'' with Illyana. He tried to act casual as he made his way to the breakfast bar and loaded his tray with food.


    But as he took his seat opposite the duo, Jubilee''s expression said it all. Crossing her arms, she leaned in, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Sooo..." she dragged the word out, glancing at Jean, then back to him, "How was your date?"


    Tyson, seeing the eager curiosity in Jubilee''s eyes and feigned disinterest in Jean''s, decided to lean into the moment. Holding out his hand jokingly towards Jean, he quipped, "Can I borrow your telepathy? I''m going to need it to talk my way out of this one."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, feigning seriousness. "What? No way! Jean, don''t you dare!"


    Jean''s eyebrow arched in a mock-offended way, scoffing, "You wish."


    Tyson laughed at his own joke. He took a moment to scoop up a forkful of eggs and chew thoughtfully. Once he''d swallowed, he leaned in with a faux-dramatic tone. "We spent the night together."


    Jubilee''s eyes practically bulged out of her head, and her mouth hung open. She looked like she was about to burst into a flurry of questions.


    Seeing her reaction, Tyson couldn''t help but burst into laughter. "Okay, okay, calm down, Jubes," he said, still chuckling. "Before you jump to conclusions, let me tell you the whole story."


    He proceeded to recount the adventure to Limbo, their skirmishes with the demons, and how Illyana had been knocked unconscious. "I brought her back to the institute, and she needed rest, so she crashed in my room. That''s all," Tyson concluded, trying to maintain a straight face.


    Jean and Jubilee exchanged glances. Jean mused, "Well, it''s still technically a sleepover.¡±


    Jubilee eyed Tyson with suspicion, "Where''d you sleep?" she inquired.


    Tyson shrugged nonchalantly. "I didn¡¯t. Just spent the night with my physics textbook. I don¡¯t need much sleep. Missing a night doesn''t affect me like it would you."


    A relieved sigh escaped Jubilee''s lips. "Good. I mean¡­ From what I hear, you need to study physics.¡±


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The days at the institute began to form a pattern for Tyson. Every few nights would be spent with Illyana in Limbo. Every encounter with the demons, every skirmish, was a trial they defeated together. Their coordination became impeccable, almost as if they could predict each other''s movements. These dangerous excursions playfully became regular ''dates''. Because time didn¡¯t pass while they hunted in Limbo, when they returned Illyana would fall asleep in Tyson¡¯s room and he¡¯d spend the remainder of the evening studying.


    During the daylight hours, Tyson¡¯s friendship with Jean and Jubilee grew. The three of them would often find themselves lounging on the institute''s vast lawn, grabbing a snack in the cafeteria, or playing games in the girl¡¯s room. Subtly, his friend group grew as he was introduced to more of their peers.


    Kitty Pride was in his physics class. She had the unique ability to phase through solid objects, and would often join them at meals. Bobby Drake, who had the gift of manipulating ice, was the jokester of the group, using his powers to play pranks. John Allerdyce, on the other hand, was a bit of a figurative hothead. He controlled fire, the elemental opposite of Bobby, and the two would often have playful showdowns.


    June faded and the warm days of July began. The students were gearing up for a field trip to the Museum of Natural History in the city. The idea of a day out was a welcome change from their usual routine. Chatter filled the air, and the students were ready for a day of learning and discovery. Children and teens of all ages clambered onto the buses. Amidst the enthusiastic group, Tyson''s tall figure looked out of place. His thoughts were elsewhere. The memory of his confrontation with Magneto still troubled him, and even though Magneto was now behind bars, the lingering fear wasn''t easy to shake off.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "Hey, you okay?" Jean''s voice pulled him back to the present.


    He looked over to find her emerald eyes searching his. "Just thinking of the basketball game we missed," he replied, forcing a small smile.


    Jean nudged him lightly, her tone reassuring. "We''ve got everyone here today, Tyson. And all the professors are on high alert. You''re safe."


    "I know," Tyson nodded, though Jean wasn¡¯t entirely correct. "I¡¯d feel better if Logan was here." Wolverine had left weeks ago. He wanted to follow up on some places Tyson had mentioned when giving a more detailed explanation of the memories he¡¯d obtained from Sabertooth.


    Jubilee, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation, chimed in cheerfully, "Cheer up, no grumpiness to rain on our parade today!"


    Tyson felt some of his tension ebb away. With friends like these by his side and the might of the X-Men backing him, he felt safe, ¡°You¡¯re right, Jubes. The day ahead might just turn out to be one of the best I¡¯ve had in a while.¡±


    Jubilee groaned, ¡°What did I tell you about that?¡± Covering her face with her hand, ¡°It¡¯s the kiss of death!¡± She exclaimed.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Tyson moved quickly through the exhibits, the massive dinosaur skeletons and artifacts doing little to pique his interest. Finding himself at the museum''s food court, he settled at a table. The ambient noise of chatter surrounded him as he relaxed, taking in the sight of other visitors enjoying their meals.


    He was lost in thought when he felt a pair of familiar arms draped themselves around his chest. Illyana''s voice held a teasing lilt in her tone as she whispered into his ear, "Not much for history, are you?¡± she chuckled. ¡°Just like physics,¡±


    He tilted his head back to catch a glimpse of her smiling face and replied with mock indignation, "I''ll have you know I caught up in physics right at the end of the semester."


    John sat at Tyson¡¯s table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on its surface. Eyebrows raised, he gestured between Tyson and Illyana, asking, "Are you two dating or what?"


    The question hung in the air. The relationship between Tyson and Illyana was an enigma to everyone at the institute. Their interactions ranged from seemingly intimate moments to complete detachment, leaving most, including John, scratching their heads.


    Tyson leaned back in his chair, casting a sidelong glance at Illyana. "Well," he drawled, "She keeps me up at night."


    Illyana responded with an exaggerated eye roll. Playing along, she sighed theatrically, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "Unfortunately, he''s more than I can handle."


    Illyana leaned in, pressing a soft, affectionate kiss on Tyson''s cheek, her lips lingering for a brief moment. The simple gesture was enough to elicit a few raised eyebrows.


    Bobby, who¡¯d accompanied John, piped up, "I don''t know how you can touch him so casually. I shook his hand that one time, and felt like trash for an hour."


    Tyson, never missing a beat, quipped with a smirk, "She''s a masochist."


    Illyana''s eyes narrowed playfully, and she delivered a light slap on Tyson''s shoulder, feigning annoyance. Grinning, Tyson continued, rubbing the spot she''d just hit dramatically, "And a sadist."


    Bobby snickered at their banter, but John just threw his hands up in exasperation. Pointing at the duo, he exclaimed, "See! This is what I mean. No one knows if this is a thing!"


    Illyana¡¯s accent was heavier as she replied, ¡°And no one needs to know.¡± She grabbed at Tyson¡¯s forearm, near the end of his sleeve. ¡°There¡¯s a Russian exhibit, come see it with me.¡±


    He shrugged at the other guys and followed Illyana out of the food court and deeper into the museum.


    John, who had a penchant for flipping his lighter over and over became engrossed in a conversation with Bobby. A teen from a nearby table aggressively bumped into John, causing his lighter to clatter onto the ground. The boy looked down, a smirk twisting his lips, and said, "Watch it, mutie." With a sense of entitlement, he stooped, picked up John''s lighter, and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag.


    As the teen swaggered away, John''s eyes glinted with mischief. Focusing on the burning tip of the cigarette, John manipulated the fire, amplifying its intensity. The flame shot upwards, jumping from the cigarette to the hem of the teen''s shirt. Within seconds, an orange blaze danced on the fabric, spreading rapidly.


    But before panic could fully register on the teen''s face, a gust of cold blasted from Bobby''s direction. The icy stream hit the fire, causing it to hiss and sputter out. In its place, a layer of frost covered the teen''s shirt, making it stiff and crystalline.


    The teen''s expression was one of sheer horror; his mouth agape and eyes widened. But just as the realization of what happened started to sink in, his features froze, as if captured in a photograph. All around diners, children, parents, and even a balloon vendor who was midway into handing over a helium-filled gift, were similarly immobilized, frozen in the midst of their actions. Even a baby''s cry was silenced mid-wail.


    Sure enough, amidst the sea of paused faces, came Professor X; his wheelchair moving slowly. His face held a stern expression, but his eyes, deep and piercing, relayed a sense of calm control. It was clear that this momentary suspension of time was his doing. Charles Xavier''s telepathic abilities were unmatched, and he was using them now to defuse a potential disaster.


    Professor X spoke earnestly to John and Bobby. "Gentlemen, every one of us, mutant or not, has the power of choice. To act, to respond, to provoke. Our unique abilities are neither toys nor weapons to be displayed in moments of anger or pride. They''re a part of our very being. And while they can be a blessing, in moments of rashness, they can also be our downfall. Let us remember that our true strength lies not in what we can do, but in choosing when and how we use our gifts. We must rise above provocations and act not out of vengeance or pride, but out of wisdom and understanding."


    The room settled into an uneasy silence. Everyone''s attention was drawn away when the television, playing in the corner, suddenly cut to a breaking news segment.


    A news anchor, clearly alarmed, spoke into the camera, "We interrupt your regular programming for this breaking news out of the White House." The screen showed chaotic scenes, security personnel rushing about. "We have reports," the anchor continued, "of a mutant attacking the White House. While details are still emerging, initial reports suggest that this individual has managed to bypass multiple layers of security, using abilities never witnessed before." There wasn¡¯t any footage of the fighting, just an aerial picture of the White House. "This is unprecedented," the anchor''s voice trembled. "Never before has the heart of our government been attacked so brazenly."


    Back in the room, eyes widened, and expressions ranged from shock to apprehension. Mutants were already treated poorly, and this would only incense things. Professor X broke the stunned silence, "Perhaps it is time we returned to the institute."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Mystique, perfectly disguised as Senator Robert Kelly, stepped into the Oval Office. The room was heavy with tension. There had been an attack on the President, one that was nearly successful and quickly attributed to a mutant. The repercussions of this event were yet to unfold, but the landscape of mutant-human relations was sure to be altered.


    "Senator Kelly," the President acknowledged, his voice strained but attempting to be cordial. His eyes darted to the figure standing next to him. "Meet William Stryker."


    Stryker, with his stern face and piercing blue eyes, extended a hand. There was a hidden gleam in his eye, one that could easily be taken for malevolence. "Senator. I was a fan of your support of the Mutant Registration Act. Your recent shift of position from supporting the bill is confounding." he said, his formal tone barely restraining his displeasure.


    Mystique, using her experience, smoothly replied, "Mr. Stryker. Times change and often stances need to change with them." She shook his hand firmly, ensuring not to reveal any hint of her true identity.


    The President cleared his throat. "Given the recent... events, I thought it prudent for the two of you to discuss the mutant situation. We can''t have another attack like this."


    Mystique nodded, portraying the Senator''s usual confident demeanor. "Of course, Mr. President. The safety of our nation is of utmost importance."


    Stryker added, "I have some ideas on how to handle the mutant issue." The implication in his voice was clear; he believed in dealing with mutants with an iron hand.


    Stryker confidently placed a folder in front of the President. The seal of confidentiality embossed on its cover caught the curiosity of the President. Inside was a satellite image, sharp and clear. It showed a grand mansion amidst trees and open grounds. The Xavier Institute.


    Stryker leaned in, pointing to the picture. "Mr. President, this is more than just a mansion in upstate New York. This is a mutant training facility."


    Mystique, maintaining her facade as Senator Kelly, swiftly interjected, her voice calm yet assertive, "It''s a school, Mr. Stryker."


    Ignoring her, Stryker turned the page, revealing another satellite image. This one showcased a sleek, black jet, its design distinctly reminiscent of a classified military aircraft. "And tell me, Senator, how many schools do you know that house an aircraft of this caliber? And if I may add, it emerges from their basketball courts."


    The President''s eyes widened in disbelief, and then his brows furrowed. He leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple as the weight of the situation pressed upon him. Finally, he met Stryker''s gaze, "What is it you need, Stryker?"


    Stryker answered without hesitation, "Permission to go in, Mr. President. I''m certain the answers to your recent attack lie within that facility."


    The lines on the President''s forehead became more pronounced as he considered Stryker''s words. "Fine," he conceded, "but no live fire. You detain and question. I won''t stand for casualties, Stryker. I won''t have the nation waking up to the sight of mutant children''s bodies on their morning news."


    Stryker''s lips curved into a subtle, sinister smile. His eyes glinted with a malicious intent that he hid well. "Of course, Mr. President," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with feigned obedience.

 Arc 2 - Ch 4: Too Late

    Date: Thursday, July 15, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY


    The thrumming of a powerful motorcycle engine echoed through the institute, immediately catching Tyson''s attention. With a mix of anticipation and relief, he hurried to the entrance, pushing open the heavy doors just as Logan was dismounting his bike.


    "Logan!" Tyson called out, a grin spreading across his face.


    Logan, clad in his usual rugged attire, pulled off his leather gloves and approached Tyson with a nod. "Kid," he greeted with a hint of warmth behind his eyes.


    The two men clapped each other on the back, the bond between them evident, and their respect for each other was clear.


    Just then, Jubilee strolled by, her trademark yellow jacket was bright against the evening backdrop. She caught sight of the reunion and smirked playfully, her bubblegum popping as she commented, "Awww, bromance."


    Logan raised an eyebrow at her while Tyson chuckled, shaking his head.


    As Logan and Tyson made their way into the institute, Storm gracefully approached, her white hair flowing around her like a soft cloud. She greeted Logan with a warmth that was rare for the often-reserved mutant.


    "Logan," she began, her voice calm yet full of relief, "it''s good to see you."


    Logan merely nodded, but his eyes held a hint of something deeper. "Ororo," he responded, using Storm''s real name. "Same."


    Tyson, observing from a short distance, noticed the subtle glances between them. Their body language spoke of a deeper connection. He couldn''t help but wonder if there might be something more between the two. Strictly following bro-code, Tyson slipped out of the room,  giving them some privacy while silently rooting for whatever might be blossoming between Logan and Storm.


    Storm leaned close to Logan, her expression grew more serious. "We have a new mission. The Professor wants us to bring in the mutant who attacked the White House. He believes we can help him."


    Logan''s eyes narrowed, always ready for a fight. "And he wants me on this?"


    Storm nodded. "He thought you''d be best. And quite frankly," she added, her gaze lingering on Logan for a moment longer, "You''re the one I want watching my back."


    Logan smirked slightly, appreciating the compliment. "Let''s get to it then."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Later that evening, Tyson made his way through the corridors of the institute until he reached Jean and Jubilee''s room. He knocked, and almost instantly, the door swung open to reveal Jean with a welcoming smile.


    "Hey, Tyson," Jean greeted warmly, stepping aside to let him in.


    Before he could answer, Jubilee''s excited voice echoed from her desk. "Tyson, get over here! You won''t believe this!" Her eyes were glued to the computer screen, fingers tapping restlessly on the desk.


    Curious, Tyson approached and peered over her shoulder, scanning the screen. "Watch this!" Jubilee exclaimed, replaying a particular segment.


    The screen showed an attack on the White House. The mutant responsible was appearing and disappearing in rapid succession, leaving puffs of smoke behind, with an agility and finesse that left the security personnel bewildered.


    "It''s...incredible," she murmured. "He''s a teleporter." she nodded to herself, "Yeah, definitely a teleporter. But, look at the speed and precision! It''s unlike anything I''ve ever seen."


    Tyson froze. He''d seen combat teleportation like that before, this was less flashy than Illyana¡¯s. The smoke left behind was a dead giveaway. For just a moment, he thought Azazel had returned, but when Jubilee paused the video, he saw a glimpse of the mutant¡¯s skin¡­ it was blue.


    Jean added, "It''s going to be a challenge for Logan and Storm to bring him in. If he is a teleporter, it explains why the professor had such a hard time locating him."


    Tyson stiffly asked, "Jean, where''s the professor?"


    She looked up, "He went to see Magneto, and he took Cyclops with him."


    Tyson paused, processing the information. Slowly, he mumbled to himself, "And Logan went with Storm to find the teleporter..."


    Suddenly, a shiver ran down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. "This can¡¯t happen now, it''s too soon," he whispered. Tyson''s eyes went wide as realization struck him. At the museum, he and Illyana had only gotten partly through the Russian exhibit when they were called to the buses. Their exit had been abrupt, but Tyson hadn''t thought much of it.


    It was as though a film reel played in his mind, revealing scene after scene from a movie plot. The same movie plot that was unfolding around him. Panic welled up inside him. "We''re going to be attacked," he said in a shaky voice.


    Jean frowned, her eyes searching his. "What are you talking about? How do you know?"


    "It''s... complicated. But trust me. We''re in danger. Who''s in charge while all the professors are away?"


    Jean paused, concern etching her face, then said, "Illyana''s brother. Why?" Her eyes locked onto Tyson''s with a mixture of disbelief and growing concern. "How do you know we''re going to be attacked?" she pressed.


    Tyson took a deep breath, searching for the right words to legitimize his meta-knowledge. "Remember when I absorbed your power to take on Magneto?" She nodded, her brow furrowing. "Well, when I did that, I had this... vision of this moment, these circumstances. And, in that vision, the Institute was attacked later tonight." He looked earnestly into her eyes, hoping she''d understand. "Jean, have you ever... seen the future?"


    She hesitated, her gaze dropping as she seemed to search her memories. "There have been times," Jean admitted slowly, "when I''ve glimpsed events that hadn''t happened yet."


    Jubilee, who had been quietly following their conversation, sucked in a breath and whispered, "Oh, shit." The weight of the revelation weighed heavy in the room.


    Tyson''s urgency was palpable. "Jean, can you reach out to Colossus with your telepathy? Tell him what we know and get the students ready for an evacuation drill or something. We need to be prepared."


    Jean''s eyes narrowed in determination. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes to focus. "What are you going to do?"


    "I need to find Illyana," Tyson replied. "Her teleportation could be key to getting everyone out."


    With that, Tyson turned and sprinted out of Jubilee''s room. His powerful legs carried him swiftly down the corridor. As he approached Illyana''s room, he didn''t slow down, sensing that time was of the essence. If the door was locked, it didn''t matter; he just plowed right through it. Wood splintered, the door''s metal handle bent, and in a matter of seconds. The suddenness of his entrance and the scattered remnants of the door evidenced his desperation.


    When Tyson laid eyes on Illyana, the sight left him momentarily stunned. There she stood in her lace underwear with a garter belt dangling from one hand as she balanced a leg gracefully on a chair, carefully fastening it. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing her face.


    Illyana glanced up, unfazed by his sudden appearance, a sly smirk playing on her lips.


    Tyson''s face turned a shade of red that could rival any sunset. For once, he was rendered completely speechless, his mouth opening and closing but no words emerging. The usually confident young man was utterly disarmed by the unexpected sight before him.


    Illyana shifted her weight to one leg, allowing her hip to jut out slightly. With her hand resting on that very hip, her body formed an unintentionally sexy silhouette. Her platinum locks framed her face and her blue eyes sparkled as she raised an eyebrow, "Looks like you''re early for our date. What was so urgent you couldn''t knock?"


    Despite the situation, Tyson''s lips curled into a slight grin. "Given what I walked into, I''d say my timing was freaking perfect." He shook his head, reining his thoughts in. "But I need to know: how far can you teleport? And how many people can you take with you?"


    Illyana cocked her head thoughtfully, "Depending on the distance and the familiarity of the place, I can take about five people with me. I can jump around a quarter mile, but if I try to go too far weird things happen. Why?"


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Taking a deep breath, Tyson looked at Illyana seriously. "I have a strong feeling the Institute is going to be attacked. And," he said, glancing down with a slight flush to his face, "as much as I appreciate the view, you should probably get dressed." He tried to keep his tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "Your brother''s in charge right now, and I think the best move would be to start evacuating small groups of kids. Somewhere nearby, within your teleportation range."


    Illyana stared at him for a moment, taking in the weight of his words. She stepped closer and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. "Alright, I''ll get ready. We''ll keep them safe."


    As she pulled away, Tyson felt a rush of energy, as the essence of Illyana''s power surged through him. Acting on impulse, he envisioned Jean''s room and with what felt like a mere step forward, he found himself standing right there. The transition was so swift and seamless that he couldn''t help but smile.


    Tyson put his hand on Jean''s shoulder, "Jean, I need you to focus right now. Can you sense anything within range? Malicious intent, intense focus, anxiety? Hatred, even... We¡¯re looking for a group of soldiers."


    Jean took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and she reached out with her telepathic abilities. Her brow furrowed with concentration. After a few moments of intense silence, her eyelids snapped open, revealing a deep fear. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "They''re here."


    Tyson''s face hardened as he processed the imminent danger. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. Turning to the two girls, his voice was urgent yet determined. "Both of you, get to the nearest emergency evacuation site. Now."


    His gaze specifically settled on Jubilee, who was gripping the edge of the desk, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced by a serious expression. "Jubilee, do you remember the conversation we had when I woke up? This is one of those moments. If you want to be a hero, now''s your chance. Save as many as you can by guiding them out, then get yourself to safety. These kids are scared, and they''ll need someone strong like you. But remember, you can''t help them if you''re caught or worse."


    Jubilee nodded, her young face determined. "I won''t let you down."


    Turning to Jean, Tyson''s voice softened a bit. "Jean, you need to get out too. But before you go, I need to ask you for a favor. Can I borrow some of your power? You''ve seen firsthand what I can achieve with it, and right now, we need every advantage to buy everyone the time they need to escape."


    Jean took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was about to come. She strode up to Tyson. Their eyes locked with the weight of their shared understanding, of their trust in each other. Jean''s emerald eyes, usually so full of warmth and compassion, looked deep into Tyson''s with an intensity he had never seen before. With deliberate care, she placed her hand on the side of his face. Their connection was palpable. One second. Two. Three. Darkness, reminiscent of creeping shadows, began to emerge from the points where her fingers touched his skin. Four. Five. Six. The black tendrils threaded through the veins of her hands, slithering and creeping up her forearms like a malevolent force.


    Suddenly, it advanced past the fabric of her sleeves, threatening to consume more of her. Knowing the danger of drawing too much, Tyson abruptly stepped back. The connection broke, and Jean staggered, drained, and dizzied. But there was no time to waste. Tyson swiftly grabbed both Jean and Jubilee and in a blur, they were teleported to the nearest evacuation point.


    Gratitude flooded him as he looked at Jean, "Thank you," he murmured. Without another word, he teleported away, returning to find Illyana.


    Illyana stood there, battle-ready in her attire. The moment Tyson teleported back in, their eyes met, and she understood the urgency of the situation. Tyson quickly stepped up to her, his voice urgent, "Time''s up. They''re here." His gaze pierced hers, "Do what you can. I''ll handle the rest."


    For a fleeting second, everything else faded away. Illyana reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close. Their lips met a fervent and passionate embrace that seemed to convey a thousand unspoken words. It was their first real kiss.


    Suddenly, she pulled away, and Tyson''s heart sank as he noticed the stark change in her appearance. The creeping darkness of the black veins had invaded her face, originating from her lips. A web of black, like ink spilled on parchment, made its way across her porcelain skin.


    He instantly realized that all those small kisses and his power had been affecting her the same all along, more so than she had ever let on. But true to her fierce nature, Illyana showed no sign of regret. With a fiery, determined tone, she simply whispered, "Give them hell," before vanishing with a flash, teleporting away and leaving Tyson to face the imminent threat.


    Illyana appeared next to Jean and Jubilee and staggered before falling to the floor. Jubilee recognized the signs of Tyson¡¯s life drain and struggled to help both girls through the evacuation point.


    Those three words, spoken in Illyana''s unique accent, echoed in Tyson''s mind, propelling him forward. ¡®Give them hell¡¯ she had said, and he intended to do just that. The fierce determination in her voice, filled with faith in him, was all the motivation he needed.


    For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, attempting to harness Jean''s telepathic abilities. He tried to pinpoint the soldiers'' locations, but it was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack with no guide. Unlike Jean, who could deftly navigate the intricacies of individual minds, for Tyson, it was like plunging into a tumultuous ocean of thoughts, overwhelming and chaotic. It was too much.


    Abandoning his telepathic search, Tyson decided he would just have to draw them out. The best way to find them was to become the target they couldn''t resist.


    With a sense of purpose, Tyson took a deliberate step. Though it was a small physical movement, the world around him changed instantly. He had transitioned from Illyana''s room to the grandeur of the entry hall, its high ceiling and ornate decor offering a stark contrast to the immediate threat.


    There, almost immediately, he found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle. A soldier, clad in tactical gear and wearing a balaclava, had quickly pivoted to line up a shot on Tyson. But before the soldier could react, Tyson took another swift step. In an instant, he was directly behind the unsuspecting soldier. The gun, once aimed directly at him, now pointed futilely ahead, while its wielder remained oblivious to Tyson''s sudden relocation.


    The Sabertooth within Tyson growled in glee. For the first time, it''d be unleashed on a hunt.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The sterile room was silent, save for the whirring of Xavier''s wheelchair as he rolled up to the transparent barrier. Magneto''s prison, devoid of any metal, was cold and isolating. Magneto, usually a figure of strength, now seemed diminished, with darkened bruises on his face.


    Concern etched in his features, Xavier asked, "Erik, what happened to you?"


    Magneto''s eyes met Charles'', and there was an undertone of frustration in his voice. "I had a visit from our old ''friend'', William Stryker. You remember him, don''t you?"


    Xavier''s gaze became distant, memories resurfacing. "His son, Jason, was one of my students," he recalled a note of regret in his voice. "Unfortunately, I wasn''t able to help him. Not in the way Stryker wanted."


    Magneto''s posture was one of a defeated man, and his voice wavered just a touch, uncharacteristic for someone of his usual confidence. "Charles," he admitted hesitantly, "he was quite interested in you and your school."


    Alarmed, Xavier''s fingers gripped the arms of his wheelchair tighter. "Erik, what did you tell him?"


    Magneto''s eyes were filled with pain and regret as he met Xavier''s gaze. "Everything," he whispered.


    Before Xavier could respond, a hissing sound punctured the silence of the room. Within seconds, a greenish gas began to fill the chamber. Charles''s eyes widened in realization, but he found it hard to maintain focus, his vision blurring at the edges.


    Magneto forced out his last words before the darkness took him, "The war... has begun."


    As the green gas billowed behind the plastic doors, another scene was developing just a few feet away. The entry room outside the cell was filled with a few guards and technology to ensure no metal was allowed near Magneto. The rhythmic echo of heels on the cold floor heralded the approach of a woman. Her white pantsuit was pristine, each piece tailored to perfection, highlighting a strong yet feminine form.


    Cyclops tried to assess the situation, aware that something was amiss. But he barely had time to react before she was upon him. A flash of red light streaked from his visor, the optic blast knocking the woman to the floor. He took out the guards easily enough, but while he was distracted, the woman rejoined the fight. He threw a punch, but she deftly evaded, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. He groaned, struggling to free himself. But her grip was ironclad. Using his weight against him, she flipped him onto the ground. With a swift motion, she delivered a precise kick to his side, knocking the wind out of him. Cyclops tried to rally, to summon any reserves of strength he might have left, but another well-placed kick to his temple left him dazed and disoriented.


    As he lay on the floor, consciousness slipping away, the woman stood over him triumphant, her empty gaze staring down at him.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Ororo and Logan¡¯s search led them to Boston. The massive wooden doors of the old church groaned as they were pushed open, revealing a vast, dimly lit interior. The once-grand church was now crumbling, pews scattered and forgotten, windows broken, their stained glass once telling tales of miracles now lay shattered. Scaffolding was scattered around, as if someone had attempted to restore the building, but gave up before making progress.


    "Strange place for a guy who tried to off the president," Logan remarked, taking in the dilapidated surroundings. His footsteps echoed as he made his way further inside, the worn leather of his jacket creaking with each step. The air was thick with dust, and a faint incense still lingered, but amidst the quiet, there were whispers. Voices that seemed to dart around, bouncing off walls, making it hard to pinpoint their origin. The words meshed in a bizarre dance of German and English.


    Storm''s blue eyes darted around, her white hair shimmering in the little light filtering through the broken windows. "He''s a teleporter," she deduced, remembering their difficulty in tracking him down. "That''s why we couldn''t find him easily."


    Drawing a deep breath, Storm called out, her voice echoing through the vastness of the church, "We''re not here to hurt you. We want to help."


    The whispering ceased, and a pair of yellow eyes blinked open in the dimness above them. Clinging to the shadowy rafters was a lithe figure, his skin a deep, inky blue. Two small, spiraled horns jutted out from his forehead, contrasting with the backdrop of his short, fuzzy hair. His tail, long and prehensile, wrapped around a wooden beam, helping him balance effortlessly. But despite the unusual appearance, the eyes held a look of genuine fear.


    "I didn''t mean to hurt anyone," he confessed, his German accent heavy and voice tinged with regret.


    Logan, ever the blunt one, craned his neck upwards, eyes squinting as they tried to adjust to the dark. "Why don''t you come on down, bub? Let''s talk it out."


    Beside him, Storm stepped forward, her demeanor gentle and understanding. "We know what it''s like to be afraid," she began, her voice soft, "But you''re not alone. Let us help. Please, come down."


    The figure hesitated for a moment longer, then he disappeared in a puff of smoke, he manifested at ground level a few feet away, revealing himself fully to them. The blue-skinned mutant touched down gracefully, his posture hesitant and cautious. His tail twitched nervously as he took in the two mutants standing before him.


    The woman with silver-streaked hair stepped forward, extending her hand gently. "I''m Ororo," she introduced with a soft smile. Motioning to the rugged man beside her, she added, "And this is Logan."


    Logan gave a slight nod, his gaze unwavering, but not unfriendly.


    Kurt hesitated a moment, looking at the extended hand, then carefully took it. "Kurt," he replied, his voice still filled with uncertainty but trying to find some form of trust. "Kurt Wagner."

 Arc 2 - Ch 5: Battle for the Institute

    Date: Thursday, July 15, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY


    Date: Thursday, July 15, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY


    Tyson took a step using Illyana¡¯s borrowed teleportation to position himself directly behind the invading soldier. In a fluid, lethal motion, he lunged forward. Razor-sharp claws extended from each of Tyson¡¯s fingers, and they effortlessly punctured the thick armor that the soldier wore. They dug deep, wedging between the muscles of the soldier¡¯s back, snapping the delicate vertebrae, and slicing through the spinal cord. The soldier''s body immediately went limp, a gasp escaping his lips. A rush of memories flooded into Tyson.


    He grew up in a struggling neighborhood. He had been a promising athlete, but a severe injury during a high school game ended his dreams of making it big. The burden of hospital bills forced him to join the military. He served his term and was approached by a man recruiting ex-soldiers, promising money and power. He was in a mission briefing for the assault on the Xavier Institute. He and a group of mercenaries would be the first to infiltrate the institute, and silently takedown any mutants encountered. And assist the second team in retrieving specific data, materials, and any captured mutants.


    The onslaught of memories slowed, and Tyson was thrust back into the present. After the initial rush, he was learning to control the flow of memories and tilt them in a direction that would help his current situation. Armed with the knowledge of the invader¡¯s plans, he stared down at the motionless form whose life had been irrevocably altered in mere seconds. The weight of what he''d done bore down on him. He could see the remnants of the man''s past, the choices that had led him to this tragic moment, playing out like a movie in his mind. He felt an overwhelming pang of guilt. He saw the soldier as a victim of circumstance, a man forced into a life of violence due to societal pressures and lack of options. Yet, there was another voice inside Tyson, a much darker and ferocious one that reveled in the hunt, the thrill of the chase, and the power. This soldier was just another prey, an enemy that had threatened their territory, and thus, deserved no mercy. The two voices clashed within him, each battling for dominance over his actions and feelings.


    Shaking his head, as if trying to physically dispel the warring thoughts, Tyson hardened his feelings. The weight of his actions would remain to be digested another day. His friends needed him now. And if the soldiers came to hunt children, he had no problems hunting them in turn.


    Tyson moved like a shadow, swift and deadly. Each step he took brought him to a different location, allowing him to attack from unexpected directions. The trained soldiers stood no chance against the fury that was Tyson.


    She had grown up in a rough neighborhood where joining the army had seemed like her only way out. She''d wanted to make a better life for her younger siblings. They had looked up to her, their beacon of hope. Her determination and fierce loyalty to her family were traits she''d taken with her into her service.


    He was a tall man with a shaved head. A smiling woman and a little girl flashed before his eyes. They were his wife and daughter. He''d joined the military out of a sense of duty, but also because it provided for his family. He''d promised his daughter he''d be back for her birthday.


    He was a proud graduate, top of his class at Westpoint. Yet, deep down, he''d always harbored doubts and questions about the orders he was given and the morals behind them. He''d wanted to change the system from within.


    Tyson, now filled with the memories and emotions of his victims, staggered back. The weight of their lives, dreams, and regrets bore down on him. Each story added another layer of complexity to his psyche, battling with the ferocious instincts of Sabertooth and his own inherent nature.


    The battlefield was silent for a moment, save for Tyson''s heavy breathing. The knowledge that these were not faceless enemies but people with dreams, families, and stories was overwhelming. The conflict within him grew even more intense, as he grappled with the consequences of his actions and the lives he''d taken. His mind was a cacophony of thoughts and memories. But one thing was shared across all the temporarily-absorbed personalities.


    The ability to detach and focus on the mission.


    He felt it deep in his core, an unwavering conviction that was shared among all the voices inside him. His mission was clear, defend The Institute. Nothing else mattered now but its protection.


    Tyson knew he couldn¡¯t continue as he was. The ever-increasing, conflicting psyches would eventually overwhelm him. He bent down and wrapped his hands around the hilt of a discarded rifle. The weapon felt reassuring in his grip. With all his absorbed memories, he was a highly trained soldier with several lifetimes of combat experience.


    As he turned a corner, five soldiers spotted him. They aimed their guns, ready to take down the threat. But Tyson was faster. Using his teleportation ability, he blinked out of existence for a mere second, reappearing behind the first soldier. A quick shot and the man went down. The other soldiers scrambled, firing wildly in surprise, but Tyson was already gone, teleporting again.


    Appearing atop a railing, he took aim and quickly dispatched the second and third soldiers with well-placed shots. The fourth, realizing he couldn¡¯t track Tyson¡¯s unpredictable movements, tried to backpedal in retreat. But in the blink of an eye, Tyson was in front of him, a heavy punch knocked him out cold and likely did internal damage with its force.


    The final soldier, driven by fear, threw a grenade. With lightning reflexes, Tyson opened a portal to Limbo. The explosive sailed through the opening into the demon-filled dimension. A single shot rendered the man no longer a threat.


    Tyson surveyed the scene. Another five soldiers down, in mere moments. But his work was far from over. No one, not even an army, could stand in his way.


    With a blinding flash of blue energy, Tyson emerged atop the Institute''s rooftop. The wind tousled his hair, but his focus was solely on the unfolding chaos below. Scores of uniformed soldiers approached the school. Their calculated assault seemed rehearsed as if they knew every nook and cranny of the Institute. From the vans parked outside the gates to the teams tactically navigating the yard, to using the central fountain for cover¡­ it was an invasion. Then, the distinct sounds of helicopter blades caught his attention. In the distance, choppers loomed ominously, their dark silhouettes approaching.


    The clock was ticking. He knew he only had about three minutes left with the borrowed abilities. He needed to make the biggest impact possible while he still could.


    His eyes fixed on one of the helicopters. Channeling Jean¡¯s telekinesis, he stretched out his hand, feeling the immense psychic energy envelop the aircraft. Soldiers below looked up in confusion and terror as the chopper started wobbling erratically in the air. With a forceful pull, Tyson sent the helicopter crashing down amongst the soldiers in the yard.


    A massive fireball erupted from the impact site, a shockwave of heat radiating outwards. Shrapnel scattered in every direction, sending soldiers diving for cover. The explosion''s sheer force knocked many off their feet, halting their progress. The fire from the explosion morphed and danced in ways fire shouldn''t, twisting and turning as if it had a life of its own. To Tyson''s astonishment, it formed into the menacing shape of a dragon. The creature, made entirely of flames, surged towards the soldiers, causing them to fire upon the creature. Their disciplined ranks broke as their bullets had no effect and they tried to flee the creature''s fiery wrath.


    Peering into the thoughts around him, a particular strand of emotion stood out. It was the gleeful, celebratory thoughts of John, the fire-controlling mutant. Tyson took a quick step, instantly appearing beside John. Without giving him a chance to react, Tyson grabbed his arm and teleported once more.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    They emerged at the evacuation point, where he¡¯d left Jean and Jubilee. The sudden arrival startled the kids streaming by. But before anyone could say anything, John pulled away from Tyson''s grip, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Why?!" he yelled, his eyes flaring with the same intensity as the flames he controlled. "I was helping!"


    Tyson¡¯s voice filled with urgency. "Help by not getting captured," he retorted. Pointing around him at all the fleeing kids. "You¡¯re strong. You need to protect our friends. Jean and Illyana are going to be weak because they gave me so much of themselves. Don¡¯t make me waste it fighting you too. Everyone here needs you."


    John''s defiance faltered under Tyson''s commanding presence, but the fire in his eyes remained. Before he could argue further, Tyson took another step, vanishing from the scene and reappearing on the roof, ready to face the chaos once more.


    The second chopper attempted to withdraw from the area, clearly not eager to meet the same fate as its predecessor. Tyson, however, had other plans. He reached out with his telekinesis; the force of his will wrapped around the fleeing aircraft, stopping it mid-air. The soldiers inside stared out in horror, trying to figure out why their escape had been abruptly halted.


    Then, with a sudden, forceful pull, Tyson flung the helicopter like a toy, sending it crashing into one of the large vans parked just outside the institute''s gates. The deafening crash echoed across the grounds, punctuated by the explosive rupture of the van''s fuel tank. Flames shot into the air, casting eerie shadows against the dark backdrop of the night.


    Not done, Tyson looked down at the convoy of vans attempting to deposit more troops. With a wave of his hand, two of them lifted off the ground. The soldiers beneath, seeing the massive vehicles being manipulated like they were nothing more than cardboard cutouts, tried to scatter. But Tyson was too fast. With a swift motion, he dragged the airborne vans across the lawn, sweeping under them the advancing soldiers like bugs under a broom. The force was such that those caught directly under the vans were crushed, while others were knocked aside, dazed, disoriented, disabled, or dead.


    The battleground outside the institute was quickly turning into a field of destruction, all orchestrated by a single determined mutant.


    Tyson felt a sharp, excruciating pain in his chest. It was like being hit with a hammer but from the inside. One, two, three. The blows registered before the sound of the bullets being discharged reached him. He looked down, disbelief clouding his vision. Massive rounds must have gone right through, leaving a gaping hole in his chest. The realization that he was missing a large section from his torso caused his world to spin. In his mind, the whispers of the personalities he housed became frantic, overlapping into a chaotic noise. Without thinking, he teleported, disappearing from the rooftop and reappearing inside his room at the institute. The familiar surroundings offered no comfort as he collapsed onto the floor, gasping. His hands went to his chest, fingers sinking into the warm, wet mess at the edge of the gaping hole. It felt like trying to hold onto a handful of thick, slippery mud.


    But the gaping holes in his chest from the large caliber bullets began to close. At first, it was like watching a zipper pull flesh together. Then, as the seconds ticked by, organs reformed as the mangled tissue reformed until there was nothing left but smooth skin.


    Heaving with exertion, Tyson lay there for a moment, letting the cool floor beneath him ground his senses.


    Gathering his resolve, Tyson stood up. He envisioned the institute''s roof. Taking a step he tried to draw on the teleportation power. The familiar pull of teleportation, the sensation of space wrapping around him, was gone. The walls of his room still enclosed him. His connection to Jean and Illyana''s abilities had vanished. A pit formed in his stomach. Without those powers, his options were suddenly limited. He could hear the distant sounds of fighting and shouts of soldiers. The logical part of him knew he should head to the evacuation point, and regroup with the others. But there was a fire inside him, one that had been ignited by a presence in his mind, urging him to continue the battle. Tyson''s fingers clenched and unclenched, torn between the two desires. But then an explosion from outside solidified his decision. The primal urge, the hunter in him, drove him to fight.


    Tyson stepped into the hallway. He took a moment, tilting his head slightly, nostrils flaring. The air was thick with various scents. Overpowering everything was the tangy scent of fear, an almost sour smell that made his nose twitch. Beneath it, he detected the distinct smell of sweat, mixed with the sharp scent of gunpowder. But what he was searching for was the unique scent of a person, the individual cocktail of pheromones and body odor that would lead him to his next target. He followed a trail, the smell growing stronger. His heightened senses allowed him to detect the faintest traces of human scent, leading him like a compass straight to his prey.


    Rounding a corner, he came face to face with a soldier, weapon raised. Before Tyson could react, a dart from a tranquilizer gun pierced his skin. Immediately, a cold sensation spread from the point of impact, making his limbs feel heavy. But it lasted only a moment, the effect ebbing away almost as quickly as it had come, his healing factor neutralizing the drug. With a roar, Tyson lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His claws slashed through the soldier''s armor, cutting into flesh. The soldier''s eyes widened in shock, and before he could scream, his vision went black.


    As Tyson moved down the hallway, a fresh scent wafted toward him, unique and tantalizing. The base note was consistent; a soft, floral aroma that felt alluring and soothing. Layered above it were individual nuances, each carrying a hint of vanilla, another with a touch of lavender, cinnamon, and honey, and the last with a slight citrusy tang. Though they differed slightly, these scents were almost harmoniously intertwined, suggesting a deep connection between their sources. The allure of these fragrances was undeniable, and Tyson felt an almost magnetic pull toward them. Following this olfactory trail, Tyson''s predatory instincts kicked in, and he began to move silently, stalking the origins of the scents.


    The corridor opened up into a room, and in the center stood a man. Surrounding him were five identical women, each impeccably dressed. Their blonde hair fell in perfect waves, cascading down their backs and framing their strikingly similar faces. Their icy blue eyes were sharp and intelligent, each set beneath delicately arched eyebrows. Their lips, a pale shade of pink, were set in expressions that seemed both aloof and intensely focused. These women moved with a synchronous grace, every gesture mirroring the others, giving an almost eerie sense of coordination. Their porcelain skin, flawless and almost glowing, stood out against their white dresses, creating an ethereal aura around them.


    The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension as the five blondes began to speak, their voices harmonizing in a way that was both mesmerizing and unnerving.


    "He''s the last one," one began, her voice dripping with cold authority.


    "There are no others nearby," another continued, her tone almost mocking.


    "He''s a hunter," the third one added, eyes sharp and assessing.


    "He''s killed many men," said the fourth, her gaze unwavering.


    Their words were delivered with an eerie cadence, and Tyson felt like he was being surrounded by a singular entity rather than five separate individuals. It was a dance of voices, each taking a turn, leading and following, completing each other''s sentences. Their synchronized movements were almost as entrancing as their combined voices. Every tilt of their heads, every blink of their eyes, seemed perfectly timed and coordinated. The five identical blondes were dressed in pristine white outfits that made them look almost angelic. Their piercing blue eyes seemed to look straight through Tyson, dissecting his every thought and emotion.


    The fifth, who had been silent thus far, stepped forward, her gaze unwavering, ¡°He''s stronger than he appears but weaker than he was.¡± she said, her voice as cold and clinical as the rest.


    Tyson tried to keep his composure, but he couldn''t help but be affected by their collective presence. ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded, trying to assert some control over the situation.


    ¡°Who we are is of no consequence to you,¡± they replied with eerie synchronization. ¡°What you should be worried about, is what we want.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± Tyson asked defiantly.


    The five shared a brief, knowing glance before responding, ¡°You.¡±


    Tyson felt a prickle at the base of his skull like fingers tickling his mind. ¡°I¡¯m taken,¡± he growled, his hackles rising.


    The fourth chuckled lightly, her voice dripping with amusement, ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t have to worry about that.¡±


    The fifth and final blonde took another step closer, her eyes never leaving Tyson''s. ¡°We¡¯ll just take what we need,¡± she finished, a wicked smile playing on her lips.


    The eeriness of the encounter settled heavily on Tyson. As he focused on the blondes, the man in the middle broke the hypnotic chain. "Well, aren''t you quite the prize?" he said with a smug grin, his eyes scanning Tyson from head to toe. "I saw my men shoot you," he continued, tapping his chest three times for emphasis. "But here you are, no worse for wear. How lucky am I that I encountered the same unique power, four times? Makes me think it¡¯s not so unique. But you¡¯ve got something else special in you. A temporary powerup of some kind?"


    Tyson tried to make sense of the man''s words, but another scent began to creep into his senses. At first, it was hidden beneath the sweet allure of the blondes, but as Tyson honed in on it, it became more distinct. It was an odor that brought to mind graveyards and decay, the chilling aroma of rotting flesh mixed with the sharp tang of cold metal. The scent was reminiscent of death, and Tyson knew instinctively it was dangerous. But, the smell was not coming from any of the people in front of him.

 Arc 2 - Ch 6: Seeing Red

    Date: Friday, July 16, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, NY


    Tyson faced Stryker and the quintet of identical blondes. Stryker wore a smug smile, confident in the power of his entourage. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, eager to see how this would unfold. The five women stood in perfect formation, each of their features mirrored in the other. Their skin was porcelain-white, contrasting sharply with their deep blue eyes that held an almost predatory glint. Their blonde hair cascaded in perfect waves down to their shoulders, and their outfits were pristine white dresses that seemed to shimmer subtly in the ambient light.


    Each breath Tyson took felt like it was tinged with the scent of death and metal and the back of his head tingled. He knew the sensation meant a telepath was trying to infiltrate his mind. His gaze darted from one blonde to the next, trying to determine which might be the leader or the strongest of the bunch. Jean and Professor X assured him he had some telepathic resistance, but would it hold up against a coven of telepaths working in concert? If he were immobilized or controlled, his battle would be lost. He had to incapacitate the telepaths first.


    Without warning, Tyson lunged towards the blonde on the far left. The distance between them closed in a heartbeat as he aimed to knock her off balance and remove her from the fight. He hoped that the surprise and swiftness of his attack would give him the edge he needed.


    Tyson''s momentum suddenly halted. His body jerked back, caught in the vice-like grip of a cold, metal tentacle. He swiped at the tentacle, but his claws failed to pierce the metal. Its hardness was unnatural, far more durable than steel, some unique alloy. His muscles strained as he tried to free himself, but a second tentacle whipped forward, coiling around him, and tightening its grasp.


    As he was turned forcibly around, he locked eyes with the behemoth responsible for his ensnarement. The towering figure stood over seven feet tall with ghastly white skin. Veins of cybernetics ran through his head and muscular arms, complementing the metallic tentacles that extended from his wrists. Tyson recognized the man¡¯s scent as the previously unidentified one. It was tinged by the aura of death that hung about him. A dark leather suit hugged the figure''s immense physique, hinting at the raw power that lay beneath.


    A cruel smile formed on the tentacled man¡¯s lips, revealing yellowed teeth. The tentacles tightened around Tyson, squeezing the breath from his lungs. As Tyson''s vision darkened he struggled to inhale. The man leaned close, his voice a low, rumbling growl with a heavy Russian accent.


    "I am Omega Red," he sneered, his chilling gaze never leaving Tyson''s eyes.


    Tyson snarled in response, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure it¡¯s written on your tombstone.¡±


    With a sudden, powerful motion, Omega Red swung his arms, using his tentacles to launch Tyson with terrifying force. Tyson was hurled like a ragdoll, crashing through the brick facade of the Institute. Dust and debris showered the air as he landed hard in the courtyard. The impact reverberated through his bones, and he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.


    Pushing himself to his feet, Tyson felt a sting of alarm. His wounds, which usually healed at an astonishing rate, were mending more slowly. The gashes on his skin were closing but at a lethargic pace compared to the near-instantaneous recovery he was accustomed to. He realized that Omega Red, the cold, deathly feeling of his aura, might have affected his healing ability.


    Tyson''s fingers closed around the cool metal of a fallen soldier''s rifle. Sabertooth''s familiarity with weapons had him instinctively shouldering the firearm. Pushing aside the chaos around him, Tyson''s gaze narrowed on Stryker, the mastermind behind it all. If he could eliminate the leader, the hierarchy of command would crumble, perhaps giving him an edge in the battle. Squeezing the trigger, Tyson released a hail of bullets, but before they could find their target, Omega Red''s tentacles surged forward, weaving together into a dense, metallic wall. The bullets pinged off, leaving no mark on the protective barrier that shielded Stryker. The ominous clang of each bullet echoed Tyson''s growing desperation.


    With the last bullet spent, Tyson''s fingers released the gun, letting it clatter uselessly to the ground. Omega Red, sensing his advantage, sent his tentacles snaking rapidly toward Tyson, hoping to ensnare him once again.


    But Tyson was ready. Drawing upon every ounce of agility he possessed, he dodged the lunging tentacles. Instead of trying to slash at the impenetrable metal, he shoved them aside, deflecting their trajectory. Every step taking him closer to Stryker.


    Using the room''s structures to his advantage, Tyson vaulted over furniture, leaped from pillars, and rebounded off walls. He zigzagged, using his agility and speed to keep Omega Red off balance, always with Stryker in his sights.


    Tyson was drawing closer when the haunting voices of the Cuckoos began to resonate through the chamber. Like a ghostly choir, they shifted their message between one another, their tones a chilling cascade of harmonized warnings.


    "He''s coming," began the first, her voice dripping with caution.


    "Stryker, you''re his target," the second added, emphasizing the urgency of the situation.


    "Your presence here puts us all at risk," the third stated, the weight of her concern evident in her words.


    "We should leave," suggested the fourth, a logical conclusion to their collective observation.


    "Now," finished the fifth, her voice echoing the urgency of the moment.


    Stryker, while arrogant and resolute, was not a fool. He recognized the unity in the girls¡¯ counsel and, with a begrudging nod, began to retreat. The blondes, forming a protective barrier around him, retreated in kind.


    Tyson''s eyes shifted, Stryker was out of reach and the tentacles were closing in. He couldn¡¯t reach his target, but one of the blondes was closer. He lunged towards her, fist pulled back and every muscle tensed for the blow. But just as his fist was about to make contact, an unexpected transformation occurred.


    Her skin shifted, morphing into a translucent, shimmering diamond-like form. The hard, faceted surface of her body caught the light, making her shine brilliantly in the dim room. It was a breathtaking sight, but then Tyson¡¯s punch met the unforgiving hardness of her diamond form. The impact was so great it sent her flying backward, and she crashed into the opposite wall. The indentation of her form was visible in the wall, as though a sculptor had carved her out of the very brick and plaster. With surprising grace, the diamond-skinned woman stepped out of the wall, leaving behind a silhouette-shaped imprint. She brushed away the debris from her flawless form and reverted to her soft-skinned human appearance, looking none the worse for wear.


    Tyson''s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of what he''d just witnessed. He mumbled, ¡°Emma Frost?¡±


    But his moment of distraction was costly. Omega Red''s tentacle snapped forward, ensnaring him once more. With a quick, powerful motion, the tentacle sent him crashing through the exterior wall of the institute for the second time.


    Tyson gritted his teeth, brushing dust and bits of brick off his clothes. Omega Red, with his pallid skin and crimson armored suit, stepped through the hole in the wall, his metal tentacles writhing eagerly for the next round.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Tyson circled the Russian powerhouse, his feral eyes fixed on the adversary. Every ripple of his muscle, every shift of weight was an anticipation of the next strike. Omega Red''s tentacles darted forward, seeking to ensnare Tyson again. With a growl, Tyson dodged, using his speed and agility to avoid the grasping appendages. But Omega Red was more than just tentacles. He lunged forward, throwing powerful punches that Tyson barely managed to deflect. The two traded blows, the sound echoing across the courtyard like thunderclaps.


    In a swift move, Tyson tried to get behind Omega Red, slashing with his claws, but the Russian mutant whirled around, landing a crushing blow to Tyson''s midsection. Tyson spat blood but retaliated with a high kick that connected with Omega Red''s jaw. The tentacles surged forward again, seeking to wrap around him. But this time, Tyson was ready. With a roar, he lunged, grabbing one of the tentacles and using his momentum to swing Omega Red off the ground and slam him into the courtyard¡¯s fountain.


    Water splashed everywhere, and for a moment, it seemed Tyson had gained the upper hand. But Omega Red wasn''t down for long. Rising with a ferocious growl, he swung his tentacles with even more force, binding Tyson''s arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground.


    "Struggling is pointless," Omega Red hissed, his face inches from Tyson''s.


    But Tyson, even when bound, was not easily defeated. With a feral snarl, he drove his knee into Omega Red''s stomach, forcing him to release his grip. They were both drenched and battered, but neither relented. Omega Red''s tentacles struck again, but Tyson ducked, driving his shoulder into his opponent''s midsection, and tackling him to the ground. They wrestled, each trying to gain the upper hand, but the combination of Tyson''s agility and Omega Red''s strength made for an evenly-matched fight.


    Minutes felt like hours as the two mutants clashed, leaving the courtyard in disarray. But finally, with a powerful swipe of his claw, Tyson managed to tear through part of Omega Red''s armor. The Russian mutant howled in pain, momentarily stunned. Seizing the opportunity, Tyson delivered a powerful punch, sending Omega Red crashing into the remains of the fountain.


    Tyson''s feral instincts kicked in as he lunged at the sprawled Omega Red, every instinct screaming to finish the battle. But before he could deliver the final blow, the sharp echo of gunfire rang out. Bullets tore into Tyson''s back, each one a white-hot sting, jarring him from his attack.


    As Tyson twisted around, a group of soldiers came into focus. Tyson tried to push through the hailstorm of bullets but the sheer number of shots became overwhelming. Thanks to Omega Red, his once almost instantaneous healing was now lagging, struggling to keep up. The bullets penetrated his skin, only to be slowly pushed out by his healing factor moments later. He dropped to his hands and knees, a pool of blood forming beneath him. With every ounce of his being, he tried to will himself forward, to rise again, but his body was reaching its limit.


    Omega Red seized the opportunity. His tentacles surged forward and wrapped around Tyson like cold steel snakes, constricting, making it impossible for him to draw a breath. The soldiers took a few steps forward, firing a few more rounds into Tyson''s vulnerable form. With each bullet, Tyson weakened a little more, as his body struggled to heal multiple wounds simultaneously.


    His lungs burned and screamed for air, but the tentacle''s grip was unyielding. Blackness crept in from the edges of Tyson''s vision. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he heard was the triumphant laughter of Omega Red.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Jean and Jubilee emerged from the escape tunnel. The imposing figure of Colossus had led the procession, his metallic body acted as their beacon to follow and their protective shield.


    They had all made it out Jean, Jubilee, Bobby, Illyana, and John. The surroundings were an unsettling kind of quiet. They all knew that just minutes before, the sounds of Tyson''s ferocious defense of their home filled the air. But now, there was only a faint echo of destruction.


    The silence was broken by a sudden, distant volley of gunfire. It sounded mechanical and cold, like the staccato of a firing squad. The group froze, the sound reverberating in their hearts.


    Jean''s face crumpled. A single tear slid down her face. Her voice, when it finally came out, was but a whisper filled with anguish. "They have him."


    Illyana''s face hardened. She spun on her heel, ready to charge back into the Institute and save Tyson. But as she approached the grate, there was a shimmering rush of cold, and within seconds, a thick sheet of ice blocked her path.


    Bobby stood with his arms extended, eyes filled with apology but resolve. "I''m sorry, Illyana. But we can''t go back in."


    Illyana¡¯s hand ignited as her Soulsword slowly formed, "What have you done, Bobby? He''s in there, and we need to help him!"


    John''s voice crackled with fury as he sided with Illyana, the fire in his hands reflecting the anger in his eyes. "She''s right! We can get him out. The kids are safe. Let''s go back and take the fight to them."


    Jean stepped forward, placing herself between the two groups, her voice calm but assertive. "It''s not that simple. If we go back now, we risk getting captured or worse."


    Illyana snapped, "So, we''re just supposed to run away? Leave him to them?"


    Jubilee replied, "It''s not about running away. It''s about fighting smarter. Illyana, you''re not in fighting shape. If you were, Bobby''s ice wouldn''t matter, you''d just teleport to him."


    Bobby, eyes still locked on Illyana''s, added, "If we get caught, who will save him then? We need to get to safety, regroup, and plan our next move."


    Jean nodded in agreement. "They are right. Now is not the time. We go, we gather our forces, and then we return for Tyson."


    Illyana, her fury simmering beneath the surface, whispered, "Go where? With the children?"


    Bobby spoke up. "Listen, we need somewhere to regroup and lay low," he began, his voice firm. "My house is just a couple of towns over. We can take the backroads. My folks are away on vacation. They won¡¯t be back for another week."


    Jean looked hesitant, "Bobby, are you sure about this?"


    Bobby nodded, "My home has space, and they won¡¯t expect us to be there."


    John huffed, "Hiding in your parent¡¯s house."


    But Bobby kept his cool, "Right now, it¡¯s our best option. We go there, plan our next move, and decide how we''re going to rescue Tyson."


    As the group agreed and began to move away from the Institute, the weight of their choices pressed heavily on their hearts. The promise of retribution and the hope of reuniting with their friend spurred them forward.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The bar buzzed with the chatter of the off-duty guards. It was the typical after-hours hangout, where guards often came to vent about their day and share stories over drinks.


    At the bar, a woman with fiery red hair and an entrancing green dress sat perched on a stool, slowly sipping her drink. Now and then, she¡¯d glance across the room, her eyes catching those of the off-duty guards, who were mesmerized by her presence.


    Jason, one of the guards, leaned over to his friend Ron, nodding in the woman''s direction. "Who''s the new girl? Haven''t seen her around here before."


    Ron replied with a smirk, "No idea, but I wouldn''t mind getting to know her."


    The bar was alive with the buzz of chatter and background music, the dim overhead lights casting a warm glow on its patrons. As a beautiful redhead, Mystique''s alluring appearance drew several glances. However, her attention was solely fixed on one man, Jason, a guard from the facility she''d been surveilling.


    Positioning herself strategically, she slid into the seat next to him. "Hey there," she greeted with a sultry smile.


    He checked her out, surprise evident in his eyes, but quickly masked by a smirk. "Haven''t seen you around," he responded, trying to sound nonchalant.


    "Just passing through," she replied, her fingers lightly skimming his arm, igniting a spark of electricity between them. With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she whispered, "Why don''t we find somewhere a bit more... private?"


    Without awaiting a reply, she seized his hand and directed him towards the restroom. The door had barely swung shut when she playfully pushed him into one of the stalls. He chuckled, lifting his stein for a long sip. "I''ll drink to this."


    As he was distracted, Mystique swiftly withdrew a syringe from her outfit, injecting it into Jason''s side. His eyes widened momentarily, a mix of shock and disbelief, before clouding over. The stein slipped from his grasp, thudding on the floor as he slumped against the stall wall, unconscious.


    Ensuring he was stable, Mystique adjusted her appearance and stepped out, her mission quietly completed.

 Arc 2 - Ch 7: Imprisoned

    Date: Saturday, July 17, 2010.


    Location: Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada


    The room was cold, and the dim overhead lights cast eerie shadows over the concrete floor and walls. Tyson found himself in a cell, the chill he felt wasn''t just from the temperature but from the air of desolation that hung thick. Along the corridor outside, other cells stretched in both directions, each a duplicate of his own. At the end of the hall, just at the edge of his vision, there was a control station surrounded by screens displaying the interiors of the cells, and beyond that, a large reinforced door, suggesting the entrance ¨C or exit ¨C to this prison block.


    Gathering his strength, Tyson gripped the bars of his cell and pulled with all his might. To his surprise, they didn¡¯t budge an inch. Feeling a mix of anger and desperation, he unsheathed his razor-sharp claws, attempting to slice through the metal. Sparks flew, but the bars remained unscathed.


    He felt trapped, not just by the bars but by the silence and isolation. There was no sign of other prisoners, and even guards were conspicuously absent. Tyson pressed his forehead against the cold bars. The stark emptiness of the cell block and the lack of human interaction made every minute feel like an hour. With no pathway of escape and an overwhelming sense of confinement, he slowly folded himself onto the ground, adopting a cross-legged position.


    He closed his eyes, trying to remember the calm tone of Professor X''s voice. "Focus, Tyson," he whispered to himself, echoing the Professor''s instructions from their first session. "Seek out the door in your mind."


    Breathing in slowly, he pictured the expanse of his mind; a vast, dark plane illuminated by fleeting memories, thoughts, and feelings. There, in the distance, was a faint glimmer. A door. It was wooden, ornate, and glowing slightly. During their first session, Professor X had told him this door led to deeper parts of his consciousness.


    Tyson took another deep breath, trying to release the tension in his muscles. He approached the door, his steps echoing in the quiet of his mind.


    "You have the power within you," he recalled Professor X saying. "This door is the gateway to your true self. Beyond it lies clarity, and understanding."


    As Tyson reached for the doorknob, it was as if an invisible force yanked him out of his inner sanctuary and thrust him back into the grim reality of his cell.


    Tyson sighed in exasperation. While he hadn''t made it to the room hidden deep within his mind, this was the closest he had come yet. He felt a twinge of hope.


    Over and over, he returned to meditation, each time drawing closer to the door in his mind, only to be pulled back. But the door beckoned, promising him answers and clarity. He had to reach it. He had to know.


    On his fifth attempt, as his fingertips brushed the cool surface of the door, the unmistakable sound of a slammed door echoed throughout the cell block, jolting him back to reality. Eyes narrowed, ears strained, he attempted to discern who or what was coming. The footsteps indicated that he was about to receive a visitor. The unmistakable fragrance of vanilla, with various other hints, permeated the cold, dank air of the cell block. It was an unexpected aroma in such a bleak setting, but it wasn''t lost on Tyson. He tensed, eyes narrowing in anticipation from the familiar scent.


    Soon enough, the figures responsible for that aroma came into view. A man with a stern face, cold eyes, and a hardened demeanor came first, Stryker. Flanking him on either side were three striking blondes, the source of the scent. Identical in appearance, they moved with an eerie synchronicity. Each wore matching outfits, their golden locks cascading in perfect waves, yet their piercing blue eyes were unsettling in their intensity.


    Tyson growled, "Aren''t you missing a couple?"


    Stryker gave a small smile, clearly relishing the moment. "Don''t mind them," he said, nodding to the three blonde women by his side. "I came to bring you some good news." Tyson narrowed his eyes. "In fact, it''s more than just news," Stryker continued, his voice dripping with feigned kindness. "I''m going to give you a wonderful gift. The same gift I gave your friend Logan."


    For a brief moment, confusion clouded Tyson''s eyes. But then, understanding dawned on him. The adamantium bonding procedure. Sabertooth remembered Logan''s agony, the disorientation, the wiping of his memory. He recalled the agonizing process Logan had undergone, the liquid metal bonded to his skeleton making him nigh indestructible but at a tremendous cost.


    The anger drained from Tyson in an instant as Sabertooth''s aggressiveness was cowed by the potential torture. Putting on a mock cheerful tone, Tyson replied, "From what I hear, the price of adamantium is astronomical. And honestly, you don''t need to grant me such an extravagant gift. I mean, what would my girlfriend think? She might get a bit jealous." He smirked, trying to mask the genuine worry that welled up inside him.


    The three blondes locked eyes with Tyson, their gaze piercing into him. They began to speak in their haunting tone, with one picking up where the other left off, their voices blending seamlessly. Simultaneously they stated, "He''s afraid."


    "He knows about the procedure," the middle girl stated, her voice a ghostly whisper.


    "And fears the pain," the third added.


    One began, "He covets its strength,"


    The second finished, "but fears the weakness it brings."


    Tyson clenched his jaw but said nothing, trying to shield his mind from their probing.


    Stryker, clearly intrigued, leaned forward, "What weakness? Adamantium is the strongest known metal."


    The blondes, still speaking in harmony, didn¡¯t miss a beat. "Magneto. They''ve already fought. He was nearly killed," they finished in unison, "As was Magneto," their voices echoing throughout the chamber.


    Stryker''s expression tightened. It was clear that this information was new to him, or at the very least, not something he had taken into consideration.


    Stryker tried to inject a note of confidence into his voice, hoping to convince both Tyson and himself. "So you were the demon that fought Magneto?" He paused to digest that information. "No matter. Magneto is in his plastic prison, and trust me, he''s going nowhere. He''ll stay there until he rots away."


    Tyson rolled his eyes, clearly not convinced. "If you say so."


    The girls began again, their voices harmonizing in that chilling manner. "He believes..." one started.


    "Magneto will escape," the next continued.


    "Has already escaped," the third chimed in.


    For the first time, the three identical girls looked between each other, confused. They clearly didn''t agree on what they were seeing in Tyson''s mind. As one they spoke, "We need the others to fully understand his thoughts."


    Tyson tried to divert them, shifting his thoughts to a different language. Sabertooth had imparted knowledge of several languages, and he utilized them now, silently reciting words in Russian, then French, and then German, hoping to throw off the girls'' psychic probing.


    However, they persevered. "He fights us," the blondes noted, their voices spoke in harmony, though each carried different notes. Anger, frustration, and genuine curiosity mixed within.


    Their continued intrusion into his mind brought visible changes to each girl''s demeanor. It was rare to see them display such raw emotion. This was a game, a challenge they weren''t used to, and it intrigued and annoyed them in equal measure.


    Stryker''s eyes gleamed with a sinister light. "We''ll begin the procedure soon. You''re about to become even more... extraordinary."


    Tyson met his gaze head-on, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "I look forward to you opening this cell."


    The girls picked up on Tyson''s defiant tone instantly. "He will fight..." one began, her voice echoing eerily in the metallic chamber.


    "...The moment the door is opened," another continued.


    Tyson chuckled, a hint of mischief in his voice, "Please, send Red my way. I wouldn''t mind going a second round."


    The last of the trio spoke, her voice low and dripping with warning, "Send Deathstrike too."


    The echoing steps in the corridor signaled their arrival long before Tyson could see them. First, a tall, lean figure with long raven-black hair stepped into the light. Her almond-shaped eyes held a cold, blank expression. Her black leather suit clung tightly to her, highlighting every muscle and curve. Tyson knew who she was, and that her manicured nails gave a hint of the lethal weapon she hid beneath. A few steps behind her, the hulking figure of Omega Red emerged. His pallid skin and deep-set eyes made for an imposing sight. His tentacles, capable of crushing steel, were retracted, the tips peeking out near his wrist, ready for action.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    A platoon of heavily armed soldiers trailed in after them, their guns held at the ready. Without hesitation, they raised their weapons and began firing at Tyson, their bullets pounding relentlessly against his body. Before he could react, one of Omega Red''s tentacles lashed out, wrapping itself around him and squeezing. As Tyson tried to fight against the constricting hold, the second tentacle snaked out, joining the first in its vice grip.


    They didn''t waste time. Only once they were certain Tyson was secure did the door to his cell open wider. It was clear Stryker wasn¡¯t taking any chances; they''d learned from the first time they subdued him.


    As Omega Red trudged through the dimly lit hallways, the tentacles left him immobile and suspended. He tried flexing his muscles, attempting to break free, but it was futile. Omega Red''s grip was unyielding.


    He was brought through a massive door into a large chamber filled with chilling machinery. The equipment looked more like medieval torture devices than anything modern. Ominous, dark stains dotted the floor.


    Beside Stryker stood a balding man with a gray beard, dressed in a white lab coat stained with various chemicals. The man¡¯s cold, analytical gaze scrutinized Tyson as Omega Red brought him closer. "I''m Dr. Cornelius," the man replied with a hint of pride in his voice. "Don''t worry, I''ve done this plenty of times, including on both of them," he continued, gesturing toward Omega Red and Deathstrike.


    Tyson had resigned himself to his fate. Instead of being impetuous, he tried to maintain some levity, smirked, and said, "No offense, but I''d prefer her package over his." The room remained tense, but the slight tilt of Dr. Cornelius'' mouth indicated that even he appreciated the humor in the grim circumstances.


    As Omega Red moved Tyson towards the ominous-looking machine, Stryker barked his orders with chilling precision. "Red put him in. Yuriko, secure his straps."


    Deathstrike, or Yuriko as she was once known, ensured Tyson was completely immobilized. With a sinister grin, Stryker leaned in, "I''d say this won''t hurt, but I''d be lying," he hissed.


    Beside him, Dr. Cornelius adjusted his glasses, interjecting with a professional tone. "If it''s any consolation, the procedure has been refined over the years. We''ve discovered that once Adamantium fuses with the bones of mutants with a healing factor, it undergoes a slight change in structure. We refer to it as Adamantium Beta. It retains the strength of its original form but allows for the natural biological processes of bone growth."


    Stryker rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "That''s absolutely fascinating, doctor, but I''m sure our subject couldn''t care in the slightest."


    Tyson, despite his dire situation, couldn''t resist a quip. "Actually, I like to know what''s going on. Heck, I might''ve even applied for a job here if I''d been given a choice." Turning to Omega Red, he continued, "Hey Red, you guys offer dental benefits?"


    Omega Red''s eyes, piercing and cold, fixed on Tyson. In his thick Russian accent, he growled, "I hope you don''t survive."


    Stryker, impatient, signaled to Dr. Cornelius. "Begin the procedure," he ordered, anticipation evident in his voice.


    Tightly strapped to a complex-looking table, Tyson had no idea what was happening. Above him, an intricate assembly of needles, pipes, and tanks dominated the ceiling. Each needle glistened with a foreboding metallic gleam under the harsh white lights. The hum of the machinery filled the room, an incessant drone.


    Dr. Cornelius, face mostly hidden behind a surgical mask and glasses, checked the gauges on one of the tanks. The liquid inside was a dull silver, the Adamantium, held at a temperature so high it seemed to glow.


    With a deep breath, the doctor said, "You''re about to become something more than you''ve ever imagined." His tone was both clinical and cruel, belying any semblance of compassion. Stryker, standing just outside the safety glass, added with a smirk, "This will be a transformative experience, in more ways than one."


    The procedure began. The needles started their slow descent towards Tyson''s skin. Despite his superhuman attributes, the piercing of each needle sent searing pain throughout his body. It felt as though molten lava was being poured into his very bones. His face contorted in agony, every muscle tensed and strained against the restraints. Sweat poured down his face, his teeth gritted so hard it seemed they might shatter.


    Tyson''s mind raced to find an escape from the pain, memories flashing like a fast-forwarded film reel. Friends, battles, moments of joy; each one a brief respite before the pain dragged him back to the grim present.


    The doctor signaled, and the next set of needles began to descend. They aimed for Tyson''s skull, a particularly sensitive area. The sharp tips made contact, and Tyson''s world became a blaze of pain. It was as if his brain was on fire, every neuron screaming in protest. He gritted his teeth, trying to ride out the storm, but it was overwhelming.


    A moment of relief was cut short as yet another set of needles targeted his fingertips. Each prick was like a bolt of lightning, jolting him to his core. His claws, once a source of pride and strength, were now conduits for searing agony. The hot, molten adamantium filled each claw, bonding, and strengthening, but at a terrible cost.


    His spine was next. The core of his body was under assault. The sensation was indescribable ¨C a mix of burning and crushing, as if his very essence was being remade.


    His growls of pain grew louder, echoing off the walls. Every drop of the liquid metal felt like it was burning him from the inside out.


    Hours seemed to pass. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and metal, the hum of machines, and Tyson''s tortured cries. The muted conversations around him became a distant backdrop to Tyson''s pain. Each breath was a struggle, each second an eternity.


    Finally, the last drop was infused, the needles withdrew, and Tyson''s torture ended. He couldn''t muster the will to struggle as Omega Red dragged him back to his cell.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Professor Charles Xavier sat, vulnerable. Gone was his custom-built wheelchair, replaced by a nondescript, squeaky one. But what was most alarming was the high-tech band that encircled his usually calm forehead.


    As consciousness returned, Xavier attempted to center himself. With every ounce of his will, he tried to extend his formidable telepathic abilities, hoping to send a beacon to his X-Men. He closed his eyes, reaching out...


    But suddenly, a shrill buzz sounded. A jolt of excruciating pain shot through Xavier''s mind, causing his whole body to shake violently. The headband had effectively neutralized his powers, harming him with every attempt of their use.


    Laughter echoed in the stifling silence. It was cold, mocking. Xavier, still reeling from the pain, slowly turned his head to see William Stryker, grinning maliciously at him.


    "Did you think I''d let you use your powers, Charles?" Stryker sneered, stepping closer. "This band? We call it the Nural Inhibitor. The more you think, the more it hurts.¡± Stryker tapped his head, ¡°And it keeps you out of here."


    Xavier, though weakened, managed to meet Stryker''s gaze evenly. "What do you want, William?"


    Stryker''s eyes gleamed. "Please Xavier, don¡¯t get up.¡± He smiled at his own joke and continued, ¡°I¡¯m sorry we couldn¡¯t find you more comfortable quarters. My home is going through some renovations¡­ So is yours.¡±


    Xavier asked, "What have you done with Scott?"


    Stryker chuckled again, "Oh, he¡¯s here. With some of your students."


    Xavier''s calm voice stated, "There¡¯s no need to involve them, William."


    Stryker''s eyes flashed with a mixture of contempt and amusement, "I¡¯ve seen your ¡®school¡¯, Professor." He used air quotes mockingly. "With its combat training rooms and high-tech defense systems. What on Earth are you teaching those creatures?"


    Xavier¡¯s gaze remained unwavering, "To survive. To peacefully co-exist in a world that fears and hates them."


    Stryker scoffed, "It doesn¡¯t look very peaceful to me."


    A touch of sadness crept into Xavier''s eyes, "You approached me for help once. You wanted me to ''cure'' your son, William. But mutation is not a disease."


    Stryker''s face twisted in a combination of pain and rage, "You¡¯re lying, Xavier. You were more afraid of Jason than I was." His voice became more intense, a deep-seated anger bubbling up, "You know, just one year after Jason returned from your school, my wife...," Stryker paused, taking a shaky breath, "tormented by constant contact with his ''gift''. She took a power drill to her left temple in an attempt to ¡®bore out¡¯ the images he was projecting into her mind."


    Xavier looked deeply pained, but he kept his voice steady, "I''m sorry for your loss, William. But using your pain to justify this..."


    Stryker interrupted, bitterness seeping into every word, "My boy, the great illusionist." He let out a mirthless chuckle, "Look where that got him. And us."


    Xavier''s eyes sharpened, piecing together the puzzle. "You arranged the attack on the President," he surmised, a touch of anger in his otherwise calm voice.


    Stryker chuckled, smugly, "And you didn¡¯t even have to read my mind. Impressive, isn''t it?" He moved closer, a predatory glint in his eyes. "You know, I¡¯ve been working with mutants as long as you have, Xavier. And in all those years, do you know what''s vexed me the most? Nobody seems to know how many mutants even exist¡­ or how to find them." He paused for effect. "Except you."


    From the depth of his coat pocket, Stryker produced a vial containing a yellowish liquid. It shimmered ominously under the low light. "Do you recognize this?" he taunted. "I distilled it from my very own son''s cerebral spinal fluid. Makes others utterly susceptible to my every command. Fascinating, isn''t it?"


    Xavier eyed the vial warily, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, you''ve been using Jason to manipulate others."


    Stryker smirked, "Sharp as always. But unfortunately, this little potion won¡¯t work on you, will it?" He leaned in, voice dripping with malice. "You¡¯re too powerful for that. So, I thought, why not go right to the source?"


    With a dramatic flair, Stryker turned and opened a door that until then had been concealed in the shadows. The sight that greeted Xavier was enough to make even the most hardened of souls shudder.


    In the dim room, a shriveled, almost lifeless man sat bound to a wheelchair. His sunken eyes stared blankly, his skin a ghostly pale. Syringes protruded from his scalp, each drawing out the same yellowish fluid Stryker held earlier. Tubes ran like spider webs from the man¡¯s head, connecting to clear containers positioned on the back of the chair, which continuously filled with the precious liquid.


    Stryker looked proudly at the figure, his smile sinister, "Professor, allow me to introduce you to Mutant 143."


    Xavier''s eyes widened as he gazed at Mutant 143, a flood of memories rushing back. The mismatched eyes - one blue, the other green - were unmistakable. He took a shaky breath, a mixture of sorrow and disbelief coloring his features. "My God, William," Xavier whispered, his voice laden with emotion. "This is your son. Jason. What have you done to him?"


    Stryker''s expression remained cold, void of any fatherly affection. "My son is dead," he retorted bitterly. "And soon, the rest of you mutants will join him."


    With that, Stryker slammed the door shut with a deafening clang. Mutant 143, or Jason, continued to stare vacantly, but now, directly at Xavier. Their gazes locked, and Jason''s eyes pierced straight into Xavier''s very soul.

 Arc 2 - Ch 8: Reunion

    Date: Sunday, July 18, 2010.


    Location: Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada


    Tyson didn¡¯t need much sleep, but after the procedure, the constant firing of his pain receptors had mentally exhausted him. His slumber was deep, allowing him a brief escape from the intense agony he had endured, and the prison he inhabited.


    Awakening in the cold confines of his cell, memories of the procedure crept back in. The needles piercing his skin, through muscle and bone. The sensations of molten metal seeping not just around his skeleton, but through it, becoming one with it. He flexed his fingers, feeling the newfound weight. With an exertion of will, he extended his new adamantium claws. They slid out smoothly, catching the dim light and reflecting it. They were beautiful in a deadly way, each claw resembling a perfectly curved metal talon.


    Approaching the cold bars of his cell, he slashed forward, expecting to carve through easily. Instead, there was a loud, grating screech of metal against metal, and sparks flew. Tyson pulled back, examining the bars and his claws. Neither bore a single scratch.


    He exhaled deeply, the weight of his situation weighing as heavily as his new metal bones. "Great," he mused aloud, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "What''s the point of having claws made of the strongest metal if they can''t cut anything?"


    Tyson''s sarcastic comment hung in the air, but not for long. The room''s stillness was disrupted by the harmonious, almost ethereal voices of the three blondes. They held an eerie undertone that seemed to echo, each slightly offset but in perfect sync. They sounded like a ghostly choir, the kind that could sing both lullabies and funeral dirges.


    "Did you think that would work?" Their icy eyes locked onto his.


    Tyson, sensing where this was headed, quickly interjected before they could continue, "I get it. You''re right, no need for all of you to rub it in." The third sister looked visibly irritated. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips formed a thin line. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as Tyson taunted, "You might as well tell me your names, or I''m just going to call you all the ''Beckys."


    There was a brief moment of silence as the three exchanged glances. Then the one who hadn¡¯t spoken, still looking slightly miffed, replied, "Esme."


    The first followed with, "Sophie."


    And the second, with a slight smirk mirroring Tyson''s, finished, "Phoebe."


    Tyson, leaning against the back wall of his cell asked, "Is there something you want? Besides staring at me and talking like a weird-ass cult?"


    Sophie, taking the lead as usual, said, "We were sent to ensure you didn¡¯t escape, somehow." The way she pronounced ''somehow'' was dripping with doubt, as if the idea itself was ludicrous.


    Tyson tilted his head and shot back, "If I did manage to get out of this cage, how would you three stop me?"


    Without a word, the sisters moved in tandem, showcasing their powers. Their flesh started to shimmer, catching the overhead lights and refracting them like prisms. Within moments, all three had transformed into pure, glistening diamonds. The room was filled with a dance of reflected and refracted light, turning the drab cell into a chamber of iridescence.


    But just as quickly as it started, it ended. The synchronization broke, and each reverted to her human form out of sync. Esme was the first to change, then Phoebe, and finally Sophie. With a smirk, Phoebe said, "That''s how. Diamond doesn''t break easily."


    Sophie added, "Consider it a gentle reminder. Your claws might be the strongest metal, but even they would find it tough against diamond."


    Esme just winked.


    Tyson, with a hint of arrogance, said, "Actually, I''m more dangerous than you think." He let out his claws, gleaming with a fresh shine. The polished silver of the adamantium captured the attention of the room as he began to examine them, more for effect than out of necessity. "You see," he started, locking eyes with Sophie, "It''s not just about being tough or hard."


    Esme and Phoebe exchanged glances but stayed silent, allowing him to continue.


    "I¡¯m friends with Logan. You probably don¡¯t recognize the name, but he¡¯s a previous subject of this facility. He has adamantium claws as well. They¡¯re long, but aren''t nearly as sharp as mine." Tyson held up his claw for emphasis, letting the room absorb the danger they represented. "And while diamond is exceptionally hard, it''s also brittle. And with my strength," he flexed his arm slightly, "I could apply enough force to potentially chip or even break it."


    Sophie, ever the skeptic, narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to threaten us?"


    Tyson shrugged, "Not a threat. Just a little lesson in physics. I spent a lot of time last month buried in my physics textbooks trying to catch up." After a brief pause, Tyson finished, "Well, if you''re just on guard duty, I''m going to try and find some peace." He moved to the center of the cell and sat down cross-legged. "Might as well make use of the time," he mumbled, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to meditate.


    Esme whispered to her sisters, "Did he just try to impress us with science?"


    Tyson settled back, searching through his subconscious, seeking that elusive door.


    Tyson tried to relax his mind. The pain and trauma from the procedure had thrown his mental compass off, and his subconscious door seemed distant and out of reach. He took deep breaths, trying to ignore the girls'' scent, picturing the door, and trying to will it closer. Time became a backdrop feeling both still and fluid.


    Suddenly, a clear, slightly sarcastic voice pierced his concentration. "You''re not doing it right."


    Tyson''s eyes snapped open to find a blonde, leaning casually against the bars of his cell. It may have been her proximity, but he noticed, unlike her sisters, she had a delicate sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose. Her posture was relaxed, yet there was a certain meticulousness about her, from the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear to the precision of her manicured nails.


    Tyson studied her for a moment. "I didn¡¯t meet you earlier, did I?"


    Esme, standing a little behind her, answered, "Shift change. You were too engrossed in your little mind voyage to notice. Meet Irma."


    Irma gave a slight nod, her lips curling into a half-smile. "Pleasure. And just for the record, if you ever want to get inside that head of yours properly, you might need a few pointers." She tapped her temple knowingly, a playful challenge evident in her gaze.


    Tyson met Irma''s gaze evenly. He had an urge to charge the bars and grab her, but that would be pointless. He doubted she had the key, and even if he could get to her in time, with the bars in the way, he wouldn¡¯t have the leverage needed to break her diamond form.


    Instead, he suppressed his instincts and put on the most pleasant face he could muster. "It''s a pleasure to meet you as well, Irma," he began with a tone that was half-caution, half-respect. "Though, a little advice. You might not want to stand too close to those bars. The prisoners can be rather violent. That being said, I could use any pointers you have."


    Irma snorted, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and irritation. "I''m well aware of the dangers, thanks. After all, you did slam me into a wall." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was a hint of begrudging respect too. She crossed her arms and leaned her weight onto one hip, looking at him quizzically. "So, why should I help you?"


    Tyson cursed under his breath, realizing who she was. He suppressed his aggressiveness as best he could, "I''m sorry about that," he replied, genuine remorse tingeing his voice. "I was cornered, outnumbered. I just...reacted. It was nothing personal, just survival instincts¡­ But think about it. If I''m lost in my head, I won''t be out here, plotting an escape."


    Esme, tilting her head thoughtfully, added, "He has a point. He isn''t psychic like us. What harm could it do?"


    Phoebe, who had been silent up till now, nodded in agreement. "It might even keep him busy," she mused.


    Irma sighed, exchanging a look with Esme and Phoebe. "Fine. We''ll help. But only this once," she remarked. The atmosphere in the room felt thick with tension, but also anticipation.


    "Close your eyes," Phoebe instructed softly. Tyson hesitated for just a moment before obliging. He could feel the weight of their collective gazes on him, and their scents wafted to his nose each subtly vanilla but distinctly flavored.


    Irma began, her voice surprisingly gentle, "Picture yourself in a calm place. A place where you feel entirely at ease, safe, and grounded."


    Tyson pictured the basketball court at the Xavier Institute. He¡¯d had fun on the court; a place where he could safely cut loose with his physical prowess. Even though it was combative, he had his first encounter with Illyana there as well. Esme continued, "Feel the ground beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun on your face, or the gentle breeze brushing against your skin."


    Tyson tried to block out the confines of his cell, the metallic scent of the bars, and the memory of the painful procedure. With each word from the blondes, he felt himself sinking deeper into relaxation, his mind transporting him to a serene forest clearing he''d once visited.


    "Now, in the distance, see the door," Irma whispered. "That door that''s so unique to you, the door that evades you."


    Tyson visualized it. On the wall of the Institute nearby, a sturdy oak door with intricate carvings manifested. The handle gleamed the silver of adamantium in the dappled sunlight.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    "Walk towards it," Phoebe urged. "With every step, feel more connected to your inner self."


    The weight of the blondes'' words, which seemed to come from all around and yet also from within, was punctuated only by the singular focus of the door growing nearer. Tyson, reached out. The moment his fingers met the door''s handle, a surge of purpose flooded through him.


    Esme''s voice came as a gentle whisper, like a soft breeze brushing his ear, "Now, step inside."


    Tyson turned the handle. It didn¡¯t budge. He pulled harder, using every ounce of strength in his frame, but it was no use. The door was locked tight.


    Suddenly, there was a shimmer in the air next to him. Out of the shimmering light, Irma''s mental form began to take shape. Instead of her normal appearance, her form was both diamond-like and spectral. She looked like a shimmering ghost made of intricately cut diamonds. Her skin refracted light in a million directions, and yet Tyson could also see right through her, like a crystalline specter. The usual blue of her eyes had turned a deep, hypnotic shade, resembling precious sapphires.


    Irma gracefully approached the stubborn door and placed a hand on it. The glow in her eyes intensified as she examined it, hinting at a connection with something unseen. She spoke, her voice echoing in Tyson''s head, "Esme, Sophie, lend me your strength."


    As if summoned, two other equally radiant and diamond-like ethereal figures, began to form next to Irma. The three figures momentarily merged into one, their combined strength evident in the even brighter glow they emitted. When they separated again, Irma held a shimmering key in her hand.


    With a serene smile, Irma handed the key to Tyson, the three, spoke as one, "This is the key to the deepest parts of your mind. Use it wisely."


    Accepting the key, he felt its coolness, its weight. He then slid it into a newly revealed keyhole, felt it turn smoothly, and opened the door to enter the very core of his subconscious. With one last deep breath, Tyson turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the white of his subconscious.


    The three blondes watched as Tyson stepped through the door. Suddenly, their connection to his innermost thoughts was severed, and they were left staring at the blank barrier.


    Irma crossed her arms, frustration was evident on her face. "I didn''t think he''d be able to go so deep we couldn¡¯t follow."


    Phoebe frowned, her fingers absentmindedly twisting a strand of her hair. "We should get Sophie or Celeste. With another, we¡¯d be able to go with him."


    Esme shook her head, "If we bring them in, it''s going to raise questions. Stryker will want to know why."


    Irma shot back, "But we can''t just let him go in there! Who knows what he¡¯ll uncover, he was meditating with a purpose. What if he discovers something?"


    Phoebe added, "Or worse, what if he finds a way to communicate with others from within?"


    Esme sighed, trying to ease the tension. "Look, we''ve seen the expanse of his mind. There are no other connections, no latent psionics. It''s just his mind. What harm can he truly do inside his own head?"


    Irma seemed to contemplate this. "You''re right. Still, we should keep a close eye on his physical state, just in case."


    Phoebe nodded in agreement. "Fine. But at the first sign of anything unusual, we get Sophie or Celeste." All three women exchanged firm nods, settling into a silent pact.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Bobby unlocked the door and led the way. Jean, Jubilee, John, and Illyana followed. Inside the cozy suburban house, pictures of Bobby''s family were strewn across the walls, showcasing cheerful memories. The worn-out couches showed that this home was lived in, and had witnessed countless cherished moments.


    Bobby, taking the lead, smiled reassuringly. "Guys, make yourselves at home. There should be soda, juice, and some leftovers in the fridge. I''ll be right back with some clothes."


    Jubilee, her eyes scanning the room with youthful excitement, said, "Dibs on the last slice of pizza if there''s any!"


    Illyana smirked, "You might have to fight me for it."


    John instead of heading to the fridge, walked over to the wall and examined the decorations. He focused intently on one of Bobby¡¯s family photos. Jean walked over to the landline phone. She began to dial, hoping against hope for an answer on the other end. Meanwhile, Jubilee and Illyana raced to the refrigerator, their banter filling the room. John shook his head, staring longingly at the idyllic family before grabbing a can of soda.


    The phone rang a few times before there was a click. Jean''s eyes lit up as she recognized Professor Ororo''s voice, "Hello?"


    "Ororo! It''s Jean. We''re safe, at Bobby''s family home," Jean whispered, relief evident in her voice.


    On the other side of the room, Jubilee triumphantly held a slice of cold pizza while Illyana pouted playfully. John, chuckling, as he sipped.


    Amidst the chit-chat and the chewing of food, Jean''s eyes widened momentarily as a wave of unease washed over her. "Uh oh," she murmured under her breath, her telepathic senses picking up on incoming emotions.


    The kitchen entrance door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man and woman, both looking taken aback at the group in their home.


    The older man''s face immediately darkened, his protective instincts kicking in. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" he demanded, taking a step forward, his posture defensive.


    Behind them, a younger teen stepped in, his expression morphing from surprise to recognition as he spotted the strangers seated in his kitchen. Bobby walked in, hands full of folded clothes. He paused at the sight of his family, a mixture of relief and nervousness evident in his eyes. The teen blinked, recognition flashing across his face. "Bobby?"


    Bobby took a deep breath, shooting a pleading look at his friends before facing his family. "Hey," he began, voice tentative. "Hi mom, dad. We... we need to talk."


    The living room was filled with tension. Plush couches and comfy chairs were occupied, and the room was thick with anticipation. John leaned nonchalantly against the fireplace, idly flipping a lighter, while Illyana stood in the opening that led to the kitchen.


    Taking a deep breath, Bobby met his parents'' worried gazes. "Mom, Dad," he began slowly, "The school I''ve been attending... it''s not just a school for the academically gifted. It''s for those who have... well, special abilities."


    Jubilee, always one to bring some levity to tense situations, chirped, "Surprise!" She made a playful gesture, sending off a small, shimmering burst of sparkles from her hand, which illuminated the room briefly.


    The corners of Bobby''s mom''s lips turned down, her eyes wide with concern. "So, when did you first realize you were a...¡± she hesitated, struggling to find the right words.


    John completed her sentence, "A mutant?" His lighter clicked again.


    Bobby''s mom shot a disapproving look at John. "Can you stop with that?" she asked, nodding at the lighter. She took a deep breath, her gaze softening as she looked at Bobby. "We still love you, Bobby. We always will. It''s just... the whole mutant problem. It''s... complicated."


    Illyana, the sharp edges of her Russian accent making her words even more cutting, asked. "What ''mutant problem''?" her voice dripped with challenge. The room seemed to get colder as everyone held their breath, waiting for the response.


    Jubilee, sensing the thick tension, piped up with her characteristic brightness. "You should see what Bobby can do," she exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "His power is honestly amazing!"


    All eyes turned to Bobby, who reached out for his mom''s teacup, which sat on the coffee table. The steam from the hot tea curled up into the air. With a touch of his finger, the once steaming cup froze instantaneously. His mom, eyes widened in amazement, turned over the cup and a block of frozen tea tumbled out. Their family cat wandered to the ice block. It began to lick the frozen tea, seeming to enjoy the unexpected treat.


    "I can do a lot more than that," Bobby added, trying to bring some pride into his tone, even if the atmosphere in the room was a mix of amazement, apprehension, and disbelief.


    Bobby''s younger brother, looking equal parts angry and overwhelmed, pushed himself up from the couch and stormed out of the room. A door slammed in the distance, evidence of the teen¡¯s displeasure.


    Bobby¡¯s mother hung her head and dejectedly said, ¡°This is all my fault.¡±


    John commented, ¡°Actually, we discovered that the males are the carriers of the mutant gene.¡± He pointed at Bobby¡¯s dad, ¡°So it¡¯s his fault.¡±


    Within Bobby¡¯s brother¡¯s room, the teen turned on the television to see breaking news.


    In the wake of the assassination attempt on President McKenna, just weeks before his State of the Union Address, there are unconfirmed reports of a raid on an underground mutant organization based in Westchester, New York. Authorities refuse to comment, but the surrounding area has been evacuated, and a manhunt for several fugitives from the facility is underway.


    Ronny''s eyes were fixed on the TV screen, where images of the school Bobby attended were flashing. It was unmistakably Xavier''s School for Gifted Youngsters. He picked up the phone and began dialing the number displayed.


    As Bobby and Jubilee tried to smooth things over with Bobby''s visibly shaken parents, Jean suddenly interrupted. "We need to leave," she stated firmly.


    Bobby''s blue eyes were wide in confusion. "What? Why?"


    Jean responded with urgency in her voice, "Your brother is calling the police."


    A mix of disbelief and panic crossed Bobby''s mother''s face. "Ronny!" she shouted, her voice laced with a combination of fear and anger. She hurriedly made her way upstairs to confront her younger son.


    Bobby, frustration evident, murmured under his breath, "Come on, Ronny." He shook his head in disbelief that his brother called the cops on them. Bobby turned to face his father, his eyes searching for understanding. "I''m sorry, Dad," he said, the weight of the situation pressing on him. "If... If I don''t get a chance to... Just tell them I love them, okay?"


    His father¡¯s face was etched with worry as he nodded and pulled Bobby into a tight embrace. "I will," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "You just be safe out there."


    The mutants moved quickly, realizing their stay had been cut tragically short. Exiting the suburban home, they moved away from the house at a pace that hopefully wouldn¡¯t draw attention. Putting distance between themselves and Bobby''s home where the authorities were likely heading.


    "We''re in luck," Jean sighed, brushing a strand of her fiery red hair behind her ear. "I got in touch with Professor Ororo when we first got to Bobby''s."


    Jubilee grinned, her youthful energy unabated despite the evening''s drama. "Let''s get their attention then!" With that, she stretched out her hands and sent up a brilliant flare. It was a display of shimmering fireworks, fit for a holiday, that was bright enough to light up the afternoon sky.


    The familiar silhouette of the Blackbird came into view. It landed in a local park just a few blocks away. As the team neared the jet, the Blackbird''s ramp lowered, revealing Logan, wearing his usual leather jacket and scowl, Ororo, looking as regal as ever, and... a blue-skinned mutant they didn¡¯t recognize.


    "Look who decided to join the party," Logan grumbled, though there was a hint of relief in his eyes.


    Ororo stepped forward, her silver hair flowing like a cascade of moonlight. "I''m glad you''re all safe. We came as soon as Jean contacted us."


    Jean nodded in gratitude. "Thanks, Ororo. It means a lot."


    Bobby, still coming to grips with the whirlwind of emotions from the confrontation at his home, looked at the unfamiliar blue mutant. "Who''s this?"


    The blue mutant, with a playful smirk and an accent, replied, "Name''s Kurt. It''s a pleasure to meet you."


    Jubilee grinned at Kurt. "Cool look. Welcome to the team, blue guy."


    As they all settled in, the Blackbird''s engines roared to life, ready to carry them back to safety and away from the dangers they''d narrowly escaped.


    But Jubilee¡¯s fireworks and a sleek jet landing in a local park didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the authorities¡­

 Arc 2 - Ch 9: The White Room

    Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010.


    Location: Tyson¡¯s subconscious, Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada


    Stepping through the door, Tyson found himself standing in a familiar white room. Two other figures stood inside; One was a petite young woman, and the other was a menacing figure, his frame covered in a mix of torn clothing and thick, shaggy fur.


    Sabertooth''s piercing yellow eyes stared maliciously at Tyson, and his lips pulled back into a feral snarl, revealing a set of razor-sharp fangs. Sabertooth extended his deadly claws. "I¡¯ve been waiting for you, runt," he growled, his voice dripping with menace.


    Rogue¡¯s face was painted with concern as her eyes darted between the two men. Ignoring her, Sabertooth lunged forward clearly intent on ending Tyson. Time felt like it was crawling, each second feeling like an eternity as Tyson studied the murderous intent in Sabertooth''s eyes.


    Images of Professor Xavier flitted through his mind. The wise old mutant''s calm voice echoed in his thoughts, "It is your mind. You control what happens there."


    Sabertooth¡¯s claws descended on him, Tyson felt the sting as they pierced his skin. However, as Sabertooth pushed further, his progress was abruptly stopped, the claws couldn''t penetrate any deeper.


    The sharp claws met Tyson''s adamantium-reinforced skeleton and failed to pierce the indestructible barrier. Sabertooth growled in frustration, his face inches away from Tyson''s, hot breath wafting over him.


    Tyson stood firm, asserting his dominance over the mental space they occupied. Drawing himself to his full height, his voice echoed with unwavering certainty, "This is my mind, my body. You''re nothing more than a shadow, an echo of a dead man."


    Sabertooth snarled in response, but the fury in his eyes was tinged with uncertainty. The monstrous figure took a step back, watching as Tyson advanced, every bit the hunter Sabertooth himself once was. The first time he entered the white room, Tyson was the skinny teen he¡¯d been when he arrived in this world. Now his inner appearance matched his outer size. Now he was a match for Sabertooth¡¯s height and bulk. He flexed his fingers and matching claws extended as well. The room seemed to grow colder as Tyson''s voice lowered, the intensity building with every word, "You made the mistake of underestimating me. You''re nothing but a fading memory. It¡¯s time you learned your place."


    Sabertooth refused to bow down, he lunged at Tyson once more, claws slashing violently in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The room took on a surreal hue as Sabertooth''s claws clashed against Tyson''s claws and indestructible bones, sending sparks and blood flying in every direction.


    As they fought, Tyson met him blow for blow. At one point, Sabertooth, utilizing his incredible strength, slammed Tyson against a wall. He attempted to drive his claws through Tyson¡¯s abdomen to reach up under his reinforced ribcage. But Tyson kicked and thrust off the wall. Taking advantage of Sabertooth''s momentary surprise, he quickly maneuvered himself and unleashed a flurry of counter-attacks. The final move saw him drive his adamantium-laden fingers straight into Sabertooth''s chest, wrapping them around his heart.


    The very essence of Sabertooth¡¯s being was at Tyson''s mercy.


    Gasping, with beads of sweat forming on his brow, Sabertooth looked deep into Tyson¡¯s eyes. "Do it," he rasped. "End it."


    Tyson tightened his grip slightly, making Sabertooth wince in pain. "Submit," he hissed, "or I''ll destroy whatever''s left of you."


    After a few agonizing moments, Sabertooth''s once fierce eyes dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance. "Fine," he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, "You win."


    With a final squeeze, just to emphasize his victory, Tyson released his grip and stepped back. Sabertooth, now a shadow of his former self, crumpled to the floor, utterly defeated.


    Rogue''s pale face and the horror in her eyes told more of a story than any words could. As Tyson moved towards her, her entire body stiffened. Reasoning she wouldn¡¯t want him close, Tyson chose a spot a few feet away, sitting down in an attempt to ensure that she felt no threat from him.


    "I''m sorry you had to see that," he murmured, his voice laced with genuine regret.


    She blinked back tears, taking a shaky breath. "We''re all monsters," she whispered, her voice soft yet haunting. ¡°You think you¡¯re bad. You should¡¯ve seen what I did to Cody.¡±


    Tyson''s brow furrowed. "Who''s Cody?" he inquired gently.


    Rogue hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her jeans. "Cody Robbins," she began, a hint of nostalgia in her voice, "He was my boyfriend, back in Mississippi."


    Her green eyes clouded with pain, "We were in love. It was the kind of love that you read about in fairy tales. One evening, Cody leaned in for a kiss. It was my first kiss, it was supposed to be magical.. But, I didn¡¯t know," she paused, choking on the memory, "I didn¡¯t know about my powers."


    Rogue''s confession hung in the air, heavy with sorrow. She gulped, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That night, when our lips met, something inside me snapped. I felt a rush of energy, and Cody... he just crumpled in my arms. He went into a coma. Because of me," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, breaking with emotion. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek.


    Tyson felt a pang of empathy for her. Her pain, raw and deep, was almost tangible. He furrowed his brow, his mind scrambling to find words to offer solace. "It was an accident. You can''t blame yourself for a power you didn''t even know you had, much less control."


    Rogue''s resolve was evident, even as her voice trembled with the weight of her memories. She shook her head fiercely, refusing to accept Tyson''s attempts at consolation. Her eyes, usually so full of strength, now shimmered with a vulnerability that made her seem even more formidable. They locked with Tyson¡¯s, conveying a depth of pain and conviction that words alone could never fully express.


    "Even accidents have consequences," she insisted her voice firm but threaded with an undercurrent of raw emotion. Her gaze never wavered, holding Tyson¡¯s with an intensity that spoke of her inner turmoil. "Cody¡¯s life was taken from him because of me... it''s a cost I have to bear." The words were heavy, laden with guilt that had been a constant companion since that fateful night.


    Her expression softened slightly, but the firmness in her tone remained as she continued, "And every life you take, it''ll have its cost too." It was a warning as much as it was a shared truth. The power they wielded came at a high price; a price paid in the currency of consequences and responsibility.


    In those few sentences, Rogue laid bare the harsh reality of their existence. They were not just individuals with extraordinary abilities; they were also bearers of consequences. Tyson leaned slightly towards her, his brow furrowed in concern. "What kind of cost?" he asked, seeking to understand the depth of their burden.


    Rogue hesitated for a moment, her eyes shifting away as if gathering her thoughts. Then, turning back to Tyson, she spoke with a cryptic yet sincere tone. "The kind of cost that''s with us every day," she said, her gaze drifting towards Sabertooth. "Him being here. He¡¯s always there, If he¡¯s not trying to exert his will over us, he¡¯s in the background, listening, waiting for a moment of weakness," she gestured slightly towards Sabertooth, her voice tinged with a mix of disdain and resignation. "His constant needling, the violence, and threats... we deal with it every moment of every day."


    Her admission was abruptly interrupted by a voice laced with aggressiveness and scorn. "Dealing with you all day is like being trapped in some sappy, sad novel," he grumbled, his voice heavy with disdain. He¡¯d healed from the wound Tyson inflicted, and now his cold eyes fixed on Rogue. "If I could, I¡¯d put an end to it... Maybe have a little fun first," he sneered, a twisted smirk curling the corner of his mouth. The implied threat in his words was unmistakable, sending a shiver down Rogue''s spine.


    He paced slightly like a predator sizing up its prey. "One day, I¡¯ll be able to stand that touch of hers," he mused aloud, more to himself than to anyone else. "Or maybe I¡¯ll just take what I want, consequences be damned." The casual cruelty in his words revealed the depth of his malice. An evil, fanged grin spread across his face as he suggested, ¡°We could fuck each other to death¡­ Wouldn¡¯t that be a good way to go?¡±


    Rogue¡¯s voice now quivered with an undercurrent of fear as she confided in Tyson. "I¡¯m always on guard, always ready to defend myself," she said, a hint of weariness seeping into her words. Her gaze shifted towards Sabertooth, lingering there for a moment before scanning the room as if seeking out invisible threats. ¡°From him, and the others.¡±


    Tyson, observing her closely, could see the weight of her constant vigilance. He leaned in, concern etched on his face. "What others?" he asked, his voice gentle yet probing.


    Rogue hesitated, her eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and resolve. "The ones who are only here for a little while," she began slowly, "they come and go." Her gaze drifted away, lost in thought. "The demons, the nice girls," she mumbled under her breath, "and the mean one." There was a heaviness to her words, a burden of experiences too complex to articulate fully.


    "And the soldiers," Rogue added after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. As she spoke, Tyson''s mind raced, piecing together the puzzle. He realized she was talking about all those who he had touched since arriving.


    The revelation hit Tyson like a wave. He understood now the extent of what Rogue had been facing. Not just Sabertooth, but the psychological toll of constantly encountering new people, and never knowing if they were transient, or would become a permanent threat. He opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, a shrill, piercing alarm echoed throughout his mind, forcing him to clench his eyes shut and grip his temples.


    The bright white of his mental landscape started to blur and shift. Rogue''s form began to dissolve, and the ground beneath him felt unstable like sand being washed away by the tide.


    Gasping, he was thrust back into reality.


    The alarm continued its shrill blare, echoing off the walls. Tyson blinked, disoriented, trying to adjust to the harsh light. He glanced around and was greeted by the familiar metal bars, reminding him of his imprisonment.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Storm sat in the pilot¡¯s chair at the helm of the Blackbird. She engaged the auto-navigation system. As the system came online, her deep blue eyes transformed into an opaque white, signaling her connection to the forces of nature.


    The Blackbird zipped through the vast blue expanse of the sky. But, it wasn''t alone. Closing quickly behind were two F-16 fighter jets. The roar of the F-16''s engines grew closer, but Storm was intent on not allowing them a weapon¡¯s lock. Calling upon her mutant abilities, the sky around them darkened ominously as she invoked her elemental power. Twin tornadoes manifested from thin clouds, swirling with ferocity. One of the F-16 pilots, eyes widening in alarm, veered off course as the tornado''s powerful gusts threatened to engulf his jet. He didn''t have a choice - he hit the eject button, and his seat rocketed him safely away while his fighter jet became ensnared in the twister''s grasp. It was hurled and spun, ultimately meeting its doom as it was torn apart by the violent winds.


    The second pilot, with sheer determination and a hint of desperation, managed to avoid the second tornado. A swarm of tornadoes manifested in his path, and he too was forced to eject. But beforehand, he swiftly locked onto the Blackbird and released a missile. The deadly projectile sped through the air.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Storm''s eyes flashed back to their blue hue. She yelled over the roar of the engines and the whistling wind, "Brace for impact!"


    Within the tight confines of the Blackbird, panic spread like wildfire. Jean''s emerald eyes widened as the weight of the situation bore down on her. The thought of losing her friends, and her family, was unbearable. There was no time for words or doubt; only raw, unchecked emotion. She reached out with her mind, trying to connect with the speeding missile. Her brow furrowed in concentration. The missile was a fleeting blip in her psychic landscape, moving at an unimaginable speed. As the missile neared, her connection to it solidified. With a final surge of her psychic energy, her telekinesis forced the missile off its trajectory. The change was minuscule but enough.


    The missile detonated mere meters away from the Blackbird. The shockwave of the explosion rocked the jet violently. A fiery ball illuminated the sky, turning the evening into a brief, blinding day. The force of the explosion ripped a gaping hole in the back of the jet. The sudden decompression was violent and deafening, a cacophony of metal tearing and air rushing.


    Jubilee was sucked out of the newly-formed hole in the back of the jet. Her scream was barely audible over the roar of the wind and the explosion''s aftermath. She became a small silhouette against the vast backdrop of the sky, rapidly falling away from the tumbling Blackbird.


    Amidst the chaos inside the Blackbird, a sudden burst of sulfuric blue smoke filled the cockpit. Kurt Wagner, also known as Nightcrawler, vanished in a flash. He reappeared in the vastness of the open sky next to the falling Jubilee. Her face was etched with pure terror, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream.


    With the wind roaring around them, Kurt shouted, "Hold on!" His signature three-fingered hand clutched her tight, and with another puff, the cold wind of the freefall was replaced with the interior of the Blackbird.


    Jubilee, disoriented and gasping for breath, clung onto Kurt, her eyes glazed with relief.


    Back in the cockpit, the dire situation was palpable. The spiraling Blackbird roared, its alarms blaring, warning of an imminent crash. Logan, his features hardened with tension, looked at Storm, the weight of their shared history evident in their gaze. They grasped each other''s hands, bracing for the impact that seemed inevitable.


    But, as the ground drew terrifyingly close, a strange sensation enveloped the jet. The hole in the rear of the plane knitted back together as if the explosion occurred in reverse. The tumultuous descent of the Blackbird began to decelerate, becoming eerily calm. The loud warnings ceased, and the once violent shudders turned into a gentle hover.


    The team looked out the main window. Unbelievably the ground lay just a few meters below. The Blackbird hung suspended, cradled in the outstretched palm of a figure clad in a deep maroon cape and helmet.


    Magneto.


    His eyes, visible below the edge of his helmet, gleamed with amusement. With the entire jet in his magnetic grasp, he smirked. "Ah, it''s the X-Men, right on time." he declared with a hint of smug satisfaction.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The soft crackling of the campfire filled the silence of the night, the flames dancing and flickering, painting the faces of the gathered mutants in hues of orange and yellow. John, with a sly grin, snapped his fingers, igniting the firewood with his pyrokinetic abilities.


    Magneto began, "His name is William Stryker." The weight of the name hung heavy in the air.


    Logan questioned, "What does Stryker want from us? And more importantly, what is it you''re after, Magneto?"


    Magneto let out a weary sigh, staring deep into the flames. "When Stryker and his men invaded your mansion, they weren''t just there to wreak havoc. They took something crucial."


    Illyana''s blue eyes shimmered in the firelight, her tone urgent. "Tyson, right?" Her protective nature over her friends was evident.


    Logan''s eyes narrowed, remembering the previous encounters between Magneto and the young mutant. But Magneto waved away the accusation. "No. The boy is powerful, indeed. But what they were after is far more dangerous in the wrong hands."


    Storm asked, "Cerebro?"


    Magneto nodded gravely. "Charles and I conceived Cerebro as a beacon of hope. I envisioned it as a device that could bridge the gap between mutants and humans. But as always, Charles was too cautious. He never truly tapped into its enormous potential." his gaze turned darker. "In the wrong hands, Cerebro could spell doom for mutants worldwide."


    Storm pressed, "But for Cerebro to be operational, Stryker would need the Professor."


    Magneto''s eyes met Storm''s. "Which," he concluded, "is the only reason I believe Charles is still alive. And we need to rescue him before it''s too late."


    The night was still, punctuated only by the sound of crackling firewood and the low murmurs of the mutants gathered around the fire. Storm, her white hair flowing in the gentle breeze, turned her gaze to Magneto, her expression inquisitive. "How could Stryker possibly know about Cerebro? And even if he did, how would he know how to operate it?"


    Magneto''s lips tightened, his expression darkening with memories of his captivity. "Stryker has... ways to persuade, even someone as formidable as Charles." The very notion of someone manipulating Xavier''s powerful mind was chilling.


    Logan growled, "Even if we were to swallow this tale of yours, what do you need us for?"


    Magneto met Logan''s intense stare evenly. "Stryker has been conducting experiments and operations from a base for years. I know of its existence but not its location."


    Logan''s eyebrows furrowed in thought, memories of his painful past coming to the fore. "The adamantium they grafted onto my bones... that was Stryker''s doing. Alkali Lake," he spat out. "I was just there. Found nothing."


    Mystique interjected, "It''s there. When I accessed Stryker''s computer, I stumbled upon some files. ''Alkali Lake'' was mentioned."


    The weight of the revelation hung in the air as the mutants considered how to stop Stryker. As the morning sun dawned, the campsite was abandoned. What was left of the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants boarded the Blackbird heading north toward Alkali Lake.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    A faint whimper caught Charles Xavier¡¯s attention. It sounded like a muted cry originating nearby. He traced the sound to an inconspicuous section of the wall. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a discreet panel. Pushing it gently, the wall slid away to reveal a hidden stairwell. Huddled in its shadowy recesses was a young girl, no older than ten. Her wide eyes were filled with tears, and her face was streaked with dirt and distress.


    Seeing him, her eyes flashed with a mixture of hope and fear. "Are they gone?" she asked in a trembling voice, clinging to her worn teddy bear.


    Xavier met her gaze with a compassionate smile, his eyes exuding warmth and kindness. "Yes, they are gone," he assured her.


    Swallowing hard, she looked around, her confusion evident. "Where are all the others?"


    He frowned slightly, but to comfort her, he replied, "I''m not sure. But," He paused for a moment slightly confused, before brushing it off and continuing, "I guess we''ll have to find them, won''t we?"


    A spark of hope lit up the little girl''s eyes. Xavier extended a welcoming hand toward her. She hesitated for a split second, then, gathering her courage, she gripped his hand firmly and stood up.


    The massive door to Cerebro loomed before them. Professor Xavier wheeled closer to the retinal scanner, its blue light illuminating his face with a gentle glow. Just before he leaned in, he turned his head, catching the little girl''s gaze. Their eyes locked, and he gave her a comforting smile, trying to assure her of the safety inside. She tentatively smiled back. As the scanner analyzed Xavier''s retina, the mechanism whirred, and slowly the door began to part ways, revealing the futuristic interior of Cerebro. Just as Xavier was about to wheel in, the girl''s soft voice stopped him. "Don''t leave me alone, please," she pleaded, her voice echoing in the spacious corridor.


    Xavier paused, realizing that after everything she had been through, he couldn''t just leave her in the unknown. "Alright," he replied, nodding gently. "You can come inside. Just stay close to me."


    The little girl''s eyes brightened. Xavier began wheeling himself into Cerebro, the vast chamber stretching out before him. Curiosity replaced the little girl''s apprehension as she followed closely. Together, the two of them journeyed down the long platform.


    The vast chamber of what Charles believed to be Cerebro stretched out before him. However, the sterile shine of the original was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Stryker¡¯s version of Cerebro, with parts stolen from the institute had walls that bore a grimy texture, stained with blotches of brown and rust. Wires hung loosely in places, occasionally sparking, and the soothing hum of the machinery was replaced by an unsettling drone.


    Charles was completely oblivious to this bastardization of his creation as he reached out and picked up the helmet. Its weight felt different, heavier, but he was so focused on his task that he dismissed his fleeting unease. The little girl, who had been so meek and afraid earlier, watched Xavier intently. Unbeknownst to the Professor, she was merely a mirage, an illusion created by Mutant 143, Jason, to manipulate Xavier''s senses.


    Xavier''s mental barriers were strong, but the psionics inhibitor allowed Jason to worm his way through the professor''s defenses. The power of Mutant 143 was such that once he had a foothold, even a mind as formidable as Charles Xavier''s couldn¡¯t resist.


    As Xavier prepared to place the helmet on his head, the massive door of the Dark Cerebro slammed shut with a force that seemed to reverberate throughout the space. Caught in the illusion, Charles paid it no mind, but the little girl behind him slowly allowed her innocent facade to crumble. Her mismatching eyes, one blue, one green, which had once seemed filled with tears and fear, now gleamed with a malevolent mischief. An unsettling smile curved her lips, revealing a hint of darkness that had been hidden just moments ago.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Logan''s boots made soft thudding sounds as he walked down the spillway corridor. The spillway was an essential component of the dam. It was designed to release excess water during periods of heavy rain or snowmelt, preventing the reservoir from overflowing. It protected the dam from water damage and the surrounding areas from potential flooding. Alkali Lake dam held back vast amounts of water, ensuring it was released in controlled amounts through its spillways.


    As Logan approached the run-off tunnels, he glanced into the one on his right. Designed to direct the released water safely away from the dam''s base, it stood eerily dry, evidence of the dam''s current inactivity. Taking a deep breath, Logan''s voice echoed powerfully, "Stryker!" His shout traveled through the vast, hollow tunnel, bouncing back from the cold, concrete walls. After a brief pause, he yelled again, stronger this time, "It''s me. Wolverine!"


    The echo of his voice was the only response. Logan''s eyes scanned the length of the tunnel as he ventured deeper, the silence only amplifying the tension in the air.


    Stryker stood rigidly in the control room, eyes fixated on the monitor displaying Wolverine''s every move within the spillway corridor. The low hum of the room''s machinery was interrupted by the muted tapping of the guard''s finger on the flood button, awaiting a command.


    Without diverting his gaze from the screen, Stryker''s voice cut through the silence, "Send a team. Bring him to me in the north corridor." He took a brief moment to glance at the guard, emphasizing, "Carefully."


    Inside the spillway, Logan''s senses were on high alert as he cautiously trod forward. Just as he felt a shift in the air, a section of the wall in front of him slid open, revealing three soldiers. Their rifles aimed directly at him, expressions tense. Before Logan could react, another section of the wall behind him opened, revealing an additional trio of soldiers. The trap had been sprung.


    In the dimly lit corridor, the team leader, a tall soldier with a scar running down his cheek, shouted with an authoritative tone, "Don''t move! Hands in the air!"


    Logan''s eyes darted between the soldiers. In a move that surprised everyone in the corridor, and even Stryker watching remotely, Logan slowly raised his hands, claws retracted. The cold steel of the rifles and the anxious breaths of the soldiers were the only sounds that filled the tense silence.


    Logan was shackled around his ankles and wrists. The heavy chains clinked with every step he took as he was led through the facility, guns trained on him the entire time. Waiting for him at the end of the corridor was William Stryker. As they approached each other, Stryker¡¯s face morphed from one of sheer arrogance to slight surprise and then, a touch of dread. He stood confidently, taking a moment to peer into Logan¡¯s eyes, seeking a hint of the animal he knew lay within. The cocky grin that previously played on his lips was now replaced by a line of concern.


    Without a word, Stryker suddenly lifted a handgun, aiming it directly at Logan''s temple. But as his finger began to apply pressure on the trigger Logan¡¯s rough features began to morph and change. The face transformed into a slimmer, more delicate visage, and the yellow eyes of Mystique replaced Logan''s intense stare. Reacting almost immediately, Mystique''s slimmer form slipped effortlessly from the bulky shackles that bound Logan. In a swift, fluid motion, she used the momentum of her movement to wrap the chains around the gun in Stryker''s hand. Before he could process the sudden change of events, the gun was ripped away from him, and he was violently thrown into the nearby wall, dazed.


    The soldiers, caught off guard by the sudden change of events, scrambled to react, but Mystique''s smirk signaled that she was already two steps ahead. The corridor was plunged into chaos as the first two soldiers, still adjusting to the sudden change in their target, pulled their triggers almost simultaneously. But Mystique was quicker; she dropped low in a split second, and their bullets found each other. With a thud and a grunt, both guards fell, victims of friendly fire. With the grace and agility of an Olympic gymnast, Mystique performed a flawless handspring, propelling herself forward. Another guard quickly drew his pistol. However, as he tried to aim, Mystique''s hand darted out, knocking his arm sideways just as he squeezed the trigger. The misfired bullet struck a pipe, and a sharp hiss filled the corridor as steam began pouring out, obscuring everyone''s vision.


    The corridor was now thick with a blinding fog, making visibility almost impossible. Stryker, dazed from the sudden assault, stood up, squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of Mystique through the veil of steam. But she was gone, her silhouette having vanished completely into the mist. Cursing under his breath, Stryker turned, his face twisted in anger. "Activate the alarm!" he snapped at the nearest guard. The guard nodded hastily and scrambled to follow the order as Stryker marched off into the mist.

 Arc 2 - Ch 10: Compliant

    Tyson lounged against the hard, cold wall of his cell, the blare of the ongoing alarm starting to blend into the background. His fingers drummed idly on his leg, eyes darting around the cell. Without the distractions of the blondes, it was all a bit boring. If this was a fight, it was easily the dullest one he''d been in yet.


    Suddenly, the sound of the cell block door groaning open caused him to sit up in anticipation. Maybe this was the moment things would get interesting. Through the metal bars, he watched for who would appear next.


    To his surprise, it was Scott Summers, Cyclops. The usually composed leader of the X-Men looked a tad off as he approached Tyson''s cell.


    "Yo, Professor Summers!" Tyson called out, trying to inject some levity into the tension. "How about doing a guy a favor and getting me out of here?"


    Cyclops didn''t respond. He just stood there, eyes hidden behind his signature ruby-quartz visor, watching Tyson with an intensity that made him uncomfortable and revealed things were not as they appeared. Before Tyson could say more, a new figure strolled into view. Omega Red. But it was the man following him that made Tyson worry. William Stryker, the man behind all of this. Stryker was normally composed but for the first time, Tyson saw he was shaken, his brow sweaty and his suit disheveled. But what caused him pause was the vial clutched in Stryker¡¯s hand. It was a small container filled with a mysterious liquid that gleamed menacingly.


    Tyson''s casual demeanor shifted, realizing that whatever was happening was bigger than just him, and whatever was in that vial was central to it all.


    A moment of clarity hit Tyson like a sledgehammer as the pieces clicked into place. Scott''s blank stare, Omega Red''s presence, and that vial in Stryker''s hand. Scott had been manipulated, likely by that very serum Stryker held. The memory of the movie¡¯s plotline started to play in Tyson''s mind, acting as a roadmap to the present predicament.


    Tyson leaned against the cold bars of his cell, trying to keep his voice light, even though his mind raced with potential escape plans. "Hey, Stryker," he began, giving a fake grin, "You hiring? Gotta say, I''m appreciating the upgrade you gave me." He subtly took a step backward, placing some distance between him and the entrance. "About before, I was just kidding about those dental benefits. Don''t need them with the healing factor, you know?" He chuckled, hoping to buy some more time.


    Stryker¡¯s lips curled in annoyance. "We don''t have time for your games," he snapped. He shot a commanding glance at Omega Red. "Red, grab him."


    Omega Red grinned, his tentacles uncoiling, ready for action. Tyson knew he needed to act fast, but with Scott being controlled and Red ready to pounce, his options were slim. Whatever move he made next had to count.


    The chilling realization that he might be subjected to the mind-control serum was enough to set Tyson on edge. He had been in tight spots before, and being cornered with no apparent escape reminded him of how he¡¯d felt within the confines of Magneto¡¯s metal prison. This fear was reinforced as Omega Red''s tentacles shot toward him, resembling metal serpents preparing to strike.


    Just like Magneto.


    The carbonadium appendages were nearly as tough as his adamantium claws, but not quite. Tyson refused to become another of Stryker¡¯s mindless pawns. He refused to be trapped, helpless, and left for dead again.


    ¡°Come on, Red! Is that all you''ve got?¡± Tyson taunted angrily. Pulling on Sabertooth¡¯s agility, he twisted, ducked, and leaped, barely avoiding the tentacles'' relentless pursuit. One particularly close swipe from Omega Red made him grit his teeth. Swiftly retaliating, Tyson¡¯s adamantium claws gleamed as they came into contact with the tentacles. Sparks flew, filling the air with a brief, electric-blue glow. Although the cuts he inflicted were shallow, the metallic sound of his claws clashing against the tentacles rang throughout the chamber. Every dent, every scratch he left on Omega Red''s weapons was a small victory, reinforcing that his defiance was not in vain. Despite the odds, Tyson''s spirit remained unbroken. He was a fighter, and he would not go down easily. Even as the tentacles continued to lash out, seeking to ensnare him, he was determined to resist until his last breath.


    Stryker''s face contorted in irritation. He had expected this to be swift, but Tyson was proving to be more resilient than anticipated. "Enough of this," Stryker snapped, pointing a commanding finger at Scott. "Shoot him."


    Cyclops, under the influence of the mind-controlling serum, showed no hesitation. He touched his visor, and in an instant, a vibrant red beam shot out. Tyson, still dodging Omega Red, barely saw it coming. The force of the energy beam was like being hit by a sledgehammer; it slammed into his chest, catapulting him backward to collide with the cold, steel wall. The wind was knocked out of him, but he shook off the impact and rolled to the side. Scott focused, letting out an even more potent and sustained optic blast. The energy beam seemed almost tangible, like a wall of pure force, pushing Tyson relentlessly back. He struggled against it, his feet scraping against the floor, but it was too powerful. The force pinned him against the wall, his claws scraping desperately for any form of leverage.


    Omega Red took full advantage of the situation guiding his tentacles forward. One of them wrapped securely around Tyson, the cold metal squeezing tighter and tighter. Tyson growled in frustration and grunted in exertion as he tried to break free. The cold, constricting grip of Omega Red surpassed his strength and stole his leverage. His muscles tensed and bulged, to no avail.


    Omega Red''s steel-like grip hoisted Tyson effortlessly, pinning him against the cold, unyielding metal bars of the cell. He was spun around, his neck and the back of his head exposed and vulnerable, perfectly positioned. Tyson''s eyes narrowed as Stryker approached, a small glass dropper filled with a menacing liquid in his hand.


    Tyson''s mind raced. He knew what that serum meant; if it touched him, Stryker would have control over him, his mind, he would be a mere puppet. Desperation fueled his next words. "Wait! Hail Hydra!" he blurted out.


    Stryker, initially advancing with clear intent, halted. A flicker of surprise crossed his usually impassive face. Tyson inwardly sighed at his gamble. He had pieced together fragments of information, a jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces. Stryker was the head of Weapon X, an offshoot of the Weapons Plus program, the project that created Captain America. If Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD, it wasn''t far-fetched they could have their tendrils in Weapon X. Omega Red¡¯s presence, too, was a piece that Tyson couldn¡¯t make fit unless there was something else at play.


    ¡°That¡¯s very interesting. Very, very interesting,¡± Stryker mused, his voice steady yet tinged with a curiosity that didn''t quite reach his cold eyes. He leaned closer to Tyson, his breath almost a whisper against Tyson¡¯s ear. ¡°Hydra doesn¡¯t know about this little mission. This is personal. And I¡¯d prefer they didn¡¯t find out. So please forgive my improper professional etiquette, but secrets must remain secret.¡± The words chilled Tyson more than the cool air of the cell.


    Tyson felt the weight of Stryker¡¯s revelation crush the faint glimmer of hope he had mustered. There was no cheat code that would free him from this predicament.


    He was right about Stryker¡­ And it didn¡¯t matter.


    As Stryker¡¯s grip tightened on the dropper, Tyson struggled fiercely. He knew what was coming; the serum within that small vial had the power to strip him of his will, to make him a puppet to Stryker¡¯s twisted designs. He braced himself, muscles tensing in futile resistance.


    Two droplets fell, their descent almost graceful, and landed on the vulnerable skin of Tyson¡¯s neck. The serum burned upon contact, a searing heat that promised the doom of subservience. Tyson gasped, the sensation clawing at his flesh. Stryker stepped back, a cruel smile playing upon his lips, an artist admiring his work. At that moment, Tyson understood that Stryker relished not just the control but the act of taking it. The satisfaction etched on Stryker¡¯s face was not just cold, it was arctic, devoid of any semblance of humanity.


    Time seemed to warp around them, each second elongated into an agonizing stretch of reality. A change began to overtake Tyson. The fierce struggle wilted away. The tension that fortified his muscles dissolved, and the fire that had blazed defiantly in his eyes dimmed into a flicker. His body slackened, no longer resisting the steel grip of Omega Red. Tyson''s expression gave way to a blankness, proof of the serum¡¯s efficacy. The fight had left him, not by choice, but by the imposition of a will that was not his own.


    Omega Red¡¯s metallic tentacles now held a limp body. Any struggle that remained was only within Tyson''s head. A battle of the mind and spirit against the chemical whose chains now bound him. Stryker¡¯s expression remained impassive, his satisfaction not found in the spectacle of the struggle, but in the end result. He turned his back on Tyson. Walking away from a conquered, compliant foe.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    In the main security room, an array of monitors displayed different corridors, chambers, or external parameters of the facility. Stryker entered with an air of urgency. The guard immediately straightened up, saluting out of habit. "We have a mutant on the loose," Stryker declared, his voice dripping with frustration. "A metamorph, she could be anyone."


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The guard¡¯s eyes darted to the screens, then back to Stryker, a hint of realization dawning. "Anyone?" he echoed, the weight of the statement settling in.


    Before the guard could react, Stryker reached for the rifle that lay next to the guard. He used the butt of the rifle to strike the guard hard on the side of his head. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even knew what hit him.


    Stryker''s form began to change. His skin rippled and morphed, shifting colors and textures. His stature and physique transformed until standing in Stryker''s place was the blue-skinned, yellow-eyed woman, Mystique.


    She looked around the room briefly, a sly smirk crossing her face. With a sense of purpose, she strode to the heavy door controls. Pushing a large red button, the room was immediately filled with the loud, grinding noise of the blast doors closing. They slid into place with a resounding thud, sealing Mystique inside.


    Inside the security room, Mystique''s fingers danced over the terminal, her yellow eyes scanning through lines of code and system schematics. The security system of the base was sophisticated, but her skills were up to the challenge. Glowing lines of data flowed down the screen, each command she entered bringing her one step closer to her objective. A triumphant smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she found the controls for the blast doors. With a final keystroke, the system beeped in compliance, signaling that the doors were now under her control.


    At the entrance of the base, soldiers were taken off guard as warning lights flashed and klaxons blared. The towering, thick metal doors slowly began to grind open, revealing the world outside. The soldiers rushed forward, guns at the ready, positioning themselves to repel the intrusion.


    But as they steadied their aim, a magnetic force gripped their weapons, wrenching them from their grasp. The firearms floated in mid-air, defying gravity, before turning to face their former owners. From the opening, a figure stepped forward. It was Magneto. "Run along," he ordered, his voice dripping with disdain, as the floating guns ominously pointed at the petrified soldiers.


    Not needing to be told a second time, the soldiers scattered, their courage evaporating in the face of such raw power. As they fled, Storm, Logan, and Nightcrawler emerged from behind Magneto, ready to reclaim their lost allies from Stryker''s clutches.


    The corridors echoed with the sounds of alarms and shouted orders. The group moved swiftly, using their unique abilities to overpower any resistance that dared to confront them. Every corner they turned or door they breached brought them closer to the security room where Mystique had set the stage for their invasion. They stood before the heavy doors of the security room. They slid open to reveal Mystique, still in her blue-skinned form, standing next to a bank of monitors displaying various parts of the facility.


    Magneto took a step forward, his eyes scanning the screens. "Any idea where Charles is?"


    She nodded, pointing to a monitor that displayed a familiar figure bound in a chair. "Stryker''s got him in a twisted version of Cerebro. We need to move fast."


    Storm asked, "And the students? The kids he kidnapped?"


    Nightcrawler, appearing uneasy, said, "They are being held in another section."


    Storm''s eyes clouded over with worry. "We need to split up. Time is of the essence."


    Magneto nodded in agreement. "Mystique and I will retrieve Charles."


    Storm said, "I''ll get the kids. Kurt, will you come with me?" Kurt nods. Storm looks around the room and realized¡­ ¡°Where¡¯s Logan?¡±


    Magneto answered, ¡°Logan¡¯s gone after his own prize. There¡¯s no time to wait for him.¡±


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Inside the Blackbird, tension brewed among the group. John threw a disapproving glance toward the ramp of the aircraft. "Why''d they have to leave us behind? We could''ve helped!"


    Bobby tried to offer some comfort. "Come on. The Professors and the others have their reasons. Maybe they just thought this mission was too dangerous. We aren¡¯t trained, we¡¯re just students."


    Jubilee piped up, her colorful, star-shaped earrings catching the dim lights of the cockpit. "Yeah, and you know Logan. He''d have our heads if anything happened to us. He''s super protective like that. Especially of Tyson, he¡¯s definitely going to bring him back."


    John huffed, "That''s no excuse. We can handle ourselves."


    Illyana chimed in, "I''ve faced down demons in Limbo. Some soldiers aren''t going to scare me."


    Jubilee continued trying to mediate the situation. She looked towards Jean, who was unusually silent, her eyes shut, possibly trying to focus on her telepathy. "Jean, back me up here. We''re doing the right thing by listening, right?"


    Jean sat with her eyes shut tight. Every muscle in her face was drawn taut emphasizing the lines of deep concentration on her face. Jean was used to navigating the tumultuous sea of thoughts around her, but now she sensed something different. The moment Jubilee addressed her, Jean''s eyes snapped open, revealing a troubled look. "Something¡¯s changed," she said, her voice filled with concern. "I sensed Scott... Professor Summers. It was strange, his thoughts shifted abruptly, becoming almost... robotic. And I can¡¯t sense Professor Xavier at all. He¡¯s usually like a beacon to me, but now there¡¯s nothing. But there''s another telepath there, one that¡¯s powerful, like Professor X almost. But it''s so strange, it¡¯s like there isn¡¯t one focused point of psionic energy, but several with the same mental signature. I don¡¯t understand..."


    Illyana leaned forward, her silver hair flowing over her shoulders. "Focus on what¡¯s important, Jean! What about Tyson?" she demanded.


    Jean closed her eyes for a split second, attempting to focus. "Tyson''s mind is always difficult for me to pick up unless he''s close. Right now, I''m not sure. I can''t pinpoint him."


    Illyana¡¯s pale blue eyes flashed with determination. "I¡¯m done waiting." With a huff, she stood up, her boots thudding against the metal floor, and began to stride determinedly toward the back of the plane. The others exchanged glances, knowing that when Illyana made up her mind, there was little that could stop her.


    Bobby stepped in front of Illyana, blocking her path. "Hold on," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "If one of us goes, we all should go." John nodded in agreement.


    Illyana glared at him for a moment, "Well then, let''s go."


    Jean rubbed her temples, a small frown on her face. "I just want everyone to be safe. But I have a feeling things are about to get a lot worse before they get better. If we''re going in, we need to be united and ready for anything."


    Jubilee took a deep breath. She looked at her friends. The determination and fear warred in her eyes. "You guys remember when Tyson faced Magneto, right?" she began, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "After that fight, once he finally woke up, he told me something. He looked at me with those eyes, you know, and he said, ''Jubes, don¡¯t ever go up against someone like Magneto if you can avoid it. You''re strong, but you gotta know your limits.'' He told me about how badly he''d been hurt. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t even sure how he''d made it, like he was almost broken. And the terrifying part? None of us would¡¯ve survived half the injuries he had." Jubilee''s eyes glistened as she continued, "And now, once again, he''s the one in danger, and I... I just don''t know what to do. I want to help, but...what if I can''t? What if I¡¯m not strong enough?"


    The room went quiet as Jubilee''s words hung in the air. The weight of the situation pressed down on all of them. Her vulnerability and raw emotion gave everyone a momentary pause, grounding them in the reality of the dangers facing them inside.


    John raised an eyebrow stating, "But Magneto is on our team now."


    Jubilee''s gaze turned fiery as she shot back, "Is he? You''ve seen how he is. If he finds Tyson in there, who''s to say he won''t turn on him again? Can we trust him?"


    There was a tense silence. Everyone knew the history and the weight behind Jubilee''s words. Then Illyana stepped forward, her silver locks flowing and her blue eyes piercing with an intensity only she possessed.


    "Then we need to go," she declared. "Remember when Tyson faced Magneto? He had Jean''s power backing him up. Without it, he wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. And Jubilee, you aren¡¯t alone here. On the train, it was just you and Tyson, outnumbered. But together, we can make a difference." Illyana looked at each of her classmates. "So, we''re all in agreement then?"


    When no one dissented, Bobby, with a slight smile, declared, "Looks like it. Let''s go!"


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Stryker stood inside Cerebro. As he approached Mutant 143, Stryker''s boots echoed in the cavernous space. The mutant was strapped down, eyes wide but with a vacant look. The cables attached to his head pulsed with energy. Leaning down, Stryker whispered into Mutant 143''s ear, "Find them. Every last mutant. And end them."


    As he stood upright, Stryker''s gaze softened. For a moment, he remembered his son Jason, and all the time they¡¯d spent together. But then he remembered. This was not his son. This was the creature who, in Stryker''s eyes, had taken his wife from him. A flicker of anger returned, darkening his features. With a final look at Mutant 143, Stryker strode out of Cerebro, the door closing behind him with a foreboding slam. The room grew silent, save for the pulsing of the machine and the soft breathing of the mutants within.


    Stryker emerged into the corridor outside of Cerebro which seemed cramped with his entourage. He looked like a General surveying his army with cold and calculating eyes.


    "Set the charges. Every entry and exit point, the dam supports, everything important you can get a charge on." he barked at the soldiers, who immediately jumped to attention, nodding and dispersing quickly.


    He then turned to face Cyclops. The visored mutant stood still, waiting for orders. Stryker leaned in close, his voice low enough that the others couldn¡¯t hear. "Go to the mutant prisoners. And make sure they all die."


    Cyclops gave a faint nod, turning on his heel and marching away without hesitation.


    Stryker''s gaze shifted to Tyson. Pointing at the entrance to Cerebro, he said, "Guard this with your life. Attack anyone who approaches you."


    Tyson grunted, positioning himself squarely in front of the entrance, his frame tense and ready.


    Stryker glanced at the group of identical blonde mutants standing by him. "You five stay with him. Make sure noone gets through these doors."


    He then addressed the lethal pair by his side. "Yuriko, Red," he paused, locking eyes with each in turn, "With me."


    With his orders delivered, Stryker confidently walked down the corridor, Yuriko and Omega Red trailing behind him.

 Arc 2 - Ch 11: Mismatch

    Outside the fortified entrance to Cerebro, Tyson stood guard against any who might dare approach. The five blondes, almost identical in appearance, maintained a loose perimeter around him. At first, they were silent, yet there was an underlying tension in the air. Their heads tilted in unison, pale blue eyes focusing on the far end of the corridor. The subtlest shift in their stance signaled that they had picked up on something. "An intruder approaches," they muttered as one. The blondes eyes¡¯ flashed with a blue glow as they jointly accessed their psionics. "Difficult to discern," one spoke, another added, "Her mind is... shielded."


    Tyson''s stance became more aggressive, every muscle in his body ready for action. His eyes scanned the corridor, ready for whatever was about to emerge.


    The dimly lit corridor echoed with footsteps as Mystique emerged from around the far corner. Tyson recognized the threat and immediately lunged forward in a blur of movement. Yet, halfway to his intended target, his form halted as if caught by invisible chains. His muscles bulged with strain and his features contorted in frustration, but he couldn''t move.


    Mystique moved gracefully around Tyson towards the quintet of blondes, their identical faces reflecting caution and intrigue. Their voices began that eerie, almost hypnotic relay of speech. "It''s the metamorph," one began.


    Mystique retorted sharply, "Get out of my way."


    The transformation began at Mystique''s feet, the blue scales seemed to melt away. The changes cascaded upwards like a wave of fluid motion. Her lithe, muscular form softened. Her face, once sharp and angular, also softened, her cheekbones descending, her jawline narrowing. Mystique''s fiery red hair receded into her scalp, re-emerging as platinum blonde locks that framed her face and fell in perfect, uniform waves down her shoulders. Her eyes shifted from their piercing yellow to a softer blue, mirroring the icy gaze of the blondes. In moments, where there had been one formidable, blue-skinned shapeshifter, now stood another identical young woman. Each detail was replicated with supernatural precision; the cut of their stylish yet austere clothing, the way they held their posture, and even the subtle, shared expressions that crossed their faces.


    But the girls weren''t easily intimidated. Spreading out in formation, each adopting a fighting stance, another continued, "You might shape-shift.¡± Another finished her sentence, ¡°But you can''t hide from us."


    The atmosphere in the corridor became charged as the quintet of blondes advanced on Mystique in perfect synchrony, their movements mirroring one another as if they were all part of a single organism.


    As the first blonde lunged towards her, Mystique ducked and swirled around her, aiming to use her momentum against her. But another blonde was right there, cutting off her escape. With every movement Mystique made, it seemed one of the blondes anticipated her. They worked in perfect tandem, blocking her strikes and countering seamlessly. It was like trying to fight a single entity with five bodies.


    Mystique, ever adaptable, switched strategies, aiming to isolate them. With a swift roundhouse kick, she managed to send one of the blondes crashing into the others, creating a momentary opening. She lunged forward, fist aimed squarely at the face of the blonde closest to her. But just as her strike was about to land, the blonde''s skin shimmered, transforming into an iridescent diamond-like material. Mystique''s fist collided with the diamond face, producing a sharp, echoing clang but causing no damage. The force of her punch merely sent the blonde skidding back a foot or so, her diamond eyes betraying no pain.


    "You didn''t expect that." one of the blondes taunted, while the others recovered and began their coordinated attack once more.


    Magneto turned the corner and approached with a smooth, assured gait. "Look what they''ve done to you," he observed, his voice dripping with pity and perhaps a touch of disgust. He paused, surveying Tyson''s predicament, his focus narrowing on the gleam of the metal within him. "I recognize the signature of that alloy. They''ve done to you what they did to Logan." A slight smile crept onto his face. "It''s made you stronger." He leaned in, almost admiringly, "But not against me."


    With the slightest flick of his wrist, Magneto sent Tyson crashing into the wall. The adamantium within him became his cage. The sheer force of the magnetic field rendered Tyson immobile, his struggles futile.


    The five blondes, moving with a unity that seemed inhuman, were so focused on their target, Mystique, that they failed to take into account the threat approaching from behind them. While Mystique danced and dodged between the blondes, drawing their collective attention, Magneto raised a hand subtly. With a mere flick of his fingers, strips of metal began to peel away from the walls of the corridor. They undulated like snakes, reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead in a serpentine dance of their own. Suddenly, with a swiftness that caught the blondes off guard, the strips of metal shot forward, ensnaring them. They wrapped around wrists, ankles, and torsos, pulling the five girls tight against the walls, and rendering them immobile. Their diamond forms shimmered, but to their surprise and then frustration they were unable to break the bonds.


    "Impossible!" one of the blondes cried, struggling against the powerful metallic bindings.


    Another, with an eerily calm demeanor, stated, "He was hidden from us."


    Magneto looked over the restrained blondes with a hint of satisfaction. "It''s always the unseen threats that pose the greatest danger," he remarked coolly.


    Mystique, catching her breath, gave Magneto a nod of gratitude.


    Magneto approached the heavy metal door that barred their path to Cerebro. The door was built as sturdy as a bank vault. But for Magneto, such barriers were mere trifles. He raised a hand, focusing intently on the complex locking mechanism within the door. From within, the distinct sound of gears turning and locks releasing echoed in the corridor. With a final, resonant *clunk*, the massive door began to swing open with a slow, deliberate grace, revealing the pathway ahead.


    As Magneto worked his way through the door, Mystique closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, her blue skin began to ripple and shift. Her form began to change, bones realigning, her height adjusting. In a matter of seconds, she became an impeccable replica of Stryker. The transformation was flawless, down to the stern expression and cold glint in her eyes. ¡®Stryker¡¯ approached Jason, the mutant''s eyes unfocused, reflecting a world of illusion he continuously painted for others. Mystique, with every detail of Stryker, leaned close, her voice dripping with feigned urgency. "Jason," she whispered, her lips barely moving, "Find all the Humans. Kill all the Humans."


    Jason''s eyes, previously glazed, snapped to sharp attention. He hesitated for just a heartbeat, then nodded slowly, beginning his psychic manipulation on Xavier. The Professor''s face, serene and distant under the helm of Cerebro, subtly twitched, a brief sign of the mental battle ensuing within. As Jason focused on his new directive, Magneto motioned to Mystique, signaling their exit. The two mutants swiftly exited Cerebro''s chamber. Reaching the door, Magneto outstretched his arm, his fingers splayed. With a concentrated effort, the door''s metal began to twist and meld, securing Cerebro from any possible intrusion. As he worked, he turned and regarded the blondes, but dismissed them.


    Magneto firmly pulled Tyson from where he had been pinned to the wall. The young mutant hovered, surrounded by a magnetic field, just behind Magneto. Tyson continued to struggle but was held helpless within the power. With Mystique leading and Tyson floating behind, the trio made their way down the corridor.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Stryker''s boots clicked heavily against the cold metal floor of the base, every step echoing his growing desperation. Close behind, Omega Red and Yuriko moved swiftly, like phantoms in the dim lighting. They turned a corner and halted abruptly. There, in the middle of the hallway, stood Wolverine. There was a moment of pregnant silence before a crisp, metallic sound shattered it. Three adamantium claws on each of Wolverine''s hands slowly extended, reflecting the cold light in a menacing gleam.


    Stryker''s eyes darted, looking for an alternative route. "We''ll go around," he muttered quickly. Then, as if an afterthought, he turned to his tall companion, "Red, handle him." As he turned back to Yuriko he commented, ¡°These mutants are like weeds. I think it¡¯s time we made our exit.¡±


    Omega Red smirked, the light playing off his pallid skin, making it appear even more ghostly. His Russian accent was thick thick as he said, "You shouldn''t be here."


    But Wolverine''s gaze never wavered from Stryker. With a roar, he lunged forward, the intent clear in his eyes. He was going for the man who had caused him so much pain. But just as he was about to reach Stryker, something shot out from Omega Red''s arm. A long, whip-like tentacle slammed into Wolverine''s side, sending him skidding across the floor with a grunt.


    Omega Red chuckled, "Thought you could ignore me, little man?" He flexed his tentacles, ready for the brawl that was about to ensue.


    Omega Red towered over Wolverine, his long, deadly tentacles writhing and moving with a life of their own. His lips curled into a cruel smirk, relishing the moment.


    With a fierce growl, Wolverine lunged, slashing swiftly at his opponent. Omega Red''s tentacles snapped forward, aiming to ensnare Wolverine, but the smaller mutant dodged with surprising agility. Every time Red thought he had Wolverine, those sharp claws would flash, slicing the tentacles and forcing them to retract. Yet, for all of Wolverine''s agility, Omega Red had raw power. A tentacle whipped forward, catching Wolverine off-guard and hurling him into a nearby wall. The impact sent a shockwave through the corridor, debris scattering everywhere. Wolverine grunted, pain and anger evident in his eyes. Undeterred, Wolverine pushed off the wall, using it as a springboard. He came at Omega Red from above, raining down a flurry of slashes. But Omega Red was no pushover. With a swift motion, he caught Wolverine mid-air with his tentacles, constricting him tightly.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    As the tentacles squeezed, Omega Red drew Wolverine closer, their faces inches apart. "Thought you could beat me?" he hissed, a gloating grin stretching across his face.


    Wolverine, despite the immense pressure, managed a defiant smirk. "Barely started trying," he spat back. With a sudden surge of energy, Wolverine''s claws plunged into the tentacles, forcing Omega Red to release him.


    Circling each other warily, their eyes locked in mutual disdain, they prepared to clash again. Wolverine and Omega Red sized each other up. The silence was palpable, punctuated only by the distant echoes of chaos elsewhere in the base. With a snarl, Omega Red lunged first, his tentacles shooting out, aiming straight for Wolverine¡¯s throat. Wolverine ducked, rolling to the side, then sprung up and lunged with his claws bared. But Omega Red was faster this time, his tentacles wrapping around Wolverine¡¯s arms, pinning his deadly claws to his sides.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got you, little man.¡± Omega Red sneered.


    But Wolverine had another move up his sleeve. Using his legs, he pushed off the ground, flipping backward and using the momentum to kick Omega Red into the wall. The impact dazed the Russian mutant momentarily, and Wolverine broke free.


    "Nice try, bub," Wolverine spat, wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth.


    The fight turned even more savage. Omega Red''s tentacles, now infused with glowing energy, became even more aggressive, snapping and writhing, trying to drain the life force from Wolverine. But Logan''s healing factor kept him on his feet, his resilience never wavering. Omega Red''s tentacles grabbed a metal pipe, twisting it into a spear and hurling it at Wolverine. With incredible reflexes, Wolverine sliced through it, but the diversion allowed Omega Red to land a solid punch to his face.


    Wolverine stumbled back, "You''re going to have to do better than that," he growled, getting back into a fighting stance.


    Omega Red chuckled. In a heavy accent, he replied, "Oh, don''t worry. I have plenty more in store for you."


    He rushed the smaller man, their silhouettes clashing again.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Nightcrawler and Storm made their way to the holding room where the children captured from the Institute were kept. Cages dangled ominously in the air, the young mutant captives looked down on them with eyes wide with terror. Storm¡¯s blue eyes flashed as she scanned the area, trying to find the controls to lower the cages. Nightcrawler was about to simply teleport to the cages when suddenly, footsteps echoed in the chamber. Both mutants turned to find Cyclops walking in, his ruby-quartz visor glowing dimly.


    "Scott!" Storm exclaimed, relief evident in her voice. "You''re okay!"


    But something was amiss. Scott''s face was eerily calm, devoid of any emotion. His demeanor did not reflect any hint of recognition.


    "Scott?" Storm questioned again, uncertainty creeping into her voice.


    Without warning, Cyclops raised a hand to his visor. The subsequent red blast that shot out was sudden and ferocious. Storm, reacting just in time, ducked behind a console.


    Nightcrawler, realizing the imminent danger, yelled, "It seems he''s not himself!"


    "I can see that, Kurt!" she responded, trying to keep her focus on Scott while searching for a way to subdue him without causing harm.


    Cyclops prepared to fire another blast, his placid expression never changing.


    The atmosphere within the chamber crackled with electricity as Storm¡¯s usually calm demeanor shifted. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of blue moments before, transformed into a stark white. Around her, the winds stirred, starting as a mere whisper and escalating into a tempestuous roar in mere seconds. Her cape billowed and her hair danced wildly in the gusts she summoned.


    Suddenly, Cyclops found himself overpowered, a victim to nature''s might as a gust of wind slammed him to the ground. But Storm didn''t stop there. With a sweep of her hand, the wind took hold of Cyclops, dragging him helplessly across the room''s metal floor. With his back against the wall, Scott defiantly struggled against the force pinning him. He lifted his hand, releasing erratic blasts. The concussive beams ricocheted, creating chaos. Metal screeched and lights flickered as the beams hit their mark, turning the chamber into a dangerous maze of destruction.


    In a puff of brimstone-scented smoke, Nightcrawler appeared beside Cyclops. He landed a punch to Scott''s abdomen, momentarily knocking the wind out of him. Before the powerful gusts could sweep him off, Nightcrawler vanished, reappearing safely away. Again and again, he executed his hit-and-run tactics, appearing beside Scott for a strike and then disappearing. The combination of Storm¡¯s relentless winds and Nightcrawler¡¯s rapid assaults gradually wore Cyclops down. His efforts to fire his optic blasts became less frequent, and his struggles against the wind weakened. With one last punch from Nightcrawler, a swift strike to the temple, Scott''s eyes rolled back, and he slumped, unconscious, still pinned against the wall by the force of the wind.


    The room fell silent, save for the soft whir of disturbed air as Storm reined in her powers. She knelt beside Scott, her fingertips brushing against his neck to check for a pulse. Without waiting for further instruction, Nightcrawler nodded and turned his attention to the suspended cages. He disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, only to reappear within one of the cages. His agile hands moved swiftly, unfastening the restraints and lifting the first child into his arms. With another teleportation, he reappeared on the ground, placing the child safely before repeating the process. Each time he appeared, a comforting whisper of "You''re safe now" left his lips, helping calm the frightened children. It wasn''t long before the floor of the chamber was filled with a small group of children, their faces streaked with tears but relief evident in their eyes. Nightcrawler moved quickly until every child was free.


    Storm cast an elegant shadow over the children. "Stay close," she instructed, her voice firm but kind. "We''re going to get out of here."


    Nodding, Nightcrawler hoisted Scott onto his shoulder. With the children gathered around Storm they began to move. Nightcrawler, carrying Scott, took the rear, his eyes darting around for any signs of danger.


    The dim lighting of the corridor made the distant figures difficult to discern. As Storm detected their approach, she immediately went on the defensive. She stepped forward, her blue eyes scanning the distance, attempting to identify the group.


    "Hold on," she whispered to the children, urging them to stay close and still. "Kurt!" she called out more loudly, the name echoing slightly. In an instantaneous puff of violet-hued smoke, Nightcrawler was by her side, Scott still cradled in his arms. The sudden appearance of that distinct teleportation smoke made the group of approaching figures hesitate for a split second.


    From among the figures, a familiar burst of colorful fireworks erupted. Jubilee''s voice, full of relief, broke through, "Oh thank god it¡¯s you!"


    Storm, recognizing the distinct pattern of Jubilee¡¯s light show, relaxed her posture slightly. However, her gaze turned stern when she said, "I thought we told you to stay in the jet."


    John replied, "Yeah, like that was going to happen."


    As the group closed the distance between them, the features of Jubilee, John, and a few others became clear. Storm''s expression softened with relief, but she maintained her authoritative stance. Waving her hand slightly towards Nightcrawler, she signaled him to return to the back with Scott.


    "Good," Storm started, directing her words to the newly arrived team, "You can help get the kids to the plane."


    Illyana''s blue eyes darted from face to face, and a frown settled on her lips. "Where''s Tyson?" she inquired, her voice sharp with concern.


    Jean stepped closer, her brows knitted together. "And Professor X?" she added.


    Storm showed a hint of worry as she responded, "Magneto and Mystique were heading to get Xavier when we last saw them." She paused, glancing at the group, then added hesitantly, "As for Tyson... we aren''t certain of his whereabouts."


    The weight of those words settled heavily on the group. The tension was palpable. Illyana''s face was etched with a stubborn resolve, her voice carrying an edge. "No," she declared.


    Storm raised an eyebrow, "No?" she repeated, seeking clarity.


    "I''m going to find Tyson," Illyana began. "Do you know how many more of us would''ve been taken from the mansion if he hadn''t been there? He stood against those invaders. Alone. And now he''s missing? And to top it all off, Magneto is here. The very same man who already tried to kidnap Tyson. You were there. You know what he did to him!" Her words reverberated through the corridor.


    Storm tried to find a middle ground. "Listen, Illyana, once we ensure the children''s safety, we''ll come back for Tyson and the Professor. We''re a team. We don''t leave anyone behind."


    Illyana''s blue eyes blazed "Not good enough," she snapped, "I''m finding my boyfriend now."


    John couldn¡¯t resist. "Finally, she admits they''re dating!" he said with a smirk.


    Jubilee smacked John''s arm. "Not the time, John!"


    Ignoring the two, Illyana''s boots clicked as she strode down a different corridor, every step echoing her resolve to find Tyson.


    As Illyana made her determined march down the corridor, John jogged to catch up. "Wait up!" he called, falling in step with her.


    Bobby¡¯s expression showed a mix of concern and bewilderment as he raised his voice. "Hey, where are you going?"


    John glanced back, flashing a mischievous grin. "Can''t let her go alone, right?"


    Jubilee''s eyes softened, "Be safe, okay?" she told them, her voice a gentle plea.


    Jean''s face was lined with contemplation. "Should we just... let them go like that?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.


    Jubilee took a deep breath, her gaze drifting off momentarily. "I want to save Tyson too, believe me. But I keep replaying his words in my head. He told me I''m not ready yet. And if I''m being honest, I feel it. I''m not prepared to be the hero, yet. For now, my job is to keep these kids safe. But if you think you''re ready, Jean, then hurry up and go with them."


    Jean considered Jubilee''s words. Her mind flashed back to the footage of Tyson taking on Magneto. Watching him wield her telekinesis with such raw power, at a level she hadn¡¯t achieved, made her consider. She realized, much like Jubilee, she wasn¡¯t there yet. She gave a small nod indicating she was staying.


    Bobby''s gaze shifted to Storm, his eyebrows knit in a silent plea for guidance. The weight of the situation rested heavily on Storm''s shoulders. She exhaled deeply, her voice revealing a touch of weariness. "Technically, they did graduate this year," she admitted, glancing in the direction John and Illyana had departed.


    Bobby''s face showed surprise, "So, they''re making their own choices now?"


    Storm nodded slowly. "Yes, they are. I don¡¯t agree, but I can''t control them at the moment. Right now, my main focus is to protect these children. Once they''re safe, I promise, I''ll come back and search for¡­ everyone."

 Arc 2 - Ch 12: Rough Couple of Days

    John and Illyana hurried down the dimly lit corridor. "So," John began, glancing at Illyana with a smirk, "got a plan on how we''re gonna find Tyson? Or are we just winging it?"


    Before she could respond, a group of figures began to emerge from a nearby t-juncture. The first figure''s blue skin was unmistakable. It was Mystique. A step behind, at her shoulder, was Magneto, his powerful stance and iconic helmet immediately identifying him. But it was the sight behind them that made Illyana''s heart drop. Tyson trailed, levitating above the ground with his arms and legs pinned together like a floating mummy.


    Without thinking, Illyana yelled out, "Wait!" Her hand reached out instinctively toward the friend they had come to rescue.


    Mystique and Magneto stopped in their tracks, turning to face the duo. Illyana closed the distance between herself and Tyson. He looked... different. His normally lively gaze was vacant, clouded over with rage. Even when she shouted out to them, he didn¡¯t respond, and she could see that he was struggling, but unable to move.


    "What did you do to him?!" Illyana demanded, her blue eyes narrowed into slits as she glared at Magneto and Mystique, feeling a burning anger rise within her.


    Mystique tilted her head slightly, her voice dripping with casual malice, "Stryker concocted a special serum. Mind control. Tyson wasn¡¯t immune to its effects. Came right at us the moment he saw us."


    John, trying to piece everything together, interjected, "So, that''s what happened to Professor Summers too? He was unconscious with Professor Ororo, she didn¡¯t seem concerned, but remember he was there?."


    Magneto nodded slowly. "Yes. And Stryker did more than just that. He replicated the process done to Logan on Tyson. His bones have been infused with adamantium. It has made him stronger, and more dangerous, especially now. But it¡¯s allowed me to restrain him, prevent him from harming himself and others.¡±


    Her hands clenched into fists. Illyana couldn¡¯t believe what she was hearing. The magnitude of what Stryker had done was sinking in, and she could only think of saving Tyson. Her voice wavered, the concern now mixed with her anger. "Where are you taking him?"


    Magneto paused, his posture cold and dominating, as he replied, "We''re leaving. Our business here is concluded."


    Illyana¡¯s eyebrows furrowed, trying to discern his intentions. "And Professor Xavier? Where is he?"


    Magneto smirked, "Xavier is perfectly fine, my dear. He''s safely tucked away in Cerebro. Waiting for his beloved X-Men to rescue him."


    Illyana''s glare intensified as she took a challenging step closer, "So, you just leave the Professor and make off with Tyson? Have you finally snagged your prize and now you¡¯re running off with him before anyone can stop you?"


    Mystique chuckled, her blue eyes shimmering with amusement, "My, aren''t we the feisty one?"


    Magneto, his tone icy and firm, interjected, "We have what we need. It''s in your best interest to not interfere."


    Mystique''s yellow eyes gleamed, studying the pair before her. "You could come with us," she purred, "Both of you. We recognize strength when we see it. We invite you to be a part of the Brotherhood. A place where mutants are not just accepted but celebrated."


    John looked at Illyana, searching her face for a hint of what she was thinking. After a beat, he cautiously voiced his thoughts, "It... it might not be that bad, Illyana. You''d be with Tyson. They''re strong, and they''re fighting for change, for our kind."


    Illyana paused, her gaze flickering between Mystique, Magneto, and the still-struggling Tyson. She seemed to be considering the idea of joining the Brotherhood, even if just to stay close to Tyson. But as she looked at Tyson''s trapped form, her face hardened with determination. Her eyes began to radiate a fiery white glow.


    John sighed, sensing her aggression. He stepped back, crossing his arms, waiting for her to make her decision.


    Armor, reminiscent of a knight''s plate, began to encase her arm. A shimmering, ethereal sword manifested in her hand. Her voice, laced with power and resolve, echoed through the corridor, "You will release him. Now."


    Magneto regarded Illyana with an arch of his brow and a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You adorn yourself in armor and wield a sword against me?" He chuckled, the sound dripping with condescension. "What naive audacity drives you to such a foolish action?"


    Illyana''s response was swift. In a mere fraction of a second, she vanished from her position and reappeared adjacent to Magneto, her gleaming sword arcing through the air in a vicious swing towards him. Confident in his power over metal, Magneto instinctively reached out with his abilities to stop both Illyana and her weapon. But to his astonishment, the sword continued its trajectory unabated. It looked as if it was constructed from metal, but his power found no purchase, nothing to hold onto.


    Mystique''s eyes widened in realization. Demonstrating her superhuman agility, she lunged forward, tackling Magneto aside, narrowly avoiding Illyana''s blade. The surprise on Magneto''s face was evident, his usually impeccable composure momentarily shattered by the unexpected twist. He processed what had just happened. The arrogant expression on his face was replaced by one of surprise.


    The corridor''s metallic structure groaned as Magneto recovered. He manipulated the steel beams and plates, ready to ensnare Illyana in a trap. But just as quickly as her first move, Illyana vanished again, teleporting with a flash. This time, she was directly behind the motionless Tyson. Illyana whispered something inaudible as she gently laid her hand on Tyson''s back, and in an instant, both were enveloped by a swirling portal of light before vanishing from sight. The corridor which was quickly filling with the sounds of tearing of metal, now echoed with only the faint remnants of their departure.


    Magneto''s eyes blazed with anger and frustration. "Blast it!" he spat, glaring at the spot they''d just occupied.


    John, who had been a spectator to the tense stand-off, slowly lowered his hands. He took a hesitant step forward. "So... uh, about that offer. Is it still on the table?" he asked, trying to sound casual but betraying a hint of nervousness.


    Magneto ignored the boy and continued down the hall. Mystique¡¯s lips curled into a sly smirk as she extended a hand towards John. "Welcome to the Brotherhood."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Illyana did not like Magneto, and she certainly did not trust Magneto¡¯s motivations toward Tyson. But Illyana wasn¡¯t a fool. She would not dismiss what the man said about Tyson¡¯s state. When she appeared with him in Limbo, she instantly teleported herself away from him, giving him some distance. She studied Tyson from afar, his silhouette dark against the fiery, shifting backdrop of Limbo. The ever-present crimson skies above roared with occasional streaks of lightning. The environment seemed to echo the chaos and uncertainty that lurked within Tyson''s mind.


    "Tyson," she called out, her voice echoing in the desolate surroundings, "it''s me, Illyana."


    His gaze met hers, but it was as though he was staring through her, his eyes hollow and distant. There wasn''t any sign of recognition, no warmth or familiarity. Instead, he looked around, his face displaying his confusion.


    But that changed when Illyana took a step toward him. Seeing her movement, something in Tyson snapped. With a roar, he lunged towards her in a rapid advance. Illyana, taken aback, instantly teleported several feet away. The ground where she had stood moments before was scarred from Tyson''s forceful impact.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    She reappeared further away, her heart racing. She needed to find a way to get through to him, but how? The mind control serum''s effect was far stronger than she had anticipated.


    "Tyson! You need to fight this! Remember who you are!" she shouted. She knew that beneath the mind control, the real Tyson was somewhere, trapped, trying to break free.


    But as Tyson growled, turning his attention back to her, she knew it wasn''t going to be easy to bring him back. She prepared to teleport again, trying to figure out a way to get through to him without endangering herself in the process.


    Each time Illyana appeared in his line of sight, a brief moment of stillness passed between them. But when she dared move closer, his once calm demeanor instantly transformed into pure aggression. Illyana began another attempt, teleporting 30 meters to his left. Tyson''s head whipped in her direction, his eyes fixing on her but not launching himself this time. Slowly, very slowly, Illyana took a step toward him, but as she took another step, Tyson roared and charged, the ground beneath him shaking from the force. Illyana had no choice but to teleport away to safety, her heart sinking as she realized a pattern.


    "Okay, Rasputin," she muttered to herself, "think." She watched Tyson from a distance, noting his heavy breathing and the way his eyes darted around, searching. "Something is triggering him when I approach. But why?"


    She decided to test her theory. Teleporting back into his sight but staying stationary, she observed his reaction. He watched her but remained where he was, tension evident in his posture but not attacking.


    "Okay, so he''s not attacking when I''m just in sight," she mused. Then she started walking toward him. As expected, Tyson charged.


    She teleported again to a safer distance. "It''s my approach..." But how could she help him if she couldn''t get close?


    Illyana teleported to a spot, an outcropping of blackened stone with sharp edges softened by time, where she felt a relative sense of safety. She positioned herself just far enough from Tyson, a distance she gauged would keep her out of his aggro radius. The skies above crackled with intermittent bolts of lighting, casting a spectral glow on everything below.


    She took a deep breath, her armor gleaming in the sporadic light, and then she carefully sat down, her posture relaxed but alert. Crossing her legs and letting her sword lie horizontally in her lap, she began speaking in a calm, soothing tone. ¡°Tyson,¡± she began, trying to keep her voice steady despite the heavy emotion she felt, ¡°I know you may not understand everything right now, but I want to tell you what happened after you... after we left the Institute."


    He looked in her direction, the glowing red backdrop reflecting in his eyes. Although his stance remained tense and alert, he didn''t attack. His eyes darted across Limbo''s landscape, taking in the otherworldly sights but still seemingly aware of her presence.


    ¡°We were ambushed. Stryker had some sort of plan. The school was under attack. And...¡± she hesitated, taking a moment to steady herself, ¡°and you stood up against them. You defended the mansion, defended us all when no one else could.¡± A deep sigh escaped her lips, ¡°Jean sensed when you fell... when they captured you... you were so brave and we left you. Magneto said they did something to you, made you stronger. And they used something on you, a serum. That''s why you''re like this now."


    She paused, waiting for any sign of recognition or understanding in his eyes. But he just watched her, his gaze still distant but not overtly hostile. The fiery backdrop of Limbo cast a fluctuating glow upon Illyana''s face. Each flash of light and dark highlighted the mix of determination, worry, and hope in her eyes. She took a deep breath as she began to relay their recent events to Tyson. ¡°We made it to Bobby''s house. I thought it''d be safe, at least for a while. But Bobby''s little brother was an insufferable brat. He called the cops on us." She shook her head, a mix of disbelief and annoyance evident in her tone. "I couldn''t believe it. After everything we''ve been through, he barely gave us a chance to explain our story." She paused, recalling the frantic rush of the events. "We ran. Had no choice. Luckily Jean had called Professor Ororo and she picked us up in the blackbird with Logan. They had someone new with them. A blue-skinned guy who could teleport, a lot like I do." Illyana''s brow furrowed in contemplation, "The strange thing is, he looked eerily familiar. Kind of like Azazel. Remember him? Except like I said this guy is blue instead of red."


    She shifted slightly, her armor clinking as she did. "Anyway, things went from bad to worse. The blackbird got shot down. But as luck would have it, Magneto was there. He saved us." Her voice grew colder, more solemn as she continued, "But things changed after that. Magneto had his plans. Somewhere during the infiltration of this base, he got a hold of you." Her grip tightened around her sword, the memory fresh and painful.


    But then, her voice softened, a hint of pride and warmth returning to her tone, "But you know what, Tyson? This time, it was my turn. I saved you." She allowed herself a small, genuine smile, letting that moment of triumph wash over her. She had gotten him out, and now she was determined to bring him back fully. ¡°Tyson, I brought you here to Limbo to keep you safe, to figure out a way to help you. I promise I won¡¯t give up on you. We''re in this together."


    The stillness of the moment hung heavy between them. Tyson''s focus remained divided between the sights of Limbo and Illyana''s words. Whether he fully comprehended it or not, she felt a small sense of hope that her words were reaching him, that the bond they shared was still intact, hidden beneath the effects of that sinister serum.


    Hours passed as Illyana talked. She looked out into the fiery horizon, her gaze distant, lost in the memories of a time long past. Her voice was softer than its usual confident, sometimes brash, tone, "The first time I found myself in Limbo wasn''t by choice." She took a deep breath, "I was just a kid. Terrified, alone. This place... it felt like a nightmare. The sky was ablaze, the ground constantly shifting beneath my feet." Her fingers unconsciously played with the hilt of her Soulsword. "I didn''t understand it at first, but Limbo isn''t just a place. It''s alive. It senses your fears and your insecurities. Every shadow here echoes the darkness I felt inside. The pain, the isolation, the anger. Limbo was a reflection of my soul."


    Illyana''s eyes, a sharp, piercing blue, held Tyson''s gaze. "But you know what''s the most twisted part? The longer I was here, the more I became a part of it. It was as if Limbo and I... we were connected, intertwined. I could shape it, control it. And it, in turn, gave me power, and strength. My Soulsword," she lifted the gleaming blade, "forged from my very soul, became my weapon, my protector." Her lips turned upward in a smirk, a semblance of her usual defiant spirit returning. "I realized that this place, as hellish as it is, is also my sanctuary. A place where I can be me, without judgment, without fear. It''s where I found my strength." She paused, a shadow crossing her face. "And then the demons came."


    "Azazel," she spat the name with disgust, "He and his horde brought darkness to Limbo, a taint that seeped into every crevice, every corner. It was as if a cloud of malevolence had enveloped the place, turning everything it touched vile and wicked." Illyana''s grip tightened on her Soulsword, "And the worst part?" her voice cracked slightly, "A piece of that darkness latched onto me. It felt like a parasite, feeding off my fears, and my anger. I felt myself slipping, being drawn into that abyss, becoming a vessel for the corruption."


    She looked at Tyson, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "But then you stood beside me, battled alongside me. Every demon, every devil, we faced them together. You helped me work to reclaim my sanctuary, purge the taint that threatened to consume me." A soft smile played on her lips, "I don¡¯t think you realize, Tyson, how much that means to me. In a world where I''ve often felt alone, you were my anchor, my beacon. You reminded me of who I am, and for that, I''ll always be grateful."


    She took a step closer, her gaze intense, "And maybe, just maybe, I can do the same for you."


    Tyson''s form, which had been a tempest of confusion and anger earlier, now looked broken and defeated. His strong shoulders slouched in resignation. His eyes, which usually sparkled with mischief and determination, were downcast, staring at the ground beneath his feet.


    Hesitating for just a moment, Illyana took another step, the hope was audible in her voice as she asked, "Tyson?"


    To her surprise, Tyson slowly lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers. The depth of pain and confusion in his eyes sent a pang of sympathy through her. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough, as if he''d been through a battle and come out the other side barely intact, "It''s been a rough couple of days."


    Illyana, hearing the raw emotion in his voice, took another step, this time with more confidence, "I know. But we''re in this together."


    Tyson''s eyes seemed distant as if he was lost in memories. His voice was thick with emotion, each word carrying the weight of the experiences he went through. "I remember everything, Illyana," he began, pausing to swallow hard, his face etched with pain. "Every single thing."


    "It was different than the battle with Magneto. That was unimaginable pain¡­ Then everything went dark. I thought I was dying, but I survived, unconscious." He clenched his fist, knuckles white, emphasizing the agony of his words. "This was different. Having adamantium cover each bone, seeping through my body, felt like being burned alive from the inside. Every single moment, every heartbeat... was pain. But this time, the darkness never came. I felt it all, every moment of agony."


    His eyes shimmered with tears that he tried to fight. "Then there was the serum. It invaded my mind, coiling around my thoughts, taking control. Stryker whispered commands, and I... I had to obey. It was like being trapped in a cage, watching myself do things I didn¡¯t want to, but I was powerless to stop it. My mind screamed, but my body didn''t listen."


    Drawing a shuddering breath, he continued, "And then Magneto found me again. With these bones, I couldn¡¯t escape his grip. I lost control completely. I thought everything was lost. Stryker had control of my mind, and Magneto had control of my body."


    His voice trailed off, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake. Then, to Illyana''s surprise, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He looked up, his eyes finally finding hers, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. With a smile that seemed to light up the dim dimension, he whispered.


    "But then... you saved me."

 Arc 2 - Ch 13: Break Canon... or Fix It?

    Tyson sat with his back resting against the cool surface of a massive rock. Illyana was nestled between his legs, her head leaning back against his chest. Although they were in Limbo, the two seemed to have found a pocket of peace. Tyson''s arms were securely wrapped around her, but he was cautious to ensure there was no direct skin contact, knowing all too well the repercussions.


    He shifted slightly, feeling the hard ground beneath him. "You know," he began, his voice light and teasing, "we should think about bringing some comfy chairs or maybe even a couch next time. Make this place a bit more... cozy."


    Illyana chuckled softly, the vibrations of her laughter warm against him. "I think once we''ve dealt with the never-ending hoard of demons, we can consider a makeover," she replied.


    Tyson''s face turned more serious. "Speaking of which, have we made any headway with them? Pushed them back a bit?"


    Illyana hesitated, her fingers tracing patterns on Tyson''s forearm. She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Honestly? No," she admitted, a hint of frustration evident in her voice. "It''s like every time we make some progress, more appear. They just... multiply."


    "You know," he began thoughtfully, "time here doesn''t really... work right. I remember when you first sent me here. It felt like I had hours before you arrived, but when I returned, only moments had passed." Tyson looked at her, an idea forming. "Maybe when you''re not here, so much time lapses that it gives the demons enough time to multiply."


    Illyana considered this, her fingers playing with a strand of her hair. "It could be."


    Tyson ventured, "What if we tried staying longer? Spent weeks here, pushing back the demons, reclaiming more ground?"


    Illyana bit her lip. "It might work for you, but not for me," she responded softly. "I need to eat and sleep. Limbo isn''t a place I can simply live in. The environment can be as much of a threat as the demons are." She shook her head, "It''s a catch-22. To make it habitable, we''d need to clear out the demons. But to clear them out, we''d need to spend extended time here, which I can''t do."


    The two shared a heavy silence, realizing the difficulty of their situation. Illyana looked at Tyson, her blue eyes filled with a mix of amusement and concern. "You know what I think?" she started, drawing his attention.


    He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"


    She smirked, her tone playful yet pointed. "I think you''re stalling."


    Tyson laughed, a hint of embarrassment evident in his voice. "Yup, one hundred percent. Facing Magneto again isn¡¯t on my top ten list."


    She tilted her head, strands of blonde hair falling to frame her face. "You know, I could teleport us somewhere else in the base. We don''t have to drop right into Magneto''s lap."


    He sighed, "It''s not just Magneto," he confessed, "There''s another problem, a much bigger one."


    She straightened up, sensing the gravity in his voice. "What is it?"


    His face grew somber. "Stryker''s plan. He''s built a Cerebro here. If you aren''t aware, it''s a machine designed to amplify Professor Xavier''s powers. And he''s got a mutant who''s manipulating the Professor, making him use Cerebro to find every mutant out there... and kill them. It¡¯s the same mutant he used to create the mind control serum"


    Illyana declared, "Then we go back and stop them. It''s not so complicated."


    "That''s not the end of it though." Tyson shook his head, "Magneto changed the orders. Mystique posed as Stryker and altered the directive. Now, Professor X is set to target all humans, not mutants."


    Illyana''s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. "So instead of eradicating mutants, he''s about to exterminate the rest of humanity," she summarized.


    Tyson nodded. "Exactly."


    She thought for a moment, her fingers tapping against her thigh. "Well, regardless of who the target is, we still need to stop them. We can''t let either scenario play out."


    He let out a humorless chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "And that''s where the problem lies." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Neither of us can pull off a Stryker impersonation the way Mystique did. If I could just touch her, I could do it. But getting to her means going directly into Magneto''s grasp."


    Illyana frowned, thinking of their options. "What else can we do?"


    Tyson''s expression grew pensive. "The other two options we have are a bit more... direct. One, I teleport in, get close to Xavier, and quickly touch him. By absorbing his powers, I could shield myself, and maybe us both from the mind-controller, potentially even counteract it." Illyana raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Or," he continued with a deep breath, "we go in guns blazing and try to take down the mind-controller. Neutralize the threat."


    Tyson furrowed his brow, and mentioned, "I have another idea." His voice betrayed the audacity of the plan that was forming in his mind. "It''s... pretty extreme. If it works, it could solve all our problems, but it''s going to come with consequences." He hesitated, looking down. "Big ones. Like... getting booted from the Institute at minimum."


    She shrugged nonchalantly, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders with the motion. "I already graduated," she said, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.


    Tyson''s eyes widened, momentarily surprised that he hadn''t realized Illyana was a senior. "I didn¡¯t know you were a year ahead of me. Are you going to college then?"


    Illyana looked off into the distance, her expression turning thoughtful. "Haven''t decided. My brother stayed behind and became an assistant to the professors after his graduation. Thought I''d do something similar, at least at first."


    The faintest smile played on Tyson''s lips. "So, you''re not worried about potential fallout?"


    She smirked, "Let''s just say I''m used to ruffling a few feathers. What''s your plan?"


    Illyana''s demeanor softened as she tried to gauge the seriousness behind his words. At first, as Tyson began to lay out his idea, she nodded, processing every word. But as the pieces came together, her brows furrowed, creating tiny ripples of concern on her forehead. The weight of what Tyson proposed pressed down on them both, rendering the atmosphere in Limbo even heavier. Tyson paused, his voice faltering as he sought validation in Illyana. "It''s the only way I can think of. Do you think it''ll work?"


    She looked away for a moment, battling with her feelings. She had always been one to jump into danger but found herself questioning if his idea was even a reasonable path. This wasn''t about facing an opponent; it was about dealing with consequences that might change the very fabric of their existence. Licking her lips nervously, she finally met his gaze. "It''s risky. The fallout might be worse than simply killing the mind-controller."


    He let out a shaky breath, feeling both reassured and yet even more aware of the gravity of what they were contemplating. "But will you stand by me?"


    "Always," she murmured. Illyana''s blue eyes searched Tyson''s with deep concern. She took a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Will you be able to handle this? You''ve been through... a lot. One slash from my Soulsword, or even your claws, and everything will go back to how it was. We don''t have to follow this path."


    Tyson took a deep breath, his voice carried a hint of pain from his recent ordeals. "You''re right. But if we did that, would it only be for our immediate benefit? Think about the bigger picture. How much more good could we do for everyone else?"


    Illyana paused, clearly torn. Her instincts warred with the logic of Tyson''s words. She finally let out a sigh, pointing a finger at him, "Fine, but the moment things seem even slightly off, I''m pulling the plug on this plan. We''re out. Understood?"


    He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving up into a small smile of gratitude. "Agreed. And... thanks, Illyana, for looking out for me."


    If this worked, it wouldn''t just be a victory. It would be a turning point in their lives.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As Stryker made his way onto the helicopter, the blades overhead roared to life, casting a gust of wind that sent loose gravel and dust flying in every direction. He glanced over at Yuriko, her unwavering expression reflecting pure loyalty. Stryker grabbed the radio. "Detonate the charges," he commanded with a cold, calculated tone.


    A brief acknowledgment crackled over the radio, and moments later, a series of thunderous booms echoed throughout the vicinity. The ground trembled beneath the force, sending shockwaves that rippled across the water''s surface.


    Around the dam, plumes of smoke and debris shot up as the explosive charges tore gaping holes in its walls. Like wounds in a giant behemoth, they spewed forth torrents of water. The once mighty dam, which had stood tall and resilient for years, was now on the brink of collapse.


    The initial holes, while significant, were just the start. The real threat lay in the immense pressure that these breaches created. The unrelenting force of the water began pushing against the weakened sections. A network of cracks began to snake out from the holes, branching out in all directions like a sinister web.


    Each crack grew, widening and deepening, allowing more and more water to seep through. The ominous creaking and groaning of the dam''s structure protesting under the strain could be heard. Stryker, watching the unfolding catastrophe with a sense of satisfaction, responded, "Exactly as planned." His lips curled into a sinister smile, a dark glint in his eyes as the helicopter ascended into the sky.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Illyana summoned a glowing, circular portal in front of them. As the swirling energy became more stable, a view of the hallway she had previously navigated appeared. She stepped forward, with Tyson closely following her. They emerged into the dimly lit corridor, attempting to remain undetected.


    From the distance, Magneto''s voice echoed with palpable frustration. "Blast it!" The metallic resonance of his powers rippled through the hallway, causing the walls to vibrate slightly. Illyana and Tyson exchanged glances, moving quickly to flatten themselves against the wall, ensuring they were out of sight. They waited; after a few minutes, the corridors became silent. Sensing it was safe to proceed, Tyson nodded at Illyana, and the pair quietly made their way toward Cerebro''s entrance.


    As they approached the solid steel door, Tyson noticed the conspicuous absence of the five blondes that Magneto had trapped. He put the thought out of his mind and cast a sideways glance at Illyana, a hint of uncertainty shadowing his features. "Do you need to see inside to teleport?"


    Illyana shook her head, her voice low. "No. I can create a small portal to check the area first. Once we''re sure it''s clear, we''ll go in."


    Illyana''s hand tightened on Tyson''s shoulder, her concentration was palpable as she peered through the small portal she had conjured. The interior of Cerebro was visible, yet eerily still and silent. The moment they stepped through, an unsettling emptiness greeted them, noone was here. The air inside Cerebro felt heavy, charged with an unseen energy. But Tyson knew they were not alone. He recalled his knowledge about Jason, Stryker¡¯s son, the mutant capable of crafting intricate illusions.


    Tyson wasn¡¯t certain how the power worked, but he did know from his experiences with Xavier and Jean that his mind, crowded with the psyches of Rogue and Sabertooth, offered him a modicum of resistance to telepathy. So, he closed his eyes, focusing inward, and reached out to the other presences within his psyche. He felt the distinct, feral edge of Sabertooth''s consciousness and the profound sadness of Rogue. She shied away, but he willingly joined. Together, the fortifications around his mind fought against the psychic intrusion they were facing.


    Tyson opened his eyes, his vision was still obscured by the illusion. He couldn''t rely on sight; he needed another sense. Drawing on Sabertooth''s enhanced abilities, Tyson inhaled deeply, filtering through the scents in the air. A distinct, pungent odor cut through the sterile scent of Cerebro; the smell of skunked chemicals and sweat.


    The scent grew stronger and guided Tyson through the illusion honed by Sabertooth''s instincts. Illyana watched him, her hand poised to strike with her sword should the need arise.


    As Tyson closed in on the source of the scent, he envisioned the mutant. Suddenly, he lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grasp something unseen. His fingers found purchase around a neck, the skin was clammy and cold. The shock in Mutant 143''s eyes was evident as Tyson''s grip tightened.


    Mutant 143 gasped, his illusion faltering under the physical assault. Tyson''s unique ability to drain life surged forward, tendrils of energy pulling at the essence of the illusionist. Illyana stepped forward, ready to intervene, but Tyson''s expression told her to hold back. His eyes flickered, a storm of emotions and memories swirling within.


    He played in the garden, creating miniature animals and playful fairies using his powers, making his childhood a realm of wonder. His father sent him away to get help. He sat in a classroom within a grand mansion filled with fellow mutants. His professor was trying to teach him control, empathy, and responsibility. But he only smirked, choosing to disregard the lessons. He believed that his gifts were not to be tethered.


    His mother sat on a chair, her face pale and eyes wide with terror. With just a thought, he manifested nightmarish illusions that danced around her, taunting and teasing. The room echoed with her heart-wrenching screams. She clutched her head, begging for the visions to end. And one fateful day, the torment overwhelmed her fragile mind, leading her to take her own life.


    He was caught off guard by a sudden ambush. They held him down, restraining him. His father began horrific experiments, altering his very nature. He was left a shell of his former self, lobotomized and trapped within his own body. A machine was embedded in his brain, making him subservient to his father''s will. Every command resonated loud and clear in his head. He couldn''t resist, couldn''t fight back. He was a puppet, manipulated to serve his father''s agendas. The pain was a constant torture, but he no longer possessed a will, so cared little about the orders he was given, merely fulfilled them.


    Illyana watched, her expression a mix of concern and awe, as Tyson''s face contorted with the influx of memories. She knew the danger of what he was doing, yet she also recognized the necessity of their mission.


    As the memories receded, the depth of Jason''s anguish and torment resonated with Tyson. But his grip remained firm as his surroundings began to shift and warp. The grimy, metallic confines of the second Cerebro melted away, revealing the pristine environment of the Institute''s Cerebro. On the platform nearby stood a little girl with wide, imploring eyes. She appeared no older than ten, "Stop! Please, stop!" she cried, her voice echoing eerily through the vast chamber. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached out toward Tyson, her small hand trembling.


    The emotional weight of the situation weighed heavily on Tyson, but he knew he had to see this through.


    The moment Tyson accessed Jason¡¯s power, the ambiance of Cerebro shifted dramatically. Tyson drew out every ounce of Jason''s illusionary prowess from the memories he absorbed. In doing so he gained an inherent understanding of the power.


    He could craft illusions that altered what targets see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. This plunged an individual into an entirely different world, all of which sprung from his imagination and control. The potency intensified with direct eye contact, allowing him to nudge an individual''s psyche, making them more susceptible to the conditions of the created illusion. This slight push served as a minor form of mind control, ensuring that targets were not only ensnared within the illusion but also believed in its reality. And the longer they remained under his control, the deeper his power would root. However, the power was not without its limitations. Particularly resistant minds, especially those with telepathic shields or defenses, could bypass aspects of the illusion or the entirety of it.


    Tyson looked into Jason''s eyes. They widened in fear, but his resistance was snuffed out before his defenses had a chance to rise. Tyson then walked over to Xavier and made eye contact with him before returning to Jason and placing his hands back on the illusionist. He needed to ensure he kept the power for the duration of his self-imposed mission. Both Jason and Xavier remained under Tyson''s sway.


    The illusionary little girl, who had been frantic and desperate, ceased her screams, her form became more solid as she turned her attention to Professor Xavier, who sat at the epicenter of Cerebro. The little girl took a few deliberate steps toward the professor. Her voice was tinged with an eerie echo, "Can you help me find them? Find all the humans."


    Tyson amplified the little girl''s command, making it impossible for the professor to resist. Xavier''s eyes, which had been hazy and distant, snapped into focus. There was a momentary flash of resistance, but Xavier responded mechanically, "I will find all the humans."


    The image in front of Xavier showcased the rotating Earth. It wasn''t just a simple projection. This was the professor''s magnificent telepathic power at work. The Earth was studded with billions of tiny, pulsating dots of light, each representing a human being. Their thoughts and emotions were all visible to the professor, creating a spectacular mosaic of life on the planet.


    "I don¡¯t want them to know about us. Make them all forget¡­ Make them forget mutants ever existed. We¡¯re nothing more than a myth." The little girl¡¯s unsettling voice seemed to hang in the air as if it was echoing with the profound implication of her command.


    The billions of lights representing human lives continued to shimmer around them, reflected in the struggle cast on Professor Xavier''s face. His features, usually calm and composed, twisted momentarily with conflict. He had always been a beacon of hope for mutant-kind, and here he was, asked to erase their very existence from the collective memory of humanity. However, under the compounded influence of Tyson and Jason''s power, Xavier''s resistance began to wane. His shoulders sagged slightly as he nodded, the action looking both reluctant and resigned.


    "Yes. I¡¯ll make them forget about us," he murmured, voice echoing softly amidst the hum of Cerebro. He closed his eyes, and an intense concentration washed over his face. The Earth''s representation before him began to shimmer more vibrantly, the dots of light pulsating with increased vigor.


    The room seemed to tremble slightly, the very atmosphere within Cerebro pulsating with raw energy. The hum of the machinery grew louder. As Professor Xavier focused, the contours of his face etched deeper lines, revealing the intensity of his concentration. Around Xavier, the illuminated representation of the Earth grew brighter. A myriad of shining dots began to ripple like water in a pond after a stone was thrown. Bright streams of light started to emanate from Xavier''s form, reaching out and intertwining with the glowing dots. The room seemed alive, awash with colors, an aurora borealis on steroids. Patterns formed within the consciousness of humanity. Thoughts of mutants were being gently plucked, like notes from a harp, and replaced with benign forgetfulness. Moments of fear, hatred, love, and curiosity about mutants ebbed away, replaced by blank gaps or innocuous memories. As the wave passed through the dots of consciousness, Tyson''s grip on Jason relaxed. Xavier¡¯s task was nearly complete, he could release his hold. But a voice in his head pressed down on him.


    It snarled, He¡¯s weak. Finish him


    A second voice countered weakly. He¡¯s just a victim of circumstances.


    But the first thought dominated. Jason, the boy who''d been so twisted by pain and hate that he''d tormented his mother until her death, the boy whose powers had been harnessed and weaponized by his father. He was the linchpin of all the misery that had unfolded.


    Tyson''s thoughts turned to the Professor, of the kindness and understanding that radiated from him. Charles Xavier preached understanding, peace, and coexistence. And here Tyson was, manipulating the man who¡¯d offered him help and sanctuary.


    Tyson''s grip slackened. He recognized Sabertooth¡¯s influence, his invitation had allowed the psychotic psyche greater sway over his actions. Now, he pushed back against it, forcing Sabertooth back into the recesses of his mind. The pull of the darker voice started to wane, replaced by a rising tide of regret and guilt. But then he felt it¡­


    A sudden snap. As if a rubber band had been pulled too tightly, and then suddenly¡­ broke.


    A surge of psionic energy washed over Tyson, his vision blurring momentarily. It felt like he was caught in the tide of a powerful wave. He staggered back, every inch of his existence pulsing with the newfound power. He could feel the power coursing through him, like a maelstrom in his mind. The voices from earlier were muted now, replaced by the deafening roar of Jason¡¯s power. But unlike the others, there was no voice. It was like Jason no longer existed, like his essence was stripped away, and only his ability remained.


    Illyana, sensing the turmoil within Tyson, moved closer. "Tyson?" she called out, her voice tinged with concern.


    He looked at her, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. "It''s... I held on too long¡­" he rasped, clutching his head with both hands as if trying to contain the whirlwind inside.


    She reached out to steady him, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Focus on my voice," she urged, her tone soothing, trying to pierce through the storm raging inside him. "Block everything else out. You''re stronger. You can control it."


    Tyson, gritting his teeth, tried to concentrate on Illyana''s voice, using it as an anchor amidst the psionic tempest. He felt her drawing him close, her arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace.


    What was left of Jason''s was now imprinted within Tyson. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the rush subsided. The memories, while still present, receded to the back of his mind. Tyson''s breathing slowly returned to normal, though his body felt drained.


    "Tyson?" Illyana¡¯s voice quivered with concern as she said his name.


    His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a deep well of sadness and understanding. "I... I feel it," Tyson murmured, his voice weak. "He''s... a part of me now. But it''s different."


    Illyana brushed a strand of hair from his face, her eyes moist. "We''ll get through this. Together," she whispered.


    Tyson looked up at her, "I hope so," he replied, the weight of a life not his own now forever imprinted in his soul.


    As the room''s glow began to diminish, the two mutants felt the weight of their choices. They had changed the course of history. But at what cost?

 Arc 2 - Ch 14: End of Alkali Lake

    Explosions echoed through the structure, making the very ground beneath them quiver. Debris fell from overhead. Tyson and Illyana exchanged wide-eyed glances, both understanding the gravity of the situation. The cacophony seemed to shake Professor Xavier from the trance that had held him. His normally composed face looked disoriented as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. "Tyson, Illyana," he murmured, his voice shaky. "What¡¯s happening?"


    Before either could answer, a burst of blue smoke filled the space, its acrid scent hanging in the air. From within it emerged Storm, her white hair flowing like a silken cloud, and Nightcrawler, his blue-skinned, demonic appearance contrasting with his jubilant expression. "Wunderbar!" Nightcrawler exclaimed, doing a little pirouette in the air, tail swinging. "A blind teleport and I still have all my fingers and toes!"


    Storm''s crystal blue eyes darted around, assessing the situation. Her brow furrowed as she took in the scene; the still form of the unknown mutant, and Xavier''s dazed state. The wind swirled around her as her innate connection to the elements responded to her growing concern.


    "What''s going on?" she demanded.


    Xavier removed the Cerebro helmet and then clutched the armrests of his wheelchair, his fingers white with the strain, "Wait," he mumbled, his voice a trembling whisper, "It''s... it''s coming back to me." There was a haunting silence, the weight of countless memories crashing back into him. His voice broke the stillness, full of disbelief and horror. "Oh no... What have I done?"


    Tyson stepped forward, his posture was resolute but seemingly burdened. "It wasn''t you, Professor," he began, "I''m sorry... It was me. Magneto wanted to use you as a weapon against all of humanity, and we couldn''t stand by and watch¡­ I exploited your vulnerability. Every human on Earth has forgotten that mutants ever existed. It may seem like a hollow apology, but I can''t express how sorry I am for manipulating you this way. But I don''t regret it. I did what I thought needed to be done."


    Xavier''s face, a mask of shock, was slowly overtaken by a profound sadness. But Tyson pressed on, compelled by a drive to explain himself. "I hope one day you can understand why I did it," he continued. "You''ve dedicated your life to building bridges between mutants and humans. But the chasm of mistrust and hate... it''s deep, Professor. Too deep. At least now, there''s a blank slate. A chance to build anew."


    Illyana stepped beside Tyson, her eyes, too, shining with the weight of their decision. "We thought it was the best way," she whispered, though whether as an explanation or an apology, it was unclear.


    Tyson struggled to maintain his composure amid the weight of everything that had just occurred. He looked directly at Professor Xavier, his voice came out strained but clear, "Professor, I think Stryker set off some explosions within the dam."


    Storm''s eyes widened, already considering the quickest exit. Nightcrawler looked around anxiously, his tail flicking with unease.


    Tyson continued, "This place isn¡¯t safe anymore. You should get to the jet. Ensure the safety of the children that were taken from the Institute."


    The gravity of the situation was palpable. Xavier''s face, still reeling from the revelation, now also showed concern for the young mutants under his care. But before he could say anything Tyson and Illyana locked hands, and in the brilliant flash of Illyana''s teleportation magic, they vanished. Xavier and the X-Men were left amidst the dim glow of Cerebro, grappling with the vast implications of their actions.


    Illyana''s powers flashed brightly as the surroundings morphed from the dimly lit Cerebro chamber to the steel-laden hallways outside. The instant they materialized, Tyson quickly released her hand, not wanting to keep prolonged contact. Instead, he snaked an arm around her waist, ensuring they stayed close.


    Tyson''s eyes darted around, pinpointing their position. The layout of the base was mapped in his mind from Jason''s memories. He visualized their next jump. Using that knowledge, he took control of their teleportation routes. With Illyana''s trust in him, they jumped again, bypassing corridor after corridor, moving them closer to freedom. But just as they were about to make another jump, Tyson stiffened. His nostrils flared. An all-too-familiar metallic tang filled the air, but it was intermingled with the unmistakable and overpowering aroma of death.


    Omega Red.


    The Russian mutant''s pheromones were impossible to forget once you''d encountered them. But that wasn''t all. Underlying it was another scent. One that Tyson would know anywhere. "Logan..." he murmured.


    Illyana looked sharply at Tyson. "Logan? Is he here?"


    Tyson nodded slowly, his gaze focused. "And he''s not alone. We need to be careful. Omega Red is not someone I want you to get close to."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The underground chamber echoed with the sounds of two primal forces clashing. The metallic sheen of Omega Red''s carbonadium tentacles glinted ominously in the dim light as they lunged forward, seeking to ensnare Wolverine. Each time they came close, Logan ducked, jumped, or rolled out of harm''s way.


    But Wolverine wasn¡¯t just on the defensive. With each dodge, his adamantium claws slashed through the air, leaving silver streaks in their wake. They met Omega Red''s tentacles with a shower of sparks, the resonating clang echoing off the walls.


    "You cannot escape me!" Omega Red hissed, his deep Russian accent filled with venom. The deadly coils shot forward again, this time wrapping around a metal beam, pulling it down in an attempt to crush Wolverine.


    But Wolverine was quick. He vaulted over the collapsing beam, charging forward and ramming into Omega Red with the full force of his body. "I don''t run, bub!" he spat back, their faces inches apart, his eyes blazing with fury.


    Omega Red used his tentacles to fling Wolverine across the room. But Logan was back on his feet almost instantly, using the momentum to spring back into the fray. Their combat was relentless, neither willing to yield. As the minutes dragged on, their movements, though fierce, had an almost choreographed quality to them. Each was learning the other''s moves, anticipating and countering. Suddenly, Wolverine lunged forward with a powerful swing of his claws aiming straight for Omega Red''s heart. But it was a feint. At the last moment, he ducked low, slashing at Omega Red''s legs, attempting to bring him down.


    Omega Red stumbled but caught himself. The two clashed again and again, the room a cacophony of metal against metal, grunts, roars, and taunts.


    The metallic clashing and guttural roars reached Tyson and Illyana as they stumbled upon the brutal battle between Wolverine and Omega Red. The scene was a chaotic blur of constantly shifting adamantium and carbonadium. But as soon as Illyana stepped into the room, her pale face turned even paler, a look of distress taking over her usually fierce countenance. It wasn''t the sight of the two battling titans that unsettled her, but the invisible death spores emitted by Omega Red.


    Tyson''s instincts kicked in, and he swiftly pulled Illyana away, "Stay here," he commanded, his tone filled with urgency. "It''ll only be a minute."


    Tyson reentered the room, "Omega Red!" he bellowed, drawing the mutant''s attention away from Wolverine.


    As Omega Red''s cold, emotionless eyes met Tyson''s, it was as if time had slowed down. Tyson tapped into the power of illusions he had acquired from Jason. With a mere thought, Wolverine vanished from Omega Red¡¯s perception.


    The sudden disappearance of his opponent baffled Omega Red. Fury replaced the brief moment of confusion on his face. He turned to Tyson, now the only target, and charged at him, his tentacles flailing, ready to ensnare and destroy.


    But Tyson conjured a portal beneath Omega Red. His tentacles whipped and writhed, desperately trying to latch onto something, anything. But it was futile. His battle with Wolverine destroyed anything large enough to halt his fall. Within moments, the behemoth was swallowed whole, the gateway to Limbo closing behind him with a faint echo of his surprised shout.


    Wolverine looked at Tyson, an appreciative nod acknowledging his timely intervention. The very structure of the dam seemed to groan and shudder, its agonized cries echoing ominously through the air. The ground trembled beneath their feet, an unsettling reminder of the impending disaster.


    "We¡¯ve gotta go!" Tyson''s sense of urgency was palpable. Logan¡¯s clothes were in tatters from his intense battle, so Tyson did his best to grab onto the smaller man without making skin contact. His other arm wrapped around Illyana, and Tyson invoked her teleportation powers. Their bodies shimmered and disappeared, reappearing in a different corridor, then outside the base, rapidly covering the distance to the Blackbird.


    As they blinked into existence at the bottom of the Blackbird''s ramp, Tyson cast a glance over his shoulder. Other figures emerged from the base. Storm led the way, pushing Professor X¡¯s wheelchair surprisingly quickly while Nightcrawler agilely hopped beside her. Surprisingly, the 5 blondes ran just behind them.


    Logan suddenly seemed to lose his bearings. He doubled over, "Think I¡¯m gonna be sick," he grunted.


    A trio of young mutants descended the ramp. "Logan, are you okay?" Jean asked, her voice laced with concern.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Bobby, in an attempt to lighten the mood, quipped, "Guess not everyone''s got the stomach for teleporting, huh?"


    Jubilee shot him a glance. "Not the time, Iceman."


    The urgency in Tyson''s voice was unmistakable. "Guys, get inside! Quick!" he implored, his voice echoing off the metal ramp.


    Bobby pulled Logan up with a sturdy grip. "Come on, Logan. We gotta move," he said. The two of them, along with the others, swiftly moved inside the Blackbird. Storm, Nightcrawler, and Professor X were closing the distance.


    "There''s not much time left," Tyson mumbled.


    Jean narrowed her eyes as she attempted to link with Tyson¡¯s mind. Normally, when he was this close, her telepathic abilities would allow her to gain insight, to understand the depth of the situation, but she was met with a barrier. His mind was even more difficult to read than the last time she¡¯d tried, and her attempts just skimmed the surface. Frustrated, she admitted, "I don''t understand."


    Tyson took a deep breath and met her gaze, "Jean, let me in, just for a moment." She felt a psionic intrusion from Tyson which surprised and briefly stunned her, but she trusted him enough to lower her defenses for whatever he intended. Then, deliberately, he shifted his gaze to Bobby, then to Jubilee, the sparks from her fingers betrayed her anxiety. Finally, he looked at Logan.


    With an urgent hustle, Storm, guiding Professor X''s wheelchair, led the group into the Blackbird. Nightcrawler assisted the group of five nearly identical blondes. As the last foot stepped aboard, a sudden flash indicated the disappearance of Tyson and Illyana through a shimmering portal.


    Suddenly, a monstrous crash echoed throughout the valley. Turning their gazes outside, the X-Men watched in horror as the largest section of the dam split open, releasing a colossal wave of water. It thundered down into the riverbed rushing straight for them.


    Storm slid into the pilot''s seat. Her fingers danced over the controls, igniting the Blackbird''s engines; the hum of the aircraft''s machinery filled the cabin.


    "Strap in!" yelled Storm, her voice slicing through the tense atmosphere. Her eyes were wide with alarm. Her fingers moved with lightning speed, manipulating the controls to get the Blackbird airborne. The jet shuddered as it began its ascent, its powerful engines roaring to life.


    The group let out a collective sigh of relief as the jet cleared the height of the oncoming wave. Soundlessly, and without the accompanying flash, Tyson reappeared in the middle of the jet.


    Jean''s eyes widened in surprise, and Bobby let out a relieved chuckle. Jubilee, never one to mask her emotions, exclaimed, "Where¡¯s Illyana?"


    Storm replied, "Illyana is with Tyson. It seems they won''t be joining us," her voice held a tinge of regret.


    There was a palpable pause, the occupants of the jet traded looks of confusion. Then, Tyson''s voice echoed in the cabin, although only a few could truly hear or see his illusionary form. "I''m not here. She can''t see me. I''m just an illusion." He pointed upward and continued, "The real me is actually on the roof¡­ I''m sorry I didn''t have time to explain everything. The short version¡­ I have a new power. We had a disagreement. I made some decisions inside the dam, decisions I can''t take back. Illyana and I can''t return to the Institute, not after what I''ve done."


    Jubilee''s eyes brimmed with tears as she cried out, her voice cracking, "What? Tyson, it can''t be that bad! Just... come back with us. We can sort it out."


    Storm, not privy to Tyson''s illusion, looked around, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What''s going on?"


    Xavier¡¯s responded, "It seems Tyson is saying his goodbyes to his friends." The headmaster was still processing the events that had occurred and wasn¡¯t in a state to interfere with Tyson¡¯s benign exit.


    The atmosphere within the Blackbird was thick with emotion as Tyson began his poignant farewell. To those who could see it, the illusion of him was indistinguishable from the real thing. It captured every nuance of his expression and the weight of his feelings.


    Addressing Jubilee first, he gave her a small, wistful smile, "Sorry, Jubes," he began, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia, "But it is that bad. Promise me you won''t stay gloomy for long, alright? I remember your gamer tag. Maybe, just maybe, I''ll get a console one day, and we¡¯ll play together again." He winked playfully.


    Jubilee, trying to hold back her tears, let out a small snort, the corners of her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "Yeah, okay. I won¡¯t hold my breath," she quipped. She bit her lower lip, fighting back the overwhelming wave of emotions. "Just remember, you were the newbie, and I made you feel at home. Don¡¯t forget about us.¡±


    Next, Tyson¡¯s gaze shifted to Jean. There was a depth of gratitude and respect in his eyes. "Jean," he started, his voice laden with emotion, "Your strength and fierce protectiveness have always been something to behold. Those breakfast dates? They have a special place in my heart. And I¡¯ll never forget how your power saved me from Magneto and allowed me to protect the institute. Every time I¡¯ve been at my best, it¡¯s because your strength propelled me there. I hope, someday, I can find a way to repay the debt I owe you."


    Jean gave him a small, bittersweet smile. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "Just... take care of yourself, Tyson."


    He turned to Bobby, his expression solemn. "Bobby," he began, clasping his hands together as though searching for the right words, "Thanks for taking care of everyone when I wasn''t there. I heard about your family, and I''m sorry. But things have changed now. There might be a chance to rebuild those bridges.¡± He paused, looking away momentarily before adding, ¡°And I think John... he chose to join Magneto. Thought you should know.¡±


    Bobby''s icy blue eyes held Tyson''s for a long, charged moment. There was a silent understanding, "Thanks for the heads up," he replied.


    Tyson focused on Logan. He let his Adamantium claws extend fully from his fingertips, glinting in the soft light of the Blackbird. The sight was striking, a haunting reflection of Logan¡¯s fearsome claws. "Guess we''re twins now, huh?" Tyson remarked with a smirk, aiming to bring some levity to the moment.


    Logan''s eyes flickered to the claws, then back to Tyson''s face, taking a moment to register the profound transformation his young friend had undergone. But as Tyson continued, his tone turned somber, echoing with gratitude, "Logan, back at that bar... you chose to give a kid who you didn¡¯t know a chance, and it set me on this path. Crazy as it''s been, you''ve had my back from the get-go. I¡¯m glad I was able to give you some answers about yourself and I hope it helped you find a purpose." Tyson''s voice softened, "But I know your journey isn¡¯t done. More answers to find, and more ghosts from your past to chase. Just watch your back, alright? Stryker is still out there.¡± With a smirk, he said, ¡°Ororo seems sweet on you, you should show her a little love before you go.¡±


    Jubilee playfully yelled, ¡°Stop projecting!¡±


    Tyson quipped back, ¡°I¡¯m an illusion, I can¡¯t help it.¡± He finished addressing Logan, ¡°Maybe on your next birthday, I''ll pop by, and give you your yearly thrashing."


    Wolverine couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at his audacity. His rough voice held warmth and a hint of pride, "Sure, kid. You''ve got guts, I''ll give you that. If you think you can kick my ass next year, you''re welcome to try." He took a step forward, firmly grabbed Tyson¡¯s illusionary hand, and pulled him into a hug. "You''ve come a long way since that bar. Go find your way. Take care, kid."


    As Tyson''s illusion started to fade, the finality of his decision began to sink in. The camaraderie they shared had been disrupted, but they each hoped for reconciliation in the future.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Hours had passed since the dramatic events at Alkali Lake. The sky began to darken, casting long, stretching shadows on the tarmac. A sleek, black helicopter landed with a gentle thud, its rotors slowing to a halt. Dust and small debris were thrown up in whirlwinds, causing anyone nearby to shield their eyes.


    The side door of the chopper slid open, revealing the imposing figure of William Stryker. His usual steely demeanor was somewhat ruffled, hinting at the exhausting ordeal he had been through. His sharp blue eyes scanned the vicinity briefly before he descended, his polished shoes making a muted clank against the metal steps.


    There, waiting for him was a black car, its tinted windows hiding the interior. Without a second glance, Stryker got in. As he settled into the plush leather seat, an afterthought seemed to strike him. He turned slightly, addressing his silent companion who had just disembarked from the chopper. "Yuriko," he mumbled, his voice carrying the fatigue of a long day, "I''m going home. Take the rest of the week off. Go get some rest."


    Yuriko nodded with an impassive expression. The car sped off, leaving Yuriko standing alone amidst the tarmac. After a brief moment of contemplation, she made her way to a nearby hotel. She checked in with a few words. The hotel room was luxurious, but Yuriko barely noticed. She made her way to the bed. As she lay down, sleep quickly claimed her.


    The first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. Yuriko stirred from her slumber, and as consciousness seeped in, the weight of realization hit her. The gnawing, relentless compulsion that had been Stryker''s grip on her mind was gone. Her chest heaved, and she felt an emotion she hadn¡¯t felt in what seemed like eons. Pure, unadulterated joy bubbled up within her, and tears began to stream down her face. They weren''t tears of sadness but of liberation. Months of being controlled and manipulated poured out. She let herself cry, letting the tears cleanse away the remnants of Stryker''s influence.


    Eventually, the wave of emotion ebbed, and Yuriko took a shaky breath, collecting herself. She rose from the bed. Walking to the bathroom, she confronted her reflection. The sight of her tear-streaked face was both foreign and familiar. Slowly, as she took in her reflection, a wicked grin began to spread across her face.


    She was free. Free from the shackles that had bound her will to another''s whims. And with that freedom came a burning, all-consuming rage. The thought of Stryker, of the man who had controlled her for so long, ignited a fire in her heart. And all the others who hadn¡¯t tried to help her. Hydra, Omega Red, Weapon X, and so many others.


    Revenge. It was a single word, but it promised so much. Stryker had taken everything from her, and now, she would take everything from them.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Overlooking the vast expanse of Alkali Lake, Tyson, and Illyana stood side by side as the day began to wane. Below them, the waters of the lake roiled and frothed, whipped into a frenzy by the collapsing dam. The sleek form of the Blackbird and its roaring engines had faded into the southern sky. Illyana''s white-blonde hair danced in the wind, her eyes traced the jet''s path, sadness evident in her gaze.


    Lost in thought, Tyson''s eyes widened suddenly. A single memory, clear as day, shot through his mind.


    Logan had gripped the hand of his illusion in a rugged handshake followed by an emotion-filled hug. But the surprising part, the connection to his illusion was accompanied by a complex tactile sensation.


    He felt the illusion as if it were his real hand, his own body.


    And Rogue¡¯s power, his power, hadn¡¯t triggered.


    His heart raced. "Holy shit," he breathed out, almost in disbelief.


    Illyana turned to him, her brows knitting in concern. "Tyson? What''s wrong?"


    He looked at her, his blue and green mismatching eyes alight with excitement. For a moment, his lips parted as if he were going to share the enormity of his realization. Instead, he broke into a mischievous grin and the weight of their recent challenges was momentarily forgotten. "Absolutely nothing," he replied with a chuckle, as they watched the waters of Alkali Lake surge forward.

 Arc 3 - Ch 1: This Guy... Again?

    Date: Tuesday, July 20, 2010.


    Location: Alkali Lake Industrial Complex, British Columbia, Canada


    The cold wind howled around them, sending sharp, icy needles pricking their faces. Alkali Lake mirrored the night sky, making the world feel infinite and them, infinitely small.


    "So, gonna have to be honest. I hadn¡¯t planned past this point. I know it''s a long shot, but do you have any idea where we are?" Tyson''s tone was half teasing, half concerned.


    Illyana''s silver hair danced wildly in the wind, "Tyson, do I look like I have a map in my pocket?" She said in her thick Russian accent. "But don¡¯t worry. I have a trick up my sleeve."


    With a graceful wave of her hand, a portal opened, revealing a shimmering passage to another point in the distance. Without a moment''s pause, she stepped through, Tyson right behind her. Again and again, she conjured these gateways, each leap bringing them higher and closer to the towering peak they aimed for. The world around them became a blur of landscapes. But after about thirty such jumps, the strain began to show on Illyana. Her normally fierce and confident demeanor started to waver, her breath coming in ragged spurts. The energy required to continually bend space was enormous, even for someone of her abilities.


    Tyson, observing her closely, saw the fatigue setting in. "Illyana," he began, but she cut him off.


    "I can do it," she snapped, her pride evident. But her eyes, normally so defiant, told a different story.


    Understanding her need to be strong but also wanting to ease her burden, Tyson leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her wind-chilled cheek. "Let me take over," he whispered, his voice gentle yet firm.


    Illyana looked as though she might protest, but she merely nodded, gratefully leaning into his embrace for a brief moment. She knew he wasn''t undermining her strength but merely lending his own. Tyson took the lead using Illyana¡¯s power while drawing from the enhanced stamina and healing factor he had gained from absorbing Sabertooth. With each teleport, they drew closer to the nearest high peak, the strain less evident on him than it had been on Illyana.


    Finally, they stood atop the highest point, gazing out at the world stretched below them. The horizon painted a picture of vast alpine forests and shimmering lakes. Illyana, regaining some of her strength, smirked, "Show-off." From this vantage, they spied a distant cluster of lights. "There," she pointed, "we go there."


    Tyson squinted at the far-off lights. "That looks pretty far away."


    He turned to Illyana, his brows furrowing with curiosity, "Why do you always teleport just a quarter mile at a time? Is it because it''s taxing for you?"


    Illyana answered, "It''s Limbo." He waited, prompting her to continue with a gentle nod. "My teleportation is intertwined with Limbo. Time in Limbo... it doesn''t flow like it does here. If I were to teleport too far, I might end up in the past, or even, flung into the future."


    Tyson''s eyes widened with realization. As she spoke, he parsed her memories, gaining an understanding he needn¡¯t have asked for. "That''s why¡­ The first time we were in Limbo together, I saw another you entering the portal just as we exited! It was as if we arrived a second before you left in the first place."


    Illyana nodded grimly, "Exactly. Every time I open a portal, I''m rolling the dice with time. I can control where, but can¡¯t control ''when'' we might end up if I push the distance. So, I always make short jumps, minimizing the risks. A second here or there is barely noticeable."


    Tyson took a moment, absorbing the gravity of what she had just revealed. "Illyana, every time you teleport, you''re taking a risk... I had no idea."


    She smirked, her usual bravado returning. "Well, now you know."


    Tyson drew Illyana close, wrapping his arms around her. His body emanated a comforting warmth, protecting her from the icy winds whipping around them. Her breath formed misty clouds in front of her, as she spoke. "We could go to Limbo for a bit, you know," she suggested, "Warm up some?"


    Tyson''s face tensed slightly, "Omega Red''s in Limbo right now."


    She raised an eyebrow questioningly, "And? Do you honestly think you couldn''t handle him?"


    Memories flashed in his eyes of their first brutal encounter, the fight, the struggle. Then he said, "I came close the first time, it was an even match-up. But now? With adamantium claws, illusions, and you by my side?" He grinned, "It''s no contest."


    Illyana''s lips curled into a sly smile, her confidence unwavering. "That''s what I wanted to hear."


    Without further ado, she summoned a swirling portal with an elegant motion. The otherworldly reddish glow of Limbo beckoned them, and the two stepped into the portal.


    Limbo unfolded around them. Nearby, volcanic geysers spewed hot steam, while just a few steps away, patches of ice sparkled under Limbo''s eternal twilight. Despite the overall mildness of Limbo''s temperature, its unpredictable nature kept the environment from being comfortable. Tyson moved to wrap his arms around Illyana, hoping to provide the warmth she was seeking. But as he reached out, he felt a sudden tension in her posture.


    Illyana stiffened, her sharp eyes darting around, "Something¡¯s different," she murmured, her voice tinged with caution.


    Tyson paused, immediately on alert. "What do you mean?"


    Illyana looked at him, her piercing blue eyes reflecting a deep unease. "The energies, they feel... off."


    He frowned, "Is it from Omega Red or something he could''ve done?" he asked, in a low voice.


    "I don''t know," she whispered. Her agitation was evident as the Soulsword manifested in her hand. "But we should be ready."


    Tyson and Illyana traversed Limbo, avoiding the demons, and inevitably found their way to the dimension''s only structure.


    It was a fortress.


    Far larger and more imposing when compared to the last time they''d seen it, Originally, the structure had been built under the commands of the demonic mutant, Azazel.


    The surroundings were abuzz with activity. Demons of all sizes scurried around the site, working feverishly on the construction. Their rough, guttural sounds filled the air, echoing off the cold stone walls.


    Illyana''s face darkened, her lips drawing into a thin line. "Azazel," she spat, the name dripping with contempt.


    But before Tyson could respond, another figure caught their attention. Among the demons was Omega Red. His long and whip-like tentacles moved with a will of their own, effortlessly lifting and placing huge slabs of rock.


    Tyson squinted, disbelief evident in his voice. "Is Omega Red... helping them?"


    Illyana nodded slowly, her eyes sharp. "It seems so. But why?" Tyson shook his head, equally puzzled. Illyana gripped her Soulsword tighter as she stood. "We need to find out their plan. Then, we stop it."


    The looming fortress ahead was a hive of activity. Tyson instinctively held up a hand to halt Illyana. "Maybe we should try a more subtle approach."


    Illyana asked, "And what did you have in mind?"


    Tyson smirked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Illusions."


    She rolled her eyes "Care to explain?"


    He chuckled softly, nodding. "Alright, alright. I can craft illusions but with some limitations. I can make them see what I want and create different images to a certain extent. If I make direct eye contact, I can exert some control over them."


    She pondered this, then asked, "Are there any other limitations?"


    Tyson grimaced slightly. "The illusions can¡¯t cause any harm, because they aren¡¯t real. If I hurt someone under illusion, I can try to mimic the sensation, but doing so will likely cause the illusion to break. A strong willpower can also break through the illusion. Those with psionic abilities will likely be unaffected. Jason''s power only worked in Professor X because he wore a device that suppressed his abilities. No idea about non-humans like these demons, but it''s worth a shot, especially if it keeps us under the radar."


    Illyana gave a nod of approval. "Let''s give it a try."


    Illyana waited a few paces behind Tyson, watching as he inched closer to the unsuspecting demon. Using his power, Tyson willed the demon''s mind to perceive both himself and Illyana as nonexistent.


    To Illyana, it appeared as though nothing had happened. The demon continued its task, seemingly oblivious to the two mutants mere feet away. She whispered, impressed, "That was smooth."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Tyson grinned back, his relief evident. "Making ourselves invisible is easy," he explained quietly. "I¡¯m not just covering our appearance, smells and such won¡¯t be detected either. The only snag will be our footprints once I¡¯m out of range."


    Illyana nodded, her blue eyes sharp with understanding. "Makes sense."


    With that, the duo proceeded closer to the fortress, using Tyson''s illusionary prowess to evade the eyes of the demon horde. The cliffside fortress was a massive labyrinth of stone carved directly from the cliff''s face. Its construction was an orchestrated collaboration of demons. Smaller demons tirelessly chipped away at the cliff with their sharp fingers, carving intricate designs within the rock. Their collected rubble was then hauled out by the likes of Omega Red and the larger demons.


    Outside the fortress, a single demon stood distinct from the others, overseeing the construction. The creature seemed as if it¡¯s body was carved from weathered ivory. Runes and symbols of power etched themselves over its pale, almost translucent flesh. Its eyes glowed an eerie yellow, standing out starkly against its pale form. Horns, smooth and sinister, curled outward from its mouthless head, and each shoulder. An elongated tail was easily twice the length of its body, and it moved as if it had a mind separate from the fiend.


    Tyson locked eyes with the demon, willing his powers to pierce the dark depths of its mind. He attempted to remove the image of himself and Illyana from its sight. Unlike the other demons, Tyson felt a strange sensation creeping into his mind, like icy fingers curling around his thoughts.


    The demon instantly countered his psychic illusions with an ability of its own.


    Suddenly, Tyson was no longer in Limbo. Instead, he found himself within a maze of winding corridors and pathways that seemed to go on forever. The walls were high and unscalable, and every turn seemed to lead to another dead end. The atmosphere was oppressive, and a feeling of dread permeated the air.


    "Where am I?" Tyson murmured, taking hesitant steps forward.


    "You are in my mind now," a voice boomed, echoing through the maze. "Here, I am the master, and you are merely a lost soul, trying to find its way."


    Tyson knew he had to find a way out, but the maze was unlike any he had ever encountered. Every time he thought he was making progress, he''d end up back where he started. A feeling of hopelessness began to set in, threatening to drown him. As he moved deeper into the maze, he began to hear whispers. Voices from his past, his fears, and his insecurities. "All your strength comes from me. Without me, you¡¯re nothing," one whispered, almost a growl. "A boy burdened with extraordinary power, incapable of physical human contact. Likely for the rest of his life," said another, more wisened. The voices grew louder and more insistent, and Tyson felt himself growing dazed.


    Just when he was about to give in to despair, a soft voice reached his ears. "Tyson," it said, "Snap out of it, come back to me."


    It was the voice of Illyana. Tyson closed his eyes, drawing on the memories of all the battles he had won, and all the challenges he had overcome. The voices began to fade, replaced by the sound of his heartbeat. With renewed energy, Tyson focused on finding a way out. Hours seemed like minutes, and just when he thought he''d been wandering for an eternity, he saw a bright light at the end of a corridor. Racing toward it, he finally emerged back into the real world, gasping for breath.


    The demon looked surprised, "How did you escape the Vilsteth¡¯s mind?" it hissed. The demon¡¯s voice was projected directly into Tyson¡¯s head, as it had no mouth to speak.


    Tyson grinned, "Your mind may be a maze, but mine is also tricky.¡±


    Vilsteth¡¯s yellow eyes tracked their movement, sending shivers down their spines. However, it neither attacked nor signaled to the other nearby demons in any way. With no mouth to shout out warnings and no immediate aggressive actions, the pair were left with an uneasy feeling of being watched.


    Illyana whispered, her voice edged with unease, "It sees us, but it''s not doing anything."


    Tyson nodded, never breaking eye contact with the creature. "It already did¡­ Let''s keep moving, but stay alert. We don''t know what it''s capable of."


    With cautious steps, the two continued their journey, the weight of the fiend''s gaze never leaving their backs. The moment they entered the fortress, they were met with a vast, imposing hallway. Its ceilings stretched high, and it seemed as though it bore the weight of the entire cliffside on its sturdy columns. The air was thick with dust as demons dragged large chunks of stone from deeper parts of the cliff; the raw material to be used to create the exterior structures.


    But it was the first room off the hallway that held Illyana''s and Tyson¡¯s attention. Memories flooded back as they stepped into what was unmistakably a throne room. The last time they''d been here, the centerpiece had been more or less a makeshift seat of power. Now, it stood as an exquisite masterpiece. It was an ornate throne, intricately carved from the very stone of Limbo, every curve and edge spoke of regal elegance. The room was eerily silent and devoid of any demon presence. Torches adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows that danced around them. The walls themselves bore elaborate engravings with writings in a language neither understood.


    As they inspected the room, absorbing the minute details, there was a soft, almost inaudible puff. Both of them whipped around, instantly on guard.


    There, lounging casually on the throne with his tail wrapped around one of its arms was Azazel. The red-skinned mutant looked every bit the ruler, with a self-assured smirk playing on his lips. His yellow eyes rested on the two of them, "Ah, the Mistress of Limbo, Illyana, and the nameless one," he began in a voice dripping with sardonic amusement, his accent adding to his enigmatic aura. "It''s always a pleasure to have unexpected guests in my humble abode. Welcome back to my domain."


    Illyana squared her shoulders and replied with her characteristic edge, "Didn''t expect you to return, Azazel."


    He chuckled, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "There''s much you don¡¯t know, young one. But tell me, to what do I owe this...unexpected visit?"


    Illyana stepped forward, her voice steely and commanding, "You know why we¡¯re here, Azazel. Leave Limbo and never return. And take your wretched demons with you."


    As she made her demands, the once-empty room began to fill rapidly. The distinctive sound of feet shuffling and wings fluttering reverberated through the chamber. The eeriest of the lot, the ivory-looking demon, with its mouthless face and long, curling horns, inched closer. Its yellow eyes, devoid of emotion, were firmly locked on Illyana and Tyson. Most of the demons became ensnared by Tyson''s illusionary influence. They looked around in confusion, sensing Azazel¡¯s will, but not being able to see the threat. A few others, including Vilsteth, moved in with clear intent, positioning themselves around the room with their focus on the two intruders.


    Azazel, however, appeared unperturbed, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He slowly stood up from his throne, "I think not, Mistress," he retorted, with a hint of mocking in his voice. His tail swayed lazily behind him. "I underestimated you last time. Rest assured, I won¡¯t be making the same mistake again."


    Illyana¡¯s grip tightened on her Soulsword, the blade glowing with a fierce intensity. She was ready, and by the looks of it, so was Azazel. His eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and annoyance as he noticed several of his demonic henchmen glancing around the room, seemingly dazed. Approaching one of the bewildered demons, he ordered sharply, "You, attack them."


    The demon turned its gaze to Azazel, looking genuinely perplexed. "Attack who, Lord Azazel?"


    Azazel huffed in frustration but retained his signature charm. "Whichever one of you sorcerers is responsible for these illusions," he addressed Illyana and Tyson, a hint of mocking pride in his voice, "understand that my will is not so easily manipulated." With a graceful movement, he gestured towards the mouthless, ivory demon with glowing yellow eyes. "And Vilsteth here," he said, emphasizing the creature''s name, "is immune to all such tricks."


    But then, a sudden change came over Azazel. His usually stern demeanor gave way to a more tender charm, his eyes locking onto Illyana''s. "Once again, I ask you, Mistress of Limbo," he said in an almost coaxing tone, "won''t you join me? Imagine what we could achieve together."


    For a moment, Illyana appeared lost, her usually fierce gaze growing soft, almost vulnerable as if she were considering his offer. But Tyson, sensing her momentary weakness, quickly grabbed her hand. The sensation of having her essence drained by Tyson''s touch was enough to snap her back to reality. The familiar blue hue surrounded them as Tyson channeled her power, and in a split second, they teleported away, leaving Azazel and his horde behind.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Tyson quickly pulled them further into the vast expanse of Limbo, away from Azazel''s fortress. As they arrived, the swirling energies of Limbo''s landscape were distorted by waves of Illyana''s anger.


    "That insufferable, arrogant..." Illyana began, her blue eyes burning with fury. "He thinks he can just strut in and claim my realm as his own? Those demons, pledging allegiance to him like he''s some king? This is MY dimension!" Taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm the anger within, she turned to Tyson, her voice a desperate whisper. "What do we do, Tyson? He''s stronger than ever. And with that...that charm he pulled on me, and your illusions not working..."


    Tyson looked thoughtful for a moment. "We''re outmatched, for now. His immunity to illusions combined with his magic, and the demons backing him up¡­ Going head to head won''t end well for us." He paused, musing over something Azazel had said. "He called us ''sorcerers¡¯."


    Illyana''s eyebrows furrowed, "What are you getting at?"


    He looked at her, determination in his eyes. "Maybe that¡¯s a clue we can chase, a piece of the puzzle we''re missing. I know where we can find some sorcerers who might be able to help."


    Curiosity piqued, Illyana tilted her head slightly, "You know sorcerers?"


    Tyson grinned, "Correction. I know of sorcerers. Somewhere in New York City."


    Tyson drew upon Illyana''s power. He took over teleporting and creating portals as they left Limbo. His healing factor and stamina allowing him to maintain the strain indefinitely. Each glistening circle of energy, each flash of teleportation, brought them closer to the distant shimmer of city lights. With every successive jump, the city lights grew closer, until finally, they found themselves at the threshold of a town. The signs labeled it, William¡¯s Lake. It was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and at its southern peak was a convergence of two significant roads. There like a gift from the heavens stood a Ramada hotel, like a beacon awaiting the weary travelers.


    Their breaths were visible in the crisp night air as the duo trudged toward the hotel. The weight of their recent encounters pressed down on them. They needed rest, and the Ramada''s inviting lights promised just that. As they pushed open the hotel''s glass doors, the warmth inside embraced them.


    Inside the Ramada hotel, Tyson and Illyana approached the check-in desk, where a young receptionist with her neatly tied hair sat behind a computer screen, engrossed. Tyson took a step forward, catching her attention. As her eyes met his blue and green ones, he subtly activated his power of illusions. A shimmer passed over the receptionist''s eyes for a moment, making them appear slightly glazed.


    In her mind, Tyson transformed into a weary businessman who made his reservation days in advance. She saw him handing over his credit card, hearing him explain about an online booking. To her, every detail seemed to fit together perfectly. She typed away at her keyboard ensuring a room was available for him.


    "Oh! I''m so sorry, Mr. Smith," she began, clearly buying into the illusion Tyson had planted. "I must have missed your reservation. Just one moment while I prepare your keys to one of our finest rooms."


    Illyana, suppressing her smirk, leaned toward Tyson, whispering in a voice laced with amusement, "Mr. Smith? Really? Could you have chosen a more generic name?"


    Tyson shrugged, his lips curling up in a cheeky grin. "It was the first name that came to mind. Besides, it worked, didn¡¯t it?"


    The receptionist, oblivious to their exchange, handed them a pair of key cards. "You''re all set, Mr. Smith. Room 412. The elevator''s just to the right. Enjoy your stay!"


    The pair thanked her, heading toward the elevator. As the doors closed behind them, Illyana nudged Tyson playfully. "Mr. Smith? I won''t let you live that down."

 Arc 3 - Ch 2: Long-Awaited Lemons

    Date: Wednesday, July 21, 2010.


    Location: Ramada Inn, William¡¯s Lake, British Columbia, Canada


    A soft beige carpet lined the floor of their room. The walls were painted in calming neutral tones, boasting a few pieces of generic artwork; landscapes, and abstract prints that seemed plucked from any hotel decor catalog. A modest queen-sized bed, adorned with fluffy pillows dominated most of the room. Across from the bed was a dresser with a sizable flat-screen TV mounted above it. On the far side of the room was a small seating area, consisting of an upholstered armchair and a tiny round table. Thick curtains, when pulled back, revealed a window that offered a view of the small city''s lights. In the corner was the entrance to the bathroom, which, though not overly spacious, was clean and stocked with the basic amenities; small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bars of soap, neatly arranged on a white ceramic counter.


    Illyana, taking in the surroundings, let out a sigh of relief. "It''ll do for tonight."


    Tyson chuckled, flopping onto the bed with a playful bounce. "Given what we''ve been through, I''d say this is a little slice of heaven." He glanced at her with a teasing glint in his eyes. "But if you want, I could always conjure up an illusion of a five-star suite?"


    Rolling her eyes playfully, Illyana responded, "Save your energy, Mr. Smith." But then exclaimed, "Get off the bed until after you shower!"


    Tyson followed her order and settled into the chair. With a gesture, he nodded towards the bathroom. "Ladies first," he said with a slight smile. Illyana didn¡¯t hesitate to take him up on the offer.


    When she emerged from the bathroom sometime later, the strands of her damp hair clung to her face and neck. The white towel she had wrapped around herself reached just above her knees. Tyson couldn''t help but glance in her direction, captivated by her beauty. His eyes followed her toned arms up to the outline of her well-defined collarbones. There was an undeniable allure in the way the water droplets glistened on her fair skin. The steely blue of her eyes seemed to stand out even more against her heat-flushed cheeks. Illyana sensed his eyes on her as she moved across the room. She paused just a breath away from him, her eyes locking onto his. A playful mischief danced in them as she suggested, "You should probably go get clean now,", her Russian accent punctuating each word.


    Tyson cleared his throat, a small grin forming on his face. "Right," he murmured, rising from his seat, "I''ll do just that."


    Tyson grumbled as he maneuvered in the rather cramped shower, his towering 6¡¯6¡± frame making it a tight fit. The ceiling hung low, forcing him to stoop, and the shower head was even lower still. Making it a challenge even to wet his hair. Trying to lather up with the complementary low-quality soaps and shampoos left a residue on his skin that required a significant scrubbing to remove. He felt more like he¡¯d rinsed off the surface dirt than had an actual refreshing wash. He reached for the complimentary luffa and unwrapped it to continue scrubbing. When he finished, drying off proved easier, the soft terrycloth towel providing a small comfort. Wrapping another towel around his waist, he stepped out of the bathroom.


    He was met with an unexpected sight. Illyana hadn¡¯t dressed. She was still lying on the bed in her towel. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her like a halo. The towel wrapped around her accentuated the gentle curve of her waist and the lean strength in her legs. The droplets of water still clung to her collarbone, glistening faintly. One arm was casually propped behind her head, revealing the toned lines of her biceps, while her other hand toyed with the hem of the towel. The look in her steely blue eyes was a mix of mischief and challenge, her lips parted ever so slightly.


    Tyson paused, caught off guard. Even though he''d seen Illyana in numerous states of undress, her allure at this moment was undeniable. Clearing his throat, he tried to find his voice, "Uh, I thought you''d be dressed by now."


    Illyana smirked, "Are you complaining?" Tyson shook his head. She stretched backward, the simple motion transforming her into a vision of sensuality. Her back arched, pushing her chest slightly forward. Every curve seemed exaggerated, almost deliberately calling attention to itself. Tyson''s eyes, despite his best efforts, couldn¡¯t help but follow the natural lines and arcs of her form.


    She locked eyes with him, momentarily dazzled by his mismatching blue and green eyes, "You saved me from Azazel¡­ again," she began, her voice low and almost sultry. "I think that deserves a reward. I did promise you something after we cleared the demons from Limbo, but I¡¯m tired of waiting..."


    He swiftly held up a hand, cutting her off. "Hold on a second."


    Illyana''s eyebrow shot up, her expression a blend of disbelief and amusement. "You know what I¡¯m offering you. I say I¡¯m tired of waiting, and you ask me to hold on?" She had not expected that reaction.


    Tyson grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah. There¡¯s something I want to show you first."


    She leaned forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Is it something I¡¯ve seen before?"


    Tyson''s voice held a hint of mystery. "Yes, and no. You¡¯ve seen me use my illusions before, but you haven¡¯t experienced them for yourself."


    He walked to the edge of the bed and slowly crawled towards her on hands and knees. His movements were deliberate and smooth, like a cat stalking its prey. The dim light in the room cast gentle shadows, heightening the moment¡¯s tension. Illyana watched his approach with a sense of anticipation. "You have my attention," she murmured.


    As Tyson continued his advance, their faces eventually hovered mere inches from one another. Their eyes met. His were deep and searching, hers were bright with a challenge. "Isn¡¯t this dangerous?" she whispered, the corner of her lip twitching upwards in a smirk. Yet, she held her ground, not retreating an inch.


    Gently, almost reverently, his fingers lifted to caress her cheek. The expected pull on her life force that she''d come to associate with his touch, was conspicuously absent. He responded, ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    Tyson leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. It was soft and exploratory but devoid of any pain or discomfort. Illyana froze in surprise as they shared their first prolonged kiss. But when the pain never came, she responded, deepening the kiss. It was passionate, full of pent-up emotions. When they finally broke apart, she breathily asked, ¡°How? Did something happen that allowed you to learn control?"


    Tyson leaned back, the weight of his previous experiences evident in his expression. A hint of sadness clouded his eyes as he confessed, "No, I still don¡¯t have control." But then, that signature smirk of his surfaced, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But I have illusions."


    Illyana rolled her eyes, ¡°Again with this¡­ ¡®Illusions¡¯.¡± She scoffed. Then her brows knit in confusion, the gears in her head turning. "Wait? That kiss... it wasn¡¯t real?"


    With a playful tilt of his head, Tyson countered, "Wasn¡¯t it?" His voice held a teasing lilt, challenging her to figure out the puzzle he presented.


    Illyana frowned, a hint of frustration coloring her tone. "Are you joking?"


    Seeing her genuine confusion, Tyson''s demeanor softened. "You probably thought illusions would be some hazy image or figment of your imagination, right? But it¡¯s not like that. It¡¯s a full sensory immersion," he explained, "I can manipulate all senses, not just what you see, but sounds, scent, taste¡­ and touch. And the best part? I can feel everything, just as if it was my own body. That kiss? It felt as real to me as it did for you."


    Illyana took a moment to process his words, her mind racing with the implications. The boundaries between illusions Tyson could create, and reality were blurrier than she''d imagined.


    Illyana''s piercing blue eyes met Tyson''s, her voice confident and challenging. "Prove it."


    Without a word, the very fabric of their reality seemed to twist and churn. The hotel room was swallowed by the familiar dark ambiance of Limbo. The walls dissolved, replaced by the bleak, expansive wastelands of Illyana''s domain. Rocky outcroppings dominated the landscape, but something was... off. While the dimension looked exactly like Limbo, the subtle hum of its power that always resonated with Illyana was noticeably absent. It was as if they were in a replica of the realm she ruled. She approached a large, jagged stone. Her fingers brushed the rough surface. The sensation was incredibly realistic. Yet, deep down, she knew it couldn''t be real. The way Limbo appeared around them wasn¡¯t how it happened when teleporting or opening a portal. And she hadn¡¯t felt Tyson¡¯s life-draining touch, so there was no way he could have accessed her powers.


    Turning back to Tyson, she asked, "Take us back?"


    In a split second, the eerie, desolate landscape of Limbo vanished and they were back in the Ramada room as if they had never left at all.


    Illyana tilted her head slightly, a devilish glint in her blue eyes, as she asked, "So if I dropped my towel, you wouldn¡¯t be seeing me naked? We¡¯d just be in our heads?"


    Tyson''s lips curled into a mysterious smile. "Maybe." He leaned back slightly, observing her with a playful, teasing demeanor. "Maybe this is all in your head. Or maybe, when you drop that towel, I''ll see it all."


    Illyana shrugged causing her blonde hair to cascade around her shoulders. "It doesn''t matter."


    Tyson''s eyebrows rose. "Oh?"


    Her lips formed a sly smile, "The important part is that we can do whatever we want now."


    Tyson''s voice dropped to a low whisper, drawn in by her magnetic presence, "And what is it you want to do?"


    With a sultry grace that seemed effortless, Illyana reached down, her fingers deftly undoing the tuck that held the towel in place. As it loosened, the soft fabric slid down her frame, pooling at her feet.


    Illyana stood confidently in front of Tyson, the dim lighting of the room casting gentle shadows across her figure. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, accenting her fair skin. With a defiant and alluring pose, she placed her hands on her hips, drawing attention to the soft curvature of her waist. The blue of her eyes seemed even more intense in the ambient light, staring directly into Tyson''s, challenging and inviting him at the same time.


    "Your move," she said, her voice a silky whisper, her tone daring.


    The air seemed to change as Tyson allowed his towel to drop, revealing a monumental form that looked as if it had been chiseled from marble. It had always been apparent that beneath his clothing lay the physique of a titan. His body was sculpted to perfection, with each muscle defined as if he were a professional bodybuilder. His skin was a warm hue of light brown further highlighting his impressive musculature. But as intimidating as his physique was, Tyson''s face told a different story. His features were rugged but softened by his unusual eyes, one a cool azure, the other a warm green.


    Tyson took a deep breath, a little nervous as he approached Illyana. "I''ve wanted to do this for a long time," he confessed, looking into her eyes. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "But only if you want to."


    Illyana smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection for Tyson. "More than anything," she replied, her voice low and husky. With that, they both knew what they wanted. With a soft, sensual smile, Illyana moved closer to Tyson. Her fingers grazed against his skin, causing him to shiver with pleasure as she traced delicate patterns on his chest. He returned the favor, his hands roaming over her body, taking in every curve and contour that he could.


    She reached up and pulled him down towards her, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, making his own pulse quicken in anticipation. His strong arms wrapped securely around her lower back, drawing her into him. As their mouths danced together, Tyson''s hands ventured, mapping out the contours of Illyana''s body, each touch filled with reverence and passion.


    Tyson''s large hands gently glided across Illyana''s figure. His fingers traced the delicate lines of her collarbone before drifting down to the soft curve of her shoulder. The contrast between his rugged hands and her soft skin was palpable. He let his fingers dance down the length of her arm, pausing momentarily to intertwine his fingers with hers, savoring the sensation. Continuing his exploration, Tyson''s hands slid along the curve of her waist, drawing upward. He felt the rise and fall of her breathing, quickened from the anticipation. His hand cupped her breast, fingers running delicately over her nipple. Illyana shivered slightly under his touch, not from the cold but from the electric sensation of his fingers on her skin. Every touch seemed to send sparks between them.


    His hands then gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. Illyana''s azure eyes held a playful glint as she seized Tyson''s hand, her fingers wrapping tightly around his. Illyana pulled Tyson closer, their lips meeting once more in a fiery embrace. Each kiss felt like a dance, a push and pull of energies, both of them lost in the sensation. Their fingers roamed freely, tracing contours and patterns on one another, every touch amplifying their connection.


    As they broke apart for air, she smiled, a knowing grin that left him even more enchanted. As their eyes met once more in a silent exchange of trust and desire, Tyson leaned forward to kiss Illyana deeply on the lips, his hands gently massaging her sides before gently once again finding the firmness of her breasts.


    Taking the cue, she dropped her hand. She outlined the contours of his pecs, past his abs until she reached his shaft. She could feel the powerful throbbing beneath her fingertips as she delicately encircled Tyson¡¯s firm length. Illyana stroked up and down gently, enjoying the power she held over this giant of a man, while he watched her every move with hooded eyes.


    Tyson groaned softly. "You have no idea how that feels," he whispered, his voice husky. He returned the favor by kissing Illyana passionately as his hands explored her body, uncovering hidden secrets of pleasure that only he could now unveil. He lifted her, gently placing her slight weight on the bed. She arched into him, a sigh escaping her lips as she surrendered herself fully to his touch.


    When he reached her waist, Illyana lifted her hips slightly, silently begging for him to continue. Tyson smirked before giving in to her request, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts. As Tyson played with her nipples, Illyana''s moans grew more insistent. She could feel the heat between her legs building. She reached down, her hands exploring her own body as they kissed.


    Tyson lay beside her, watching intently as Illyana''s fingers moved over her body. He couldn''t help but feel a surge of desire flow through him. As much as he wanted her, he knew that he needed to take things slow and enjoy every moment.


    Tyson leaned down to kiss each of her nipples, causing her to moan softly. He trailed his fingers down her stomach and over her inner thighs before finally reaching her wetness. His touch sent shivers through Illyana''s body as he gently caressed her clit with his finger. She moaned softly at the sensation, her hips thrusting upward to meet his touch.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    He continued using his thumb to stimulate her clit as he gently slid a finger into Illyana''s wet pussy. Tyson slowly moved his finger in and out of her, going deeper with each stroke, exploring every inch of her sensitive flesh. He could feel her wetness, and hear the tempo of her breathing increasing. He increased the pace, his finger moving faster within her.


    Illyana''s eyes rolled back and she gripped the sheets tightly. Tyson watched as Illyana''s body shuddered beneath him. Her body lay flush against his as she wrapped her arms around him with an air of confidence and sensuality. "Taste me," she whispered into his ear, and he complied without hesitation.


    Tyson''s lips trailed down the curve of her neck and collarbone, eliciting soft gasps from Illyana as he reached her breasts. Taking one nipple between his teeth, he began to gently suckle while his hands teased and massaged the other. Illyana''s breath caught in her throat, her body quivering with anticipation of what was yet to come.


    He whispered, "I want you to enjoy this as much as I do." With that, he leaned in and placed soft kisses along the inner thighs of Illyana''s legs. As Tyson continued his slow exploration, Illyana could feel her body tense with desire.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tyson reached the apex of her thighs. He looked up at Illyana with a smirk before lowering his head and taking her in his mouth. Illyana''s eyes rolled back as pleasure surged through her. She gripped the sheets tightly, trying not to squirm as Tyson moved his tongue over her folds and up to her clit in rhythmic patterns. As he continued to work his magic, Illyana could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge. She tried to suppress a moan but couldn''t help it when she finally reached the pinnacle of pleasure.


    Tyson knew that she was close and increased his pace, driving her over the edge with his tongue. Illyana cried out as she came, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. When it was finally over, Tyson pulled away and looked up at Illyana with a satisfied smile. She returned his smile before pulling him up.


    Illyana''s mouth found its way back to Tyson''s lips for another deep kiss. He responded in kind, his lips devouring hers as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Then, she moved lower, exploring his chest and torso with the light touches of her fingertips. As her hand reached his erection, he groaned, allowing her to take control once more. She took him into her hand and began stroking gently, her eyes never leaving his.


    Illyana¡¯s look was mischievous as she gazed at Tyson. She knew exactly what he wanted and how to give it to him. Illyana lowered herself onto her knees between Tyson''s legs. His breathing became more rapid as she looked up at him. She knew what she was about to do would drive him wild, and she couldn''t wait to feel the power that came with it.


    Her eyes stayed locked with his as she licked her lips before leaning in. Her tongue swirled around the tip, exploring every inch of him. He groaned at the sensation, his hands threading through her hair. Illyana wrapped her lips around his tip, savoring the feeling of his warmth against her tongue. With gentle sucks and teasing licks, she explored every inch of his length.


    Tyson moaned softly in pleasure as Illyana''s skilled tongue danced along his shaft, teasing him further. Illyana continued to suck him gently, alternating between soft kisses and firm strokes. Wrapping her lips around his erection, she began to take him deeper into her mouth.


    Tyson let out a low moan as Illyana''s mouth engulfed him. He threaded his fingers through her hair and held her close, feeling her warm breath against his skin as she began to move her head back and forth. His hands held onto Illyana''s head gently yet firmly, guiding her rhythm while she continued to pleasure him with her mouth. She slowly slid her mouth down his shaft, taking in as much of him as she could while enjoying the sensation of letting him think that he was in control. She knew just how far she could push him without crossing the line, always keeping him on the edge but never letting him fall off.


    Illyana''s eyes fluttered shut as she bobbed up and down on Tyson''s cock, her lips and tongue swirling around him in a dizzying dance of pleasure. She could feel the vibrations of his gasps and moans resonating through her body, making her wetter with each passing moment.


    Tyson couldn''t believe how good it felt to have Illyana''s mouth on him. He had never experienced anything like this before, and he knew that he wouldn''t want it any other way. The sensation of her lips, tongue, and teeth all moving in perfect harmony was more than enough to push him over the edge.


    Illyana pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting Tyson''s for a brief moment before she took him deeper once more. She could feel Tyson''s body tensing beneath her touch, and she knew he was close to climax. In a sudden move, she took him deeper into her mouth. She was practically choking for his pleasure. The sensation of her throat contracting around his shaft sent shivers down his spine as he approached the point of no return.


    Tyson''s hips bucked involuntarily as Illyana continued to work her magic. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, threatening to burst forth at any moment.


    Illyana sensed that Tyson was close to coming, so she began to use her hand in conjunction with her mouth, stroking his cock faster and harder as she continued to suck on it. Tyson''s body tensed up, and he knew that it wouldn''t be long before he reached the peak of ecstasy.


    Finally, Tyson couldn''t take it any longer and cried out her name. Illyana felt him tense up. Tyson closed his eyes and let out a loud groan as Illyana pushed him over the edge. His cock twitched in her hand as he felt himself exploding inside her mouth. She continued to stroke him gently, never stopping as he pumped into her mouth. Illyana swallowed every drop, surprisingly savoring the sweet taste of his seed as it coated her tongue.


    Once Tyson finished coming, Illyana slowly pulled her mouth off his cock and looked up at him with a satisfied smile; knowing that she had done something special for him. They collapsed onto the bed together, their breathing slowing down as they basked in the afterglow of their passion-filled encounter.


    Tyson pulled Illyana into his arms, holding her close as they both caught their breath after the intense experience. He ran his fingers through her hair. "That was incredible," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. She smiled against his chest, feeling utterly content in his embrace. As they lay there, tangled up in each other''s embrace, Tyson whispered softly into Illyana''s ear, "I''ve never felt this way before."


    And with a smile, she replied, "Neither have I." Illyana turned her head, her gaze still heavy with the echo of passion as she looked at Tyson. A playful yet quizzical smile danced on her lips. "Why do you taste like cotton candy?" she asked, her tone tinged with amusement.


    Tyson, still caught in the warmth of their closeness, let out a heartfelt laugh that rumbled through his chest and filled the room with its vibrant timbre. His eyes, gleaming with mirth, met hers. "I couldn''t help myself," he confessed with a sheepish grin, the laughter in his voice making his words dance.


    Illyana''s response was a light chuckle. She playfully nudged his shoulder. "Of all the flavors," she teased, her eyes narrowing in mock indignation, "you had to choose the one that makes it impossible to take you seriously."


    He captured her nudging hand, his fingers entwining with hers. "Well, maybe it''s a good thing," Tyson suggested, the laughter still present in his eyes. "Consider it one of the little perks of being with me."


    "Perks, huh?" Illyana''s smile broadened, her earlier playfulness giving way to a more tender sentiment. "I guess I can live with that."


    Despite their playful banter, they knew that they wanted more from one another, and there was only one way to satisfy this craving.


    Tyson reached out and gently traced his fingertips along Illyana''s cheek, his eyes locked with hers as he felt the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. "I want you," he whispered hoarsely, his voice filled with raw emotion.


    Illyana smiled back at him, her heart racing with excitement and anticipation. "I think I might let you have me," she replied, a playful smirk adorning her lips. Tyson kissed Illyana softly on the lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside her mouth as he deepened the kiss. He could feel her responding to him, her body arching towards his. As they continued to kiss, Tyson began to slide his hand down Illyana''s body, exploring every inch of her skin until he reached the warm, wet folds of her pussy.


    Illyana gasped at his touch, her legs parting for him as she felt his fingers slip inside her. She couldn''t help but thrust herself against his hand, wanting more of him than what he was giving her. A surge of desire coursed through her veins, igniting every nerve ending. Illyana broke away from the kiss long enough to speak breathlessly, "You have no idea how much I''ve wanted this."


    Illyana arched her back, her hips moving in sync with Tyson''s rhythmic strokes. But she wanted more, she wanted him inside her. With a gentle sigh, she said, "Tyson, please." Her body began to tremble as she felt the pleasure building inside her. She couldn''t take it anymore, and she begged Tyson to take her. "Please," she whispered, her voice filled with urgency. "I need you inside me. We¡¯ve waited long enough."


    Tyson wasted no time in positioning himself between Illyana''s legs, his rod eagerly seeking out her wet entrance. As he entered Illyana, their eyes locked and they both let out a low moan of pleasure. He began to thrust slowly at first, savoring the feeling of her warmth around him. His hands roamed over her body, caressing her hips and thighs.


    Illyana looked up at Tyson with a mixture of lust and something else in her eyes as he began to move inside her. She ran her hands through his hair as she moaned softly with each thrust.


    Tyson couldn''t help but be captivated by the sight of Illyana beneath him, her body arching up towards him in response to his touch. He took his time exploring every inch of her body as they made love.


    He picked up the pace, their bodies slapping together with each powerful stroke.


    Illyana wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her with each thrust. They moved in perfect harmony, their breath coming in ragged gasps as they lost themselves in the rhythm of their lovemaking.


    Tyson''s pace picked up, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his climax. Illyana matched his intensity, moaning loudly as Tyson''s thrusts grew harder and faster. Her hands clenched into the sheets beneath her as she met each thrust with one of her own.


    As they continued to move together, Illyana could feel an intense pleasure building within her. She knew that she was close, but she didn''t want it to end just yet. And so, she said, "Wait...not yet."


    Tyson obliged, slowing down his movements. He leaned forward, kissing Illyana deeply while slowly sawing in and out of her. They continued to make love like this for several minutes, each prolonging the other''s pleasure as much as possible.


    Tyson felt the familiar sensation of his orgasm building inside him. He knew that it was time for them to reach their climax together, so he pushed himself even deeper into Illyana, drawing out a long, low moan.


    Finally, they could hold back no longer. As Tyson thrust into Illyana one final time, she felt a wave of ecstasy wash over her, her body convulsing with pleasure. The intensity was overwhelming, and she couldn''t help but cry out as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. Tyson felt the muscles of Illyana''s walls contracting around him, signaling that she had reached her climax. He couldn''t hold back any longer, and he followed suit, their orgasms merging together in a collision of passion and bliss.


    Illyana wrapped her arms around Tyson''s neck, holding him close as they lay there together, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking session. But she still felt him inside her, the sensation of fullness hadn¡¯t abated.


    She rolled them over, Tyson assisting her movement. She straddled Tyson''s lap. Her movement had caused him to slip out, leaving her feeling empty. Tyson''s hands instinctively went to her waist, holding her gently yet securely. She smirked, leaning down so that their faces were just inches apart. Illyana reached back and her fingers gently wrapped around Tyson''s manhood, lining his head up with her entrance. She nibbled softly on his lips as she guided him with the softest of touches, ensuring their intimate connection. Tyson responded to her lead, letting go of his reservations and surrendering to the moment, surrendering to her.


    Her eyes locked onto Tyson''s as she slowly lowered herself onto him, feeling his warmth and strength beneath her. He held her hips but didn¡¯t press, ensuring that his hold was both gentle and intimate. She began by slowly lowering herself a few inches, then rocking back upward, before lowering herself once again, gaining more depth. As he became fully seated within her, she paused, taking a moment to adjust and acclimatize to the sensation once again. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for any sign of discomfort.


    Satisfied she was used to his size, Illyana pressed her hands into his chest and slowly began to move. She lifted herself, rolling her hips back, then lowered back down curving her hips forward. As she found a comfortable rhythm, she slid further and further on his length.


    Tyson let out a deep groan as he felt Illyana envelop him entirely. His fingers clenched on her waist, holding her steady while he lost himself in the rhythm of her movements. Their bodies moved in tandem, their breaths coming in uneven gasps as they surrendered to the pleasure that was building between them. His grip on her hips tightened and he thrusted, matching her rocking. Their movements were in sync as if they danced to the same melody, each beat and rhythm perfectly aligned.


    As her weight bore down on him, she slid up slightly so that only the very tip of Tyson was lodged inside her entrance. She rocked her hips gently, creating a delicious friction as he began to slide in and out with a steady rhythm.


    Tyson''s hands reached up to caress Illyana''s breasts, his fingers circling her nipples as she moaned softly into his lips. Illyana leaned back slightly, enjoying the feeling. Tyson looked up into Illyana''s silver-blue eyes, seeing her lust and passion mirror the intensity of his own. Her usually guarded demeanor was now replaced with unbridled passion. A soft smile played on her lips as she continued to move atop him.


    Her eyes softened as the sensations took over. The energy between her and Tyson grew, each movement building on the last. She arched her back slightly, her fingers gripping Tyson''s arms as she lost herself to the rhythm. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her usually sharp gaze now cloudy with pleasure. Every brush of skin against skin seemed to blur as the sensations coursed through her, leaving her breathless and lost in the moment.


    Illyana felt a familiar warmth spreading through her core. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she let out a soft moan as the intensity of the pleasure overwhelmed her senses. As Illyana lost herself to the sensations, Tyson could feel the intensity of her orgasm through the rhythmic pulses as she clenched down on him.


    Tyson''s own release followed closely behind, his body tensing beneath hers. His breath caught, his strong frame trembling momentarily as the sensations crashed down on him. A deep, rumbling growl escaped him as he experienced his peak, erupting within Illyana. He gripped her tightly as he rode the feelings of ecstasy as her inner muscles milked every drop of his enjoyment.


    As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, he pulled Illyana close, their breathing synchronized, as they reveled in the afterglow of their shared experience. The intensity of the moment was not just physical but emotional, tying them closer than ever before.


    Illyana''s head rested on Tyson''s chest, her hair splayed behind her. "You''ve become this constant thought, an echo in my mind that doesn¡¯t fade," she said, her voice laced with a weight that seemed to carry more than just words. She propped herself up on one elbow, the action drawing a lazy line of sight between them. Her usual bravado was tempered by the intimacy they shared. "I¡¯ve got all these defenses, you know, but you just stroll past them. And I keep letting you."


    She sighed, a hint of resignation mingling with something that felt too risky to name. "I¡¯m not good with the mushy stuff," she confessed, her voice a hushed tone of exasperation. "But I can¡¯t shake it off."


    She shrugged lightly, "It''s annoying, and precious, and I don''t know what to do with that. I''m not one for labels, but there''s this thing, this heavy, can''t-get-rid-of-it feeling I get when I''m around you. I think I might be¡­" She trailed off, biting her lip, unwilling to spell out the depth of her feelings, yet her eyes spoke volumes.


    As she failed to express herself, she felt an unexpected sensation against the side of her leg. With the realization hitting her, she looked at him, her eyes shimmering with a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Is that...your superhuman recovery and stamina? Or did you take some more liberties with your illusion magic?"


    Tyson grunted out a laugh, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. "Believe it or not, it''s all me. No tricks." His voice had that familiar tone of playful defiance, a smirk playing on his lips.


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, curiosity dancing in her gaze. "Really? With all that and, you''re still...?" She let the question hang, a teasing edge to her voice.


    Rubbing the back of his neck, he sighed. "I''m going to need another shower."


    She smirked, "Drop the illusion. I want to see the real you, right now."


    He hesitated for a fraction of a second before letting the illusion fade away. To Illyana''s surprise, Tyson wasn''t beneath her anymore. Instead, he sat comfortably in a plush chair across the room, still wrapped in his towel. However, a visible stain marred the fabric. It was physical proof of their passion moments ago. And it was clear from the bulge in his towel he was still evidently aroused.


    Illyana couldn''t help but feel a surge of warmth, her own body echoing the sensations she had just experienced. Even though it was just an illusion, the reality of their shared experience was undeniable. She felt the post-coitus afterglow but felt none of the lingering soreness expected from being with a man of Tyson¡¯s size.


    Illyana''s gaze traveled from Tyson''s eyes to the undeniable evidence of his lingering arousal. A smirk curled the corner of her mouth, a playful glint in her eyes. "It looks like you aren''t done," she observed, her voice dripping with sultry mischief. With her signature confidence, Illyana took a step closer, her movements slow and deliberate. The intensity of her stare was such that Tyson felt as if she was peeling away layers, seeing right through him. She instructed, her voice soft but commanding, "Look me in my eyes." Tyson''s breath caught, a shiver of anticipation rolling down his spine as he met her gaze. Those bright blue eyes of hers were both challenging and inviting. She bit her lower lip gently, a sultry gesture that made Tyson''s heart race even faster. She whispered, her voice low and teasing, "Do it again."


    A slow grin spread across Tyson''s face. A quick swirl of his eyes and they were sent into a world of their own making.

 Arc 3 - Ch 3: Return to New York

    Date: Wednesday, July 21, 2010.


    Location: Ramada Inn, William¡¯s Lake, British Columbia, Canada


    The sun was climbing higher in the sky as Tyson and Illyana made their way out of the Ramada. Tyson looked particularly invigorated. There was an undeniable brightness to his eyes and a lightness in his steps, suggesting that the night had been rather rejuvenating for him. Illyana, however, painted a contrasting picture. Her usually piercing blue eyes seemed a touch subdued, and there was a slight slump to her posture, and now and then, she''d stifle a yawn. While she''d never admit it, last night''s adventures had taken a bit out of her.


    As they walked, the faint aroma of the continental breakfast lingered on them. It hadn''t been the most gourmet meal they''d ever had, with its slightly over-toasted waffles and lukewarm scrambled eggs, but it had been filling. Given the recent events, they were grateful for whatever food they could get.


    Approaching the inn''s shuttle stop, they chatted about their next move. "You''d think a place like this would have a bus depot, but an airport?" Illyana remarked, her voice tinged with surprise.


    Tyson shrugged, "It was a lucky break, otherwise who knows how long it would take to get back."


    The shuttle meandered its way out of town, taking Tyson and Illyana away from Williams Lake and toward its periphery. As they moved further from the town center, the scenery began to change. The usual hustle and bustle of small-town life was replaced by stretches of untouched wilderness.


    Sitting side by side, Illyana took in the view. Despite her usual tough exterior and sarcastic demeanor, she leaned into Tyson more than usual, enjoying the way he held her. They watched as the shuttle made stops at two more hotels, each time collecting a new group of travelers. Some were families with young children, clutching their stuffed animals and looking wide-eyed at everything around them. Others were lone travelers, buried in their books or lost in their thoughts.


    Pine trees lined the sides of the road, their evergreen leaves rustling softly in the breeze. And then, as they rounded a bend, Williams Lake Airport came into view. It was quaint, to say the least. A single small runway stretched out, looking almost like ribbons laid out on a vast green carpet. The airport building itself was modest, reflecting the spirit of the town. A handful of small planes were parked on the tarmac.


    As the shuttle pulled up to the airport''s entrance, Illyana took a moment to assess the situation. She watched as passengers hustled towards the main doors, pulling their luggage behind them. The whole scene seemed pretty ordinary, "Why don''t we just sneak onto the tarmac?" Illyana whispered to Tyson, her voice filled with mischief. "Or better yet, I could just teleport us directly onto the plane. It would be quick."


    Tyson glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Illyana, that''s a bit...extreme, don''t you think? Besides, there''s always a risk someone might spot us."


    She smirked, twirling a strand of her hair. "Come on, where''s your sense of adventure?"


    Tyson leaned in, his voice low. "I think blending in with the passengers is a safer bet."


    Illyana rolled her eyes. "You and your illusions."


    Tyson chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, besides, I need the practice. Let''s see how convincing I can be."


    Illyana sighed but gave in, a smirk still playing on her lips. "You were pretty convincing last night. Fine, we¡¯ll do it your way."


    Together, they walked toward the airport entrance. The automatic doors slid open, and the duo quickly moved inside. The airport''s ambiance filled the air; the sound of soft chatter, shoes clicking on the tiled floor, and rolling suitcases.


    "Why don''t I just ask?" Illyana suggested, "I can play the lost tourist card."


    Tyson seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. You handle the talking, I¡¯ll handle the rest."


    Illyana smirked, "Can''t be that hard."


    The pair approached the check-in counter, positioning themselves behind a family of four and a business traveler. Illyana''s confident stride was in contrast to Tyson¡¯s more subtle movements. As the family moved away, it was finally their turn. The woman behind the counter gave Illyana a polite smile, "How can I assist you?"


    "I''m sorry," Illyana began, pushing a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear, "I seem to have lost my stuff. Can you tell me when the next flight to Calgary is?"


    The woman, whose nametag read "Melissa," checked her computer quickly, "It''s in two hours."


    Illyana tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes locking onto Melissa''s, "Any available seats?"


    Melissa typed away for a second and then looked up, "Yes, we have a few spots left. Would you like to book seats?"


    Before Illyana could answer, Tyson cleared his throat, drawing the woman''s attention. When Melissa made eye contact with him, her gaze went distant for a brief moment. Her face took on a dazed look, and her fingers moved across the keyboard of their own volition.


    "Don¡¯t worry Mrs. Smith. It¡¯s fine that you lost your tickets," Melissa said in a slightly off-tone, her eyes still slightly unfocused. "I''ll print new ones right out for you."


    Illyana gave Tyson a side glance, whispering, ¡°Mrs. Smith? Huh.¡± though she was impressed by his timely intervention; he just offered her a subtle wink in return.


    Tyson''s eyes scanned the interior of the plane, noting its compact size. "Good call on the tickets," he whispered to Illyana, who was adjusting her seatbelt.


    She smirked, leaning slightly closer to him, her platinum blonde hair brushing against her shoulder. "You were right though, sometimes it''s easier to just blend in. Look around. This plane? It''s tiny."


    Tyson looked around, realizing the truth in her words. The aisles were narrow, and the seats were packed close together. Passengers were crammed in, trying to occupy their thoughts with magazines, and devices. "Point taken," he murmured, leaning back in his seat, feeling a slight pressure as the plane began its takeoff.


    The vibration from the plane''s engines grew stronger, and the two felt the push against their seats as the aircraft accelerated. As the plane lifted off the ground, the world outside the windows became smaller.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As the plane dipped lower, the vast expanse of Calgary unfolded before them. The hustle and bustle of Calgary International Airport was evident even from the sky, with planes taxiing and taking off in organized chaos.


    Illyana peered out of the window, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Calgary''s bigger, busier, more eyes." She glanced at Tyson, her blue eyes assessing. "We need a plan."


    Tyson nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Agreed. This isn''t a tiny terminal we can just waltz out of."


    She smirked, leaning toward him, "We could always teleport."


    He raised an eyebrow, "And risk being seen?" Tyson thought for a moment. "We stick to the basics. If it worked once, it¡¯ll work again."


    The plane''s wheels touched the ground with a jolt, bringing them back to the reality of their situation. As the aircraft taxied to its designated gate, the duo exchanged a glance. "Ready for another adventure?" Illyana whispered, the excitement evident in her voice.


    Tyson grinned, "Let¡¯s do it."


    The bustle of Calgary International enveloped Illyana and Tyson as they disembarked from the plane, a stark contrast to the small-town vibe of Williams Lake. Everywhere they looked, people moved around; families on vacation, travelers, or flight attendants. Illyana glanced around, taking in the modern architecture and the art that dotted the terminal. "Quite the upgrade, don''t you think?" she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm.


    Tyson smirked, "Definitely less rural." He adjusted his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. While most passengers veered towards the baggage claim, Tyson and Illyana took a different route.


    She nudged him playfully, "You said New York''s our best bet. Let''s find the next flight out."


    They weaved through the crowd, reaching a massive screen displaying the myriad of arrivals and departures. Illyana''s eyes scanned the listings rapidly, searching for any flights bound for New York.


    "There," she pointed to a flight scheduled to depart in three hours. "Looks like we have a bit of a wait. Any ideas on how to lay low?"


    Tyson glanced around, taking note of a small caf¨¦ nearby. "Coffee? On me, of course."


    Illyana laughed, "Always the gentleman. Let''s go."


    At the caf¨¦, Tyson and Illyana found a secluded corner spot with a clear view of the terminal. Tyson gave a fleeting glance at the menu, then turned to Illyana. "What''s your poison?"


    She smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Black coffee. And maybe one of those sandwiches. Turkey, perhaps?"


    Tyson nodded and approached the counter, drawing upon his illusion powers. He made brief eye contact with the barista, and at that moment, her gaze glazed over. "A black coffee and a turkey sandwich, please," he ordered smoothly.


    The barista, under his subtle influence, nodded and prepared their order. Once done, she handed it over. Tyson flashed a winning smile. "Thanks." Returning to the table, he set the sandwich and coffee in front of Illyana. "Bon app¨¦tit."


    Illyana took a bite, raising an eyebrow in approval. "Not bad for airport food."


    They ate in companionable silence for a while, watching the passengers come and go. Once done, Tyson proposed their next move. "We should get those tickets to JFK before it gets crowded."


    Illyana nodded. "Lead the way."


    At the airline''s counter, Tyson took the lead. He met the gaze of the airline attendant, exerting his influence. "Two first-class tickets to JFK, please."


    The attendant''s fingers flew over the keyboard, her face void of any suspicion. "Of course. Here you go." She handed them the tickets, her smile automatic.


    Illyana smirked, taking one of the tickets. "New York, here we come." She held her fist out to Tyson. "To free rides and easy getaways."


    Tyson bumped her fist with his, snorting. "This getaway has been anything but easy."


    The plane''s engine hummed softly in the background as Illyana and Tyson settled into their plush first-class seats. The spacious cabin was dimly lit, with the ambient light creating a serene atmosphere. Illyana fiddled with the entertainment system, finding a suitable movie. Once she settled in, she wrapped her arm around his. "We''ve been through worse, Ty. We''ve got this."


    The flight attendants began serving meals and drinks. The aroma of microwaved chicken and buttery rolls filled the cabin. Throughout the flight, Illyana and Tyson chatted, and reminisced, and she even caught up on her missing sleep.


    Exiting the airport, the duo quickly navigated their way to the JFK AirTrain. The train was sleek, with shiny silver panels and clear windows that offered a panoramic view. Illyana, taking a seat by the window, was instantly captivated by the view. The train car was moderately packed with a mix of tourists and locals. The hum of conversations, the rattle of luggage, and the soft chime of the train''s announcements created a rhythmic backdrop. The churning of the train wheels began to slow as they neared the Archer Avenue Station. One transfer and a half an hour had them in Penn Station. The muffled announcements overhead heralded their imminent arrival. As the train doors slid open, a cacophony of sounds greeted Illyana and Tyson; chatter, echoing footsteps, and the occasional announcement over the PA system.


    The scent of roasted nuts from nearby vendors and the distinct scent of the New York City subways mixed in the air. Streams of people flowed in all directions. Some rushed to catch their trains, others leisurely meandering, and tourists with wide eyes trying to get their bearings.


    Illyana took a deep breath, taking it all in. "It''s been a while since I''ve been in a place this crowded," she remarked.


    Hand in hand, they made their way through Penn Station heading to the station''s escalators. She gestured toward the ascending steps. Without a word, they positioned themselves on the escalator. After they ascended, Tyson turned back to take in Madison Square Garden. The Garden¡¯s rounded structure and tall perimeter walls made it look like a coliseum of the contemporary age. The jumbo screens flashed with vibrant colors, promoting concerts and games that were to be held in the coming days.


    Tyson absorbed the sight. The noise from the streets, the honking of the cars, and the distant conversations became mere background hums as Madison Square Garden claimed his entire attention.


    Illyana, sensing the shift in his mood, glanced at him with concern. "Is something wrong?"


    Stolen story; please report.


    Tyson hesitated for a moment, staring at the ground before lifting his eyes to meet the imposing structure of the Garden once again. "Just thinking about how much happened before I finally made it here."


    "What do you mean?" Illyana inquired, her blue eyes searching his face for understanding.


    Tyson took a deep breath. "Remember when I got hurt badly by Magneto? You were one of the first people to visit me when I regained consciousness.¡±


    Illyana nodded slowly as memories flooded back, "Yeah..."


    He continued, his voice tinged with sorrow, "He came after me by setting a trap. He lured us out of the institute with tickets to a basketball game. NBA finals, at Madison Square Garden" Tyson gestured to the arena and sighed heavily. "We never made it to the game."


    Illyana nudged Tyson lightly. "Well, that wasn''t a great couple of days for you in terms of basketball." She smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I remember saying to you that basketball isn''t your sport. Maybe you should give hockey a try."


    Tyson chuckled, the sadness in his eyes replaced by amusement. "Hockey? Seriously? I can''t even skate!"


    Illyana winked. "There''s a first time for everything." She paused for a second before asking, ¡°Who was the first to visit you?¡± Tyson responded with a questioning eyebrow raise. She clarified, ¡°You said I was one of the first to visit you. Who was the first?¡±


    Tyson answered, ¡°Jubilee was there when I woke up.¡± Illyana hummed noncommittal. He rolled his eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he suggested, "Let''s find a hotel for the night. I know we didn''t do much today, but traveling sure takes it out of you."


    Illyana smirked, folding her arms as she tried to put on a serious face though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her playful intent. "And no funny business tonight," she warned with mock severity.


    Tyson held up his hands in surrender, his eyes wide in feigned innocence. "Yes, ma''am."


    Illyana pointed a finger at him, her playful demeanor belying her serious tone. "I mean it. Some of us need sleep."


    They wandered a few blocks before spotting a nearby hotel with a neon sign that hummed softly in the dusk. After a quick check-in process, they made their way to their room. Illyana, true to her word, wasted no time in showering and tumbling into bed, her fatigue evident. The soft sounds of her even breathing filled the room shortly after, signaling her swift descent into slumber.


    Tyson took his shower. Once done, he wrapped himself in one of the hotel robes and sat down at a small table. He unfurled the map of Manhattan they had acquired earlier, his fingers tracing the intricate web of streets and landmarks. His mind was already working on the next steps of their journey.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the hotel room curtains, casting a gentle glow over the interior. The noise from the streets below was muted, but Tyson could still hear the distant murmur of early risers and the beginning of another bustling day in the city.


    Illyana rubbed her eyes as she leaned over Tyson¡¯s shoulder to take a closer look at the map. Her fingers brushed over various locations, her brow furrowing in thought. "So," she began, her voice filled with curiosity, "where are we going?"


    Tyson sighed, his fingers tracing a random route on the map. The enormity of their task was beginning to set in. "That''s the tricky part," he confessed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I know what I''m looking for if I see it. But I have no idea where it is."


    She raised an eyebrow, "How big is Manhattan anyway?"


    He paused, trying to recall the specifics, "About 13 miles long and 2 miles wide."


    Illyana''s eyes widened slightly, realizing the challenge ahead. "That''s a lot of ground to cover." She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, looking thoughtful. "So, what''s the plan?"


    Tyson glanced at her, taking a moment to appreciate her tenacity. When it came down to business, Illyana was always ready.


    "We should start at the very bottom and work our way up," Tyson said, pointing towards the southernmost point on the map. "One block at a time. Methodical, so we don¡¯t miss anything."


    Illyana smirked, "One block? You''re forgetting our little advantage," she teased.


    Tyson chuckled. "Right. Two blocks, then. With my illusion power, I can see through your eyes and mine, so long as I don¡¯t stray too far away. It''ll double our coverage."


    Illyana gave a nod of approval, "Efficient. I like it."


    With their plan set, the duo ventured out of their hotel, making their way through the pulsating veins of Manhattan''s streets, with taxis honking, pedestrians chattering, and the distant sound of sirens providing a familiar urban melody.


    The air was a mix of salty sea breeze and the unmistakable scent of city life as they approached the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. With the shimmering waters of the Hudson River to one side and the towering skyscrapers of the Financial District to the other, the sight was nothing short of breathtaking. Tyson''s eyes scanned every corner, every alleyway. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, but he was hopeful. With Illyana by his side, the task seemed a little less daunting. Commuters rushed past, ferries honked, and tourists stood by, taking photos of the iconic Statue of Liberty in the distance.


    The Financial District was a world unto itself, an arena of towering steel and glass. As the morning sun glanced off the high rises, it painted a mosaic of light and shadow upon the ground. Illyana¡¯s boots thumped against the pavement as she walked alongside what seemed to be Tyson. To any onlooker, she was just a girl chatting to her earbuds as she explored the city. But in reality, it was Illyana conversing with an illusion, a figment of Tyson''s power, while the real Tyson was a block away.


    "So, any luck on your end?" Illyana asked. Her voice echoed in Tyson''s mind as she strolled down Broad Street, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny.


    "Nothing yet," Tyson responded.


    Thanks to the psionic link created by his power, it seemed like he was talking to her from a few paces away. His body however was running at peak-human speeds down the adjacent Wall Street. It was a strange contrast, with Illyana leisurely strolling and engaging with the illusion, while the actual Tyson covered much more ground with his speed. It was a strategy that played to their strengths, allowing them to survey a vast area in a short amount of time.


    "I don¡¯t understand why they¡¯re taking pictures at that Bull," Illyana commented, referencing the throngs of tourists gathered around the famous bronze sculpture.


    The morning hours slipped by quickly. By midday, they had scoured the area, their unique tandem approach proving efficient and thorough. They rendezvoused at City Hall Park, the small green lawn providing a stark contrast to the urban jungle they had been navigating.


    "Well, that''s one neighborhood down," Illyana remarked, "Ready for the next?"


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The busy streets of Chinatown buzzed with activity, the vibrancy evident in each nook and corner. With their prior strategy working well, Tyson and Illyana dived right in, each tackling a different street while staying in touch through their special link.


    Tyson skimmed through Pell Street, pausing occasionally to take in details, his enhanced senses and speed making the job somewhat easier. On the other side, Illyana wandered along Doyers Street, glancing at the assorted stalls, the restaurants, and the throngs of tourists.


    But around 3 p.m., as the sun cast a warm, golden hue over the streets, Tyson noticed something. Not the target of their main search, but something else, something familiar. Without hesitation, he had his illusion guide Illyana towards him, drawing her to Monroe Street.


    As she arrived, she took a moment to look around, her gaze finally landing on Tyson. "Did you find it?" She asked, her voice tinged with hope.


    "No," Tyson replied with a sigh, "But, look at this." He pointed to the building he was standing in front of. Illyana followed his finger, her eyes slowly drifting up to a sign affixed near a rusty fire escape. The sign was numbered 43 in the bottom corners. The top was painted red with white bold letters that read, "Chikara Dojo," followed by intricate Chinese characters. Below that, in contrasting black with white lettering, the sign elaborated on the disciplines taught: Karate, Jujitsu, Kempo, Kenjutsu.


    The sun was casting a gentle golden hue over the streets of Chinatown, the shadows lengthening as the afternoon wore on. Amidst the bustling market stands and the cacophony of languages, the front of the Chikara Dojo stood in muted contrast, its sign offering a touch of the traditional amidst the contemporary.


    Illyana raised an eyebrow. "A dojo? Really?"


    He nodded slowly, pointing to the list of disciplines on the sign, particularly to the last one. "Kenjutsu," he said with a hint of reverence in his voice. "That¡¯s using weapons¡­ like swords."


    Illyana looked at him, her arms crossed and her face pulling into a smirk. "Okay¡­ So, what? You''re going to enroll and become a samurai now?"


    He gestured towards a flyer hanging in the window. Illyana, ever curious, stepped closer to read it. Tyson had a wide smile plastered across his face as he replied, ¡°Not me, us. And not samurai¡­ we¡¯re going to become ninjas.¡±


    Neatly printed on pale paper, the flyer read:


    The Chikara Dojo is dedicated to realizing the potential of every student who walks through its doors. While it may be located in the heart of Chinatown, Chikara nevertheless guarantees the very finest education in the Japanese art of Kenjutsu that New York City has to offer. Students of all ages are welcome.


    Illyana read the flyer aloud, her voice dancing between jest and seriousness. "Sounds fancy," she said, "You think I need lessons on how to use a sword?" When she looked over, he still hadn¡¯t looked away. She sighed, "Fine, Tyson. My ninja, lead the way."


    Tyson mumbled, ¡°My ninja¡­ Really?¡± Illyana looked at him with an innocent grin, leaving Tyson unsure if she knew what it sounded like she said.


    The chime of a small bell echoed as the wooden door creaked open. Tyson and Illyana stepped into the Chikara Dojo, their shoes clicking softly on the polished wooden floor. The expansive training space was bathed in warm, muted lighting that cast a serene atmosphere over the room. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and the walls were lined with various traditional Japanese weapons. The center of the room was dominated by a large practice mat, surrounded by a few wooden dummies and punching bags at its periphery. To one side was an altar with incense burning, sending thin wisps of smoke upwards, leaving the air heavy with the scent of cedarwood.


    On the practice mat, a young woman was deeply engrossed in her training. It was clear she was a master of her craft; every movement she made was purposeful and deliberate. She paused in her routine, turning her attention to the newcomers.


    The woman before them exuded an aura of calm strength. Her almond-shaped eyes, warm tan skin, and raven-black hair tied back in a neat ponytail, all spoke of her Asian heritage. Standing at an average height, her physique was deceptively slender, yet her posture and the slight definition of muscles beneath her white gi hinted at formidable strength and agility. She appraised them for a moment before breaking into a friendly smile. "Can I help you?"


    "Hey," Illyana said in a casual tone, with a hint of her distinctive Russian accent. "Cool moves you were doing there. Can I try?"


    Tyson gave Illyana a sidelong glance, "What she means," he began with a more reserved demeanor, "is we saw a sign mentioning a free lesson. Thought we''d give it a shot."


    The woman chuckled lightly, her demeanor welcoming. "I''m Colleen Wing," she introduced herself, executing a slight bow with the elegance of practiced tradition. "This is my dojo. And yes, I offer free lessons for beginners. Always glad to introduce more people to the art."


    Illyana''s lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Beginners? Oh, this will be fun." She glanced at Tyson with a playful wink. "You ready to get schooled?"


    With a nod of acknowledgment, Tyson returned Colleen''s graceful bow. Straightening up, he glanced at Illyana before addressing Colleen. "Both Illyana and I have had our fair share of... encounters," he began cautiously, choosing his words carefully. "We believe some official training would be of great benefit."


    Illyana crossed her arms defiantly, "Speak for yourself. I can fight just fine."


    He let out a soft sigh, casting her a knowing glance. "Illyana there is always room for growth. There are countless fighting styles out there, and each one offers unique techniques that could be adapted to our... special circumstances."


    Illyana rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t interrupt. Instead, she simply huffed, looking somewhere between annoyed and begrudgingly agreeing.


    Colleen raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Your friend has a point," she said, nodding towards Tyson. "Every style has something to teach, even if you''re an experienced fighter. Being open to learning and adapting is what makes a true warrior."


    She gestured toward the center of the dojo. "Let''s start simple. Show me your stances, both of you. Let''s see where we can build from there."


    Illyana muttered something under her breath in Russian, but stepped forward nonetheless, ready to demonstrate. Tyson just shot her an amused glance, readying himself as well.


    Colleen watched the two newcomers carefully, her sharp eyes taking in their every movement. The dojo had seen a diverse range of students, but Colleen couldn''t quite put a finger on the vibe that these two newcomers gave off.  They had the weariness of those who had been on the run, or perhaps teens who''d faced a challenging upbringing. However, appearances could be deceiving.  But at the same time, there was a notable difference. They didn¡¯t have the typical ragged appearance of those living on the streets. Their clothes, though casual, were clean and showed no sign of long-term wear, and the way they spoke hinted at a decent education.


    "So," she began, clapping her hands together to gain their attention. "Let''s start with the basics." She moved to the center of the training mat, her stance precise. "First, the jab," she said, demonstrating a quick punch. "Then the cross," she continued, shifting her weight and throwing a punch with her other hand.


    Illyana smirked, seemingly unimpressed, "I''ve thrown punches before, you know."


    Colleen simply nodded, "Of course. But the question is, can you throw them correctly?" She challenged.


    Tyson complied, throwing a punch with precision that suggested prior training. His form was decent, and the power behind his strike was evident.


    Illyana muttered something in Russian but assumed a fighting stance, mirroring Colleen''s movements.


    "Good," Colleen nodded, observing their efforts. "Now a front kick." Once more, Tyson executed with a certain finesse, driving his kick forward with good balance and speed. Illyana let out a dramatic breath as she delivered a front kick


    "Good," Colleen acknowledged. "Now, the roundhouse kick." She demonstrated, her leg sweeping in a controlled arc.


    As both Illyana and Tyson attempted the movements, Colleen moved between them, adjusting a foot positioning here, realigning a shoulder there. She was pleasantly surprised. Despite Illyana''s brashness, both teens had the foundation of good fighters. Illyana¡¯s movements were fluid, and her strikes had potential, but they lacked polish. It was clear Tyson was far more practiced and crisp with his strikes. But his technique was reminiscent of regimented training, military perhaps.


    After a few rounds of different techniques, Colleen paused, taking a moment to assess. "Not bad," she finally said. "You''ve got potential, but there''s still a lot to refine. The real question is," Colleen continued, "are you both willing to unlearn to relearn? Training here means humility, discipline, and hard work."


    Illyana''s eyes gleamed with a mix of challenge and excitement, "Bring it on."


    The dojo was filled with the echoes of grunts, kicks, and punches as Colleen took Illyana and Tyson deeper into their lesson. Both showed clear signs of prior training, but with each technique, Colleen pushed them to step out of their comfort zones.


    Tyson was up first. His strikes were precise, and calculated, but lacked a certain fluidity. "You''re too rigid," Colleen observed. "Think of the water. It flows, adapts, changes its form but never loses its essence."


    Tyson nodded, trying to internalize the advice, but the strain on his face was evident as he struggled to implement the feedback.


    Illyana, on the other hand, was all fire and brimstone. Her moves were aggressive, even reckless at times. "You''ve got the spirit," Colleen said, her voice firm yet encouraging. "But you need to channel that energy, not let it control you."


    Illyana huffed, her pride slightly wounded. "I''m not some wild animal," she snapped.


    "No," Colleen replied, holding her gaze. "But you''re letting your emotions drive your actions. Here," she added, motioning to the dojo floor, "you need to find balance."


    As the lesson progressed, Colleen had them spar with her and each other, pointing out flaws, and challenging them to think on their feet and adapt to different fighting styles. At one point, Illyana lost her temper, her emotions getting the better of her. Her movements became more erratic as she attacked Tyson in their spar. Colleen intervened swiftly, grabbing Illyana''s wrist and pinning her in a hold.


    "Control," she whispered into Illyana''s ear, her voice calm yet stern. Illyana''s breathing was ragged, but she nodded, the fight draining out of her.


    Tyson, meanwhile, was trying to shake off his rigidity, to flow like the water Colleen spoke of. But it wasn''t easy. Each time he felt he was making progress, a missed block or slow counter reminded him of how far he still had to go. By the end of the lesson, Illyana was drenched in sweat, her body aching in places she didn''t know could ache.

 Arc 3 - Ch 4: Residence

    Date: Thursday, July 22, 2010.


    Location: Chikara Dojo, 47 Monroe St., Chinatown, Manhattan, New York


    Colleen''s keen eyes evaluated the two young fighters before her. Every punch, every kick, told her a story. It was clear these weren''t ordinary students.


    Illyana is fierce. She¡¯s the type who''s been through something to develop that kind of edge. And Tyson... he''s interesting, she mused inwardly.


    The longer the session went on, the more apparent it became.


    Tyson isn¡¯t tiring out. Each of his strikes has held the same intensity from the start, and the speed? It was more than just good technique. There is raw power there. Even for his build, the strength he displays is remarkable. Is it adrenaline? Or is there something more to him? Colleen wondered. His potential is undeniable. We''ve always been on the lookout for talents like these. Raw gems waiting to be shaped and polished. If guided right, they''d fit in seamlessly.


    And then there was Illyana. Her determination, her spirit, it was intoxicating. She had an intensity that couldn''t be taught. She''d be a valuable asset to us. With a little guidance and a bit of molding... she could be exceptional. Yet, she had to tread carefully. First impressions matter. It was too soon to make any overt moves or reveal any intentions. They had to be introduced to our world, in their own time, when they were ready.


    For now, it was about nurturing that spark she saw in them and drawing them closer.


    "You both have potential," Colleen remarked, her face betraying a hint of a smile. "But remember, the potential is just that. Potential. It''s up to you to realize it."


    The sweat on Illyana''s brow was beginning to dry, her breaths starting to return to a normal rhythm when Colleen stepped towards them, her expression serious. "You both have an undeniable talent," Colleen declared, "Have you ever considered formal training, on a more...advanced level?"


    Illyana arched an eyebrow, "You mean, more than just afternoon lessons in a dojo?"


    Colleen smiled slightly at the response, "Exactly. I''m offering you both a scholarship. It''s a chance to truly hone your skills and reach your full potential."


    Tyson looked between Illyana and Colleen, he had a feeling he knew this pitch. "What''s the catch?"


    Colleen chose her words carefully. "The training wouldn''t be here. You''d have to leave the city. Think of it like... a training camp or a boarding school. You''d be educated, housed, and trained at a special facility. With the best trainers and everything you''d need."


    Illyana''s eyes narrowed, "And the price tag on this ''golden opportunity''?"


    Colleen hesitated for a split second, "It''s expensive. But seeing the potential in both of you, I''m willing to vouch for you. This scholarship would cover everything."


    Tyson rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Why us?"


    Colleen¡¯s voice was sincere, "Because I believe you both can be extraordinary. And sometimes, to achieve greatness, you need the right environment and guidance."


    The silence following Colleen''s offer was palpable. Illyana and Tyson exchanged a look. Tyson cleared his throat, "Thank you, Colleen, truly. The offer is... generous. But we''ve just left a boarding school not too long ago." He glanced at Illyana, who nodded in agreement.


    Illyana''s voice held a hint of sarcasm, yet genuine appreciation. "Yeah, and I''ve already finished high school, thank you very much." She flashed her mischievous smile, one that showed she was both teasing and serious.


    Tyson continued, "Our roots in this city are... strong. And our current journey is tied here. We can''t leave."


    Colleen''s face reflected a mixture of understanding and a touch of disappointment. "I respect your decision," she said, offering a small, genuine smile. "If you still wish to train here, I can provide you with the costs for regular lessons."


    Illyana glanced sideways at Tyson. "See, that sounds more our speed."


    Tyson looked around, "Is the dojo always this... empty?" he asked.


    Colleen exhaled, letting out a small sigh. "Enrollment''s been low," she confessed. "Especially with summer on the horizon. Kids prefer the outdoors, sports, family vacations... you know how it is."


    Tyson looked thoughtful. "About that training camp you mentioned, would it be possible for us to pay for it? I have a feeling that we''d benefit from concentrated sessions like that. And honestly," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "I think you''re the right person to teach us."


    Illyana''s eyebrows furrowed, a hint of suspicion in her narrowed eyes. "Tyson?" she started.


    But his illusion silenced her with a subtle hand gesture. She heard a whisper in her ear, ¡°Trust me.¡±


    Colleen seemed taken aback, clearly not expecting the proposal. She pondered for a moment, her financial woes flashing briefly in her mind. The lack of students weighed heavily on the dojo''s funds. "It''s not a normal request," she began slowly. "But considering the current enrollment, I think it''s possible." She then named the price, one thousand dollars a month, each. Tyson considered it a fair rate, yet reflective of the intensive training.


    Tyson nodded. "We can manage. I''ll find a night job if I have to."


    Colleen looked them over, "And do you have a place to stay?" she asked, the genuine concern evident in her tone.


    Tyson had a confident gleam in his eyes as he replied, "We have that covered."


    She remained skeptical, doubting if these two could truly handle everything they were getting into. But she chose to keep her concerns to herself. Instead, she simply nodded. "Alright then. I hope to see you soon."


    Tyson gave a deep bow to Colleen. "Thank you for the lesson. It was truly an enlightening experience."


    Illyana opted out of the customary bow. But she did dip her head in acknowledgment, "Yeah, thanks," she added in a surprisingly genuine tone.


    Colleen smiled in return. "It was a pleasure teaching both of you. Remember what you''ve learned today."


    The door chime sounded as Tyson and Illyana stepped out into the streets of Chinatown. The sun painted the skyline in hues of amber and pink, a gentle reminder that evening was approaching. Tyson¡¯s stomach rumbled audibly, and he chuckled. ¡°Hungry?¡±


    Illyana rolled her eyes, but answered, ¡°Always.¡±


    He led the way to a cozy-looking restaurant, the aroma of sizzling dishes inviting them in. As they settled at a table, Tyson made eye contact with their server and summoned his illusion powers. He was subtly manipulating the man to ensure that when the bill came, the costs would be covered in a way that didn¡¯t cause him trouble. He ordered a generous spread of dishes for them, each one more delicious-sounding than the last.


    Illyana leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "You sure we can afford all of this?"


    Tyson just laughed. He winked and replied, "Don''t worry about it."


    As the sounds of the bustling restaurant surrounded them, Tyson leaned in, capturing Illyana¡¯s attention with a serious expression.


    "Alright, here''s the plan," he began.


    She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Since when did we start planning things?"


    Tyson sighed, "Since we''ve been on our own, we''ve pretty much been winging it. Just hoping things will work out. If we keep taking shortcuts, using my powers like this," he gestured vaguely around the restaurant, "we¡¯re bound to slip up. It¡¯s only a matter of time before we draw unwanted attention."


    Illyana smirked, picking up an appetizer and taking a bite. "So, what''s the master plan?"


    "We need stability,¡± he pressed on. ¡°A place to call home, a regular income." As Tyson laid out his thoughts on a more permanent living situation, a sudden realization crept across Illyana''s face. Her usually sharp and witty demeanor softened, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She hesitated for a split second, her blue eyes searching Tyson¡¯s for some hidden meaning.


    "You want to make a home... with me?" Illyana''s voice was almost a whisper, a mixture of surprise and vulnerability, her Russian accent more pronounced.


    Tyson was momentarily caught off guard. Illyana''s words hinted at something deeper. He hadn''t intended to imply anything about the nature of their relationship, but as he looked into her eyes, he realized he wasn''t entirely opposed to the idea.


    "That wasn''t exactly what I meant," Tyson started, choosing his words carefully. He took a deep breath, and with a sincere tone added, "But, I enjoy being with you. And if you feel the same way..." His voice trailed off, leaving the sentiment unspoken, yet palpable between them.


    Illyana''s eyes held a mixture of surprise and consideration. The usually confident and often sarcastic mutant found herself in unfamiliar emotional territory. The implication of Tyson''s words was something she hadn''t anticipated, yet it stirred something within her. The clinking of dishes and the soft murmur of conversations surrounded them. As the server set down their plates, Illyana leaned back, taking a sip of her drink. "So," twirling a strand of her blonde hair she asked, "what did you have in mind?"


    Tyson took a moment, collecting his thoughts. "First things first, we need to find a place to live. Hotel hopping has been... adventurous," he chuckled, thinking of the various hotels they''d been in over the past days, "but we should pick one and set up a more long-term residence."


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "And how do we do that?"


    Tyson smirked, "Some hotels offer high-level employee perks; reserved rooms, access to special lounges, and such? We make ourselves appear as such employees. That way, we get food, shelter, laundry, and everything. It''s a bit of a cheat, but it''ll provide us with the stability we need."


    He paused, his eyes searching Illyana''s for a sign of approval. "Plus, if something ever happens and I''m not around temporarily, you''d still be taken care of."


    Illyana mulled over the idea, taking a bite of her food. "It''s sneaky," she said after a moment, a sly grin forming on her lips, "I like it. We''d have a¡­ home. And it beats running around the city with no fixed address."


    Tyson chuckled, relieved. "I had a feeling you''d be on board."


    Illyana, picking up a fork, looked at Tyson, "Why the dojo?" she probed. "Out of all places... why there?"


    Tyson thought back on recent events, "Since I woke up in that truck, I''ve felt like a punching bag. I''ve been in fights almost non-stop," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "And I''m not winning as many as I''d like."


    Illyana tilted her head, "You''re not exactly a pushover."


    He chuckled weakly. "I have memories, techniques, entire lifetimes of fighting stored in my head thanks to Sabertooth. But when it comes down to it, I''m constantly scrambling, reacting more than acting." Illyana was about to retort, but Tyson continued, "And you," he said, his gaze intense, "you have that magic sword of yours. It''s powerful, sure. But without proper training, it''s just a sharp object. You need to wield it, not just swing it."


    Illyana''s pride was evident in the slight stiffening of her posture. "I''ve managed so far."


    Tyson leaned forward, the urgency clear in his voice. "We can''t rely on ''so far'', Illyana. Magneto''s probably plotting as we speak. Stryker might be off our backs for now, and then there''s..."


    "Azazel," Illyana hissed, her distaste for the name palpable.


    Tyson nodded grimly. "He''s a master with that rapier of his. You need to be more skilled to stand a chance against him."


    Silence enveloped the table for a moment. Illyana''s fingers tightened around her fork, her eyes clouded with thoughts of battles past and those yet to come. Finally, she nodded. "Fine," she conceded. "We train." A teasing lilt was added to her voice, ¡°Are you sure it isn¡¯t because you think Colleen''s cute?"


    Tyson nearly choked on his drink, eyes wide as he sputtered, "What? No!"


    Illyana tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. "Hmm, I wonder if you have a type."


    Tyson looked at her with a mix of confusion and wariness. "A type? What are you talking about?"


    She waved her fork around casually, "Well, you do seem rather... fond of Jubilee."


    Tyson''s eyebrows shot up, his voice dripping with disbelief, "You think I have a thing for Asian girls?"


    Illyana clapped her hands in mock delight, "Yes, that''s it!"


    Tyson''s face turned a shade redder. "But... I''m with you, aren''t I? What''s your point?"


    Illyana leaned in, her smirk growing wider. "Isn''t a part of Russia in Asia?"


    Tyson brought a hand to his forehead, groaning. "I can''t believe we''re having this conversation."


    A pressing question weighed on Illyana''s mind. Taking a sip of her drink, she looked over at Tyson, her blue eyes searching his. "How are we going to afford the lessons? We''ve been scraping by as is."


    Tyson, leaning back in his chair, smirked and asked, "Remember that massive bull statue we passed?"


    Illyana''s brow furrowed, recalling the huge bronze statue in the Financial District. "Yeah, the Wall Street bull thing? What about it?"


    "That area," Tyson started, gesturing with his hands, "is overflowing with money, Illy. I was thinking I might try my hand there."


    She raised a skeptical eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching. "You? In a suit?"


    Tyson waved a dismissive hand, laughing lightly, "Not exactly. But, there are countless jobs and chances to make money. I''ll find a way."


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Illyana considered his determination, and her worries momentarily quelled. With a sigh, she said, "Alright, if you say so." Illyana''s eyes snapped to his, feigning annoyance. "And don''t call me Illy. I hate that nickname."


    Tyson leaned forward, pretending to ponder deeply. "How about... Yana?"


    She snorted, "Sounds like a pop star or like I should be dancing in a ballet or something."


    He smirked, "I wouldn''t mind seeing that. How about... Ana?"


    She squinted at him, "That''s just lazy. Next, you''re going to be calling me ''I''."


    Tyson chuckled, holding up his hands in defeat, "Alright, alright. I''ll stick to Illyana then.¡±


    The atmosphere in the restaurant grew softer as the evening progressed. As the last remnants of their dessert sat on the table, the flickering candles painted their faces with a gentle glow. Tyson''s demeanor shifted to something more vulnerable. He placed his hand atop Illyana''s. To anyone else, it would''ve looked like a simple, intimate gesture. But she felt no accompanying pull on her life force, letting her know it was an illusion crafted by his powers. His eyes searched for something within her own. "Illyana... Are you truly okay with everything? With all of this? I feel like... like I''ve been dragging you into my chaos. I want to make sure this is what you want."


    She studied him for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle. "Tyson, after Xavier''s Institute, I didn''t have a clear path in mind. You know that. Staying there to help teach? Or trying to navigate college applications? That''s not me. At least not right now." He nodded, swallowing hard as he continued to hold her gaze. Illyana squeezed the illusionary hand, wishing she could feel the warmth and weight of his actual hand. "This adventure? It''s been wild, unpredictable, and honestly? More fun than I expected. I''m happy, with you."


    He exhaled a breath he didn''t realize he''d been holding, relief flooding his features. "Thank you, Illyana. I just... I want to make sure you''re never feeling trapped or obligated."


    She smirked, her trademark mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "Trust me, if I wanted out, you''d know."


    With a chuckle, Tyson replied, "I believe that. Well, now that we¡¯re full. Want to find a nice place and move in together?"


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Well, that escalated quickly. Moving in together? Are you sure you''re ready for that level of commitment?"


    Tyson chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "We''ve been through a lot together. We''ve fought side by side, and we''ve had each other''s backs in the toughest of situations. In a way, we''ve already been living together, just... without a fixed address."


    She tilted her head, pondering. "You make it sound so romantic ¨C ''living without a fixed address''. Most people call that being homeless."


    He laughed, "Well, we''ve had quite the untraditional journey so far. I just thought... maybe it''s time for us to have a little normalcy. A place we can call home. A safe haven."


    Illyana sighed, looking out of the window for a moment before turning back to him. "A home does sound nice. Somewhere to return to after a long day. Somewhere to hang my... sword?"


    He nodded, "Exactly. And besides, I think we¡¯re due for a bit of stability."


    She leaned in, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Alright, but only if you promise not to leave your dirty socks everywhere."


    Tyson grinned, "Deal. But you have to promise not to bring any demons home."


    "Deal!" she said with a laugh.


    And with that, the two set out to find a place to call home. Tyson and Illyana walked side by side, their footsteps in sync as they strolled back toward City Hall Park. Glancing over, they spotted a luxurious Four Seasons hotel. With its grand entryway and a revolving door, it beckoned them over, suggesting an elegance that was inviting. As they walked in, the high, vaulted ceiling, gilded with hints of gold, captured the essence of luxury. Large crystal chandeliers hung majestically, each crystal meticulously polished, scattering prisms of light that danced across the marble floor, reflecting intricate patterns. To one side, a grand, sweeping staircase adorned with plush, deep red carpet led to the second floor. Seating areas, scattered around the lobby, featured plush velvet sofas and armchairs which sat atop hand-woven rugs. Every corner whispered sophistication; from the curated pieces of art that graced the walls to the discreet, uniformed staff that moved silently, ensuring the perfection of every detail. Towards the back, a large, polished mahogany desk acted as the reception, where staff, looking impeccable in their tailored suits, attended to guests with a level of care and discretion only seen in establishments of this caliber. The ambient music which was a soft blend of classical and contemporary filled the air.


    Without missing a beat, Tyson confidently strode toward the reception desk. Behind it stood a young woman with neatly pinned-up hair, her smile a practiced blend of cordiality and professionalism.


    Before she could greet them, Tyson locked eyes with her, subtly activating his illusion powers. "I''d like to speak with the manager," he stated calmly.


    She blinked, seemingly finding something reassuring in his gaze. "Of course, sir. One moment, please."


    A few moments later, a sharply dressed man approached them. His suit was crisply tailored, his shoes polished to a shine. "Good evening. I''m Mr. Lawrence, the floor manager. How may I assist you?"


    Again, Tyson employed his gift, locking eyes with the manager. "Is there a higher-level manager available?"


    Mr. Lawrence appeared momentarily caught off guard but soon regained his composure. "Well, I''m in charge of the daily operations here. However, our hotel administrator, Ms. Carter, oversees the larger scope of management. Would you like to meet her?"


    Past the grand lobby and the serene indoor fountain, the duo found themselves standing outside an ornate wooden door, the nameplate reading "Ms. Carter - Hotel Director." The door opened, revealing a large, elegant office that had the same air of understated luxury as the rest of the hotel. Sitting behind a sleek mahogany desk, Ms. Carter looked up, her sharp eyes assessing the two young people before her. She was a tall, poised woman with a stern countenance, her black hair pulled into a tight bun, and a single strand of pearls around her neck. "How can I assist you today?" she asked, her tone professional.


    Tyson didn''t waste a moment. As soon as their eyes met, he activated his illusion power.


    A woman opened the door and entered the room.


    The hotel director, Ms. Carter, straightened up, stern expression shifted to one of sudden realization and respect. She addressed the newcomer, "Ms. Taylor! I didn''t expect the Four Seasons CEO to be paying a visit. What can I do for you?¡±


    "Ah, Ms. Carter," Kathleen Taylor began, ¡°I apologize for arriving unannounced.¡± Ms. Carter assured her it was no problem. The CEO continued, ¡°This is my nephew Tyson Smith, and his fiance, Illyana.¡±


    Tyson, playing along with the illusion he had cast, said, "We''d like to spend some time in New York and were hoping to reserve your finest suite for the foreseeable future. And I want the utmost discretion." Illyana tried to hide a smirk, impressed by Tyson''s audacity.


    Ms. Carter, now saw him as a distinguished corporate VIP of the Four Seasons chain, "I apologize for not recognizing you immediately, Mr. Smith. It''s an honor to have you here.¡± she said, her fingers deftly moving across her computer keyboard. "We have our Empire penthouse suite available for just such situations, it takes up half our top floor and offers panoramic views of the city and every amenity you might require. I''ll ensure your stay is as comfortable and private as you wish."


    Ms. Taylor chimed in, "And ensuring any room charges are written off as corporate expenses would be appreciated."


    Ms. Carter''s fingers paused on the keyboard, her eyes widening slightly at the request but quickly regained her professional composure. "Of course, Mr. Smith," she responded, turning her gaze back to the computer screen. "I''ll arrange for all charges to be billed directly to the corporate account."


    Illyana, still maintaining a facade of nonchalance, leaned in slightly. "We appreciate your discretion, Ms. Carter," she said, her voice carrying a hint of a Russian accent. Her eyes darted between Tyson and Ms. Carter, a mixture of amusement and intrigue dancing in them.


    Ms. Carter nodded her attention still partially on the computer. "Is there anything specific you require during your stay? Any particular preferences or needs?"


    Tyson glanced at Illyana, then back at Ms. Carter. "Privacy is our primary concern," he said, his tone firm yet polite. "Beyond that, we trust your judgment to provide the best Four Seasons has to offer."


    Ms. Carter, now fully in the role of an accommodating host, looked up from her computer with a smile. "I''ll have someone show you to the suite right away. And rest assured, your stay here will be nothing short of exemplary."


    As they were escorted towards the elevator, Illyana whispered to Tyson, "I can''t believe that worked."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The Empire Suite at the Four Seasons Downtown in Manhattan was nothing short of a masterpiece. It had a magnificent panorama of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the entire suite in a golden hue. The open-concept living area was expansive, with plush beige sofas adorned with rich, patterned throw pillows, a pristine glass coffee table, and modern art gracing the walls. The space was large enough to host a small party, with a long walnut dining table that could easily accommodate ten guests. Crystal chandeliers hovered above, casting their radiant glow. To the left was a kitchen with stainless steel appliances and glossy black countertops. Nearby, a media room boasted the latest audio-visual equipment, waiting to deliver entertainment. Perhaps the most impressive feature was the master bathroom, which felt more like a mini spa. It was adorned with white marble, a deep soaking tub with views of the city, and a rainforest shower. The office held a sturdy mahogany desk, with a high-back leather chair. Shelves lined with books and curios gave it a personal touch and a modern desktop computer gleamed under the ambient lighting.


    It was at this desk that Tyson sat, studying the map of Manhattan with the city''s skyline stretching behind him. Illyana, having just awoken, walked in with her characteristic swagger, her blonde hair tousled from sleep.


    "Morning," she yawned, leaning against the doorframe, taking in the sight of Tyson and the room around her.


    Tyson looked up, offering a warm smile. "Morning, sleepyhead. How did you find your first weekend in our home in the sky?"


    Illyana stretched and smiled as her eyes scanned the suite. "Feels a bit too posh for a couple of misfits like us, doesn''t it?" she teased. "It''s weird that the club''s just next to us, but I didn''t hear any of the usual club noises all weekend. Nice soundproofing."


    Tyson glanced up from his notes, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, they''ve designed this place well."


    Illyana turned back to him, her blue eyes curious. "So, about your job search... What¡¯s the plan.¡±


    Tyson hesitated for a moment, his gaze drawn to a particularly imposing tower further uptown. "You know," he began, his voice thoughtful, "I''ve been thinking about it some more. Instead of Wall Street, maybe I''d visit one of the major corporations headquartered here in Manhattan."


    Illyana, with her platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, looked at him quizzically. "Why the sudden change in plans?"


    He pointed in the direction of the towering structure that caught his eye. "See that? That''s Oscorp''s tower. It''s further uptown and has way more visibility than any other building. I''m considering heading up there, maybe do a little scouting."


    "Oscorp? Of all places?" Illyana raised an eyebrow, "What''s pulling you there? Looking for some high-tech toys?"


    Tyson shook his head, "No, it''s not that. It''s just... I have this feeling. Call it a gut instinct or whatever." He met her gaze steadily. "I can''t explain it, Illyana. But something tells me that there''s more to Oscorp than what meets the eye."


    The early morning sunlight washed over Oscorp''s massive structure, giving the glass exterior a glistening hue. Tyson positioned himself at a nearby coffee stand, a block from the entrance. It was the perfect vantage point, allowing him to observe without drawing too much attention.


    He watched as employees hurriedly made their way into the building, ID badges swinging from their necks. They were a mix of young and old, all dressed in professional attire. The tech giant had a reputation for attracting the best talent, and by the looks of it, that reputation held.


    Every so often, someone would step out for a quick coffee break or to catch a breath of fresh air. Tyson seized these moments as opportunities. Striking up casual conversations, he''d subtly probe for information.


    "Morning! Seems like a busy day at Oscorp," he remarked to a young woman waiting for her cappuccino.


    She smiled politely, her eyes darting to his attire. Tyson was dressed in casual clothes, giving off the vibe of a tourist. "Always is. New projects, deadlines... the usual corporate stuff."


    Tyson continued his approach, blending in seamlessly as he engaged with several more employees. In each conversation, Tyson used his illusion power to gather insights. The employees, under the influence of his power, shared details about their work with a sense of pride. However, Tyson couldn¡¯t help but notice a cautious tone in their voices, hinting at deeper, more complex dynamics at play within the company.


    His interactions had piqued his curiosity about the inner workings of the tech giant, but he wasn''t keen on forcing his way into a position. The risk seemed too high, especially considering the other opportunities that New York presented.


    The city was a hotbed for various underground activities. Gangs, crime, and other less-than-legal means of making money were rampant, offering avenues that could be exploited without causing harm. Moreover, he hadn''t completely given up on the idea of using his illusions to secure a high-paying job in the finance sector. The prospect of effortlessly waltzing into a lucrative position using his powers was still appealing. It was a safer, potentially more profitable route.


    With these thoughts in mind, Tyson decided to step back from Oscorp for now. He would bide his time, exploring the various facets of the city and perhaps its darker corners, all while keeping the option of a cushy finance job as a viable backup plan.


    Since Times Square was nearby, Tyson walked over for a look before heading back to the hotel. Neon signs flashed, and enormous electronic billboards streamed advertisements for everything from the latest blockbuster movies to brand-name clothing. The constant thrum of activity was punctuated by the sounds of traffic, pedestrians chatting, and street performers trying to earn a few dollars.


    Tyson stepped into the sea of people, allowing himself to be carried along by the crowd. He glanced up at the buildings, looking for any signs of difference between this Marvel universe and his memory. However, aside from a few ads for Stark Industries and Oscorp, it felt disappointingly familiar. With a resigned sigh, he headed south, enjoying the familiar feel of the city. The sights, sounds, and even smells of NYC were a comforting backdrop to his thoughts.


    Several miles into his walk, a corner pizzeria with a sign reading ¡®Bleecker Street Pizza¡¯ stopped him in his tracks.


    The name rang a bell, but he couldn''t place where he''d heard it before. Its rustic red-bricked exterior and the aroma of freshly baked dough beckoned him inside. Inside, the warmth of the oven and the sound of soft conversations surrounded him. The walls were adorned with photos of celebrities who had visited, along with countless awards the pizzeria had earned over the years. He approached the counter and ordered a slice of their signature margarita pizza. As he bit into the cheesy goodness, Tyson scanned the room, searching for any clues as to why the name was so familiar. The slice was decent, but it was the name of the place that kept nagging at his mind.


    He pulled out his trusty map of Manhattan, tracing a route with his finger. Spotting Bleecker Street''s connection to Broadway, he realized he could follow it back to the hotel. Setting the map down, Tyson took one last look around the pizzeria, hoping something would click. Unfortunately, it remained a mystery.


    With his pizza done and the map folded away, Tyson exited the pizzeria, letting the city''s ambiance envelop him once more as he made his way back to the hotel. The bustling streets of Manhattan were a labyrinth of turns and crossings, but none as peculiar as the six-way junction where Bleecker Street met 6th Avenue. He hesitated for a moment, watching as the locals navigated the intersection with ease. Shrugging off the mild embarrassment, Tyson continued his walk. The savory smells of restaurants wafted through the air, and the magnificent facades of high-rise condos towered overhead. But none seemed to pull at Tyson''s memories like Bleecker Street Pizza did.


    Just as he was getting lost in thought, he froze as he nearly walked past a particular building. His eyes widened, and his heart raced as he looked up at the facade. The shock was evident on his face, and for a moment, the bustling city around him faded into a mere whisper. The building stood out to Tyson like a beacon.


    The New York Sanctum.


    It was an old, stately structure that looked slightly out of place amongst the modern architecture of the city. Built from worn white stone, the Sanctum had tall, narrow windows with intricately designed lattices. Above it, close to the roof, was an arcane symbol etched into the window, a circular design with intertwining lines shimmered faintly, as if there was some latent energy pulsing from within.


    A shit-eating grin was plastered to Tyson''s face. Every instinct told him to go knock on that door. But he couldn''t, not without Illyana. This was their shared adventure, he wouldn¡¯t move forward without her at his side. He glanced up, noticing the orange hues of the sun in the sky. The clock was ticking, and it was already 7 p.m. He couldn''t waste any more time; Illyana had to see this! With that thought, Tyson pivoted on his heel and launched himself into a swift run, zooming through the streets, weaving past pedestrians and dodging the occasional taxi, heading straight for the hotel.


    Bursting through the doors of the hotel, he made his way to the nearest phone. He picked it up, dialing the concierge. As the phone rang, he tried to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.


    "Good evening, Hotel concierge. How may I assist you?" came a crisp voice from the other end.


    "Hey, I need a recommendation," Tyson began, trying to sound casual despite his evident excitement. "What''s the best tea place in lower Manhattan? Something special, something... unique."


    There was a brief pause on the other end as if the concierge was contemplating the perfect suggestion. "Ah! I would recommend ''McNulty''s Tea & Coffee Co.'' on Christopher Street. It''s not your everyday tea place. It has an old-world charm, and they offer a variety of unique blends."


    Tyson''s grin widened. "Perfect! Thank you!" With the information in hand, he went back out into the streets. Their visit would have to wait until tomorrow. He couldn¡¯t arrive empty-handed.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The morning sun streamed through the curtains of their hotel room, casting a golden glow on everything. Tyson lay there, counting the seconds, as he listened to the subtle shifts and movements of Illyana stirring from her slumber. He replayed yesterday''s discoveries in his mind, the anticipation bubbling within him, almost too great to contain.


    Illyana stretched and gave a slight yawn, her blue eyes blinking open. "Morning," she murmured, her voice raspy from sleep.


    "Morning," Tyson replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "How was your night?"


    Illyana pushed her wild blonde hair out of her face, recalling the quiet evening she''d had. "Good enough. Drank some wine, and watched some crap TV. You?"


    Tyson propped himself up on one elbow, trying to keep his face casual, which was harder than he thought. "Oh, you know. Searched for a job. Found the wizards," he said nonchalantly, trying to hide his grin.


    Illyana, still waking up, nodded slowly, processing his words. "Mm, that''s nice," she replied distractedly, then froze. Illyana''s initial look of bemusement turned into wide-eyed astonishment. "You''re joking, right?" She sat up quickly, the blankets falling around her. "You found them?"


    Grinning triumphantly, Tyson replied, "Thought that might wake you up.¡± He chuckled, unable to hide his glee any longer. "Yep! I found them."


    Illyana sat up, her excitement mirroring Tyson''s. "Let¡¯s go!"

 Arc 3 - Ch 5: New York Sanctum

    Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2010.


    Location: 177A Bleecker St. Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York


    The warm morning sun glistened off the stone facade of the New York Sanctum. The wooden doors loomed ahead and the occasional passerby would glance over curiously before moving along, clearly unaware of its significance. Tyson stood with his head tilted up, taking in every inch of the building. He had been so eager to introduce himself and Illyana the day before, but now, doubt seemed to cloud his features. He fidgeted with his shirt collar, taking deep breaths, clearly trying to steady himself.


    Illyana''s piercing blue eyes darted between the entrance and Tyson, "What''s got you so spooked?" she rasped.


    "It''s just... I mean... yesterday, I was so sure about this. But now," Tyson hesitated, glancing sideways at Illyana, "I don''t know how to approach them."


    Illyana snorted, "Oh, so the Great Illusionist is scared of a few wizards? Who would have thought?"


    "Sorcerers. Please don¡¯t call them wizards. And it''s not that," Tyson protested. "It''s just... I don''t know the proper way to introduce ourselves."


    Illyana rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated. "Why are you overthinking this?" she muttered. Without a second thought, she strode up to the massive wooden doors and gave a loud, confident knock.


    Tyson''s eyes widened, and he blurted out, "Wait!" But it was too late.


    The grand doors creaked open, revealing a tall, bald, black man. He wore a sleeveless yellow robe with intricate patterns embroidered on the sides. His eyes darted between the two visitors, a hint of curiosity evident.


    Before Illyana could open her mouth, Tyson, in a hasty attempt to break the ice, stepped forward with a smile that bordered on awkwardness. "Good morning," he began, holding out a bag of freshly baked bagels, "we brought bagels."


    The man''s eyebrows rose slightly, his gaze resting on Tyson as if questioning his sanity.


    Trying to recover from the awkward introduction, Tyson added, "And... uh, tea," holding a bag from the high-end tea shop a few blocks away.


    Illyana rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with Tyson''s attempt. She stepped forward with her usual confidence. "What he''s trying to say is we''re here to see the Grand Wizard."


    Tyson''s face paled. Realizing her faux pas, he quickly yanked his sleeve over his hand and, in a slightly frantic move, covered Illyana''s mouth with it. He whispered through clenched teeth, ¡°Of all the things to say.¡± Facing the man with a look of sheer panic, Tyson quickly corrected, "She meant the Sorcerer Supreme. Uh, the Ancient One.¡± Tyson took a breath and calmly said, ¡°We''re here to see the Ancient One if she''ll have us... please."


    The man''s stern expression cracked ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. He glanced between the two, taking in Tyson¡¯s nervous, expectant face.


    A soothing voice echoed from within the Sanctum, one Tyson found familiar. "Oh, stop torturing them, Master Drumm. You''ve had your fun."


    Master Drumm stepped aside. As Illyana confidently strode in, she tossed a "thank you" over her shoulder, her tone dripping with her signature sarcasm.


    Tyson hesitated, looking between Illyana and Master Drumm. Holding up a hand, Drumm raised an eyebrow and said, "Grand Wizard? Really?"


    Tyson''s face reddened, "Sorry," he mumbled, "she''s not American. She doesn''t get how fucked up that was." He gave an apologetic shake of his head, sighing deeply.


    Master Drumm, clearly entertained by the exchange, chuckled softly. "It''s alright," he said. With that, he gestured for Tyson to follow Illyana inside.


    They stepped over the threshold, to the entry foyer of the New York Sanctum. The floor beneath them was polished to such an extent that their reflections were clear. In the center of the foyer, a staircase reached up, adorned with brass railings that gleamed in the ambient light.


    Off the entry foyer, a room beckoned Tyson and Illyana. The walls were lined with dark, polished wood. The room''s ambiance invoked a sense of calm and solitude. At the center of the room was a table with two empty chairs on one side and another occupied by the Ancient One, as if she¡¯d been expecting them.


    She sat, pale-skinned and bald, with an aura of timeless wisdom, her frame appearing simultaneously delicate and strong. Thin, arching eyebrows framed deep-set eyes. Her face, though unmarked by the passage of time, carried an air of profound experience. Every feature, from the slight upturn of her nose to the graceful curve of her lips, retained an ageless quality. She wore a long, flowing robe, and around her neck hung a pendant.


    She looked up from a worn tome, her wise eyes meeting theirs, a serene smile gracing her lips. Beside the table, sat a steaming pot of water and a stack of tea cups.


    Illyana stopped in her tracks, staring at the Ancient One. "You''re a woman?" she blurted out, genuine surprise evident in her tone. "Well, that''s unexpected. I always picture wise, old, wizards as being men with long white beards."


    The Ancient One merely chuckled, "Expectations can be limiting, my dear."


    Tyson felt a rush of embarrassment flood his cheeks. He was regretting not having come alone the previous day when he discovered the Sanctum. Maybe he could have avoided such an awkward situation.


    Illyana added, "Didn''t mean any offense. Just, you know, the stories paint a different picture."


    The Ancient One, still with a gentle smile, responded, "Stories have a way of changing with the teller. Now, come. Sit. I have been expecting you both."


    Tyson handed over the bag with the tea to Master Drumm, which he acknowledged with a slight nod. The room was thick with the scent of freshly brewed tea as Master Drumm meticulously poured the golden liquid into cups.


    The Ancient One looked towards the tea with a soft smile. "Thank you, Master Drumm, for preparing the tea," she began, then turned her gaze to Tyson, "And to you for providing such a thoughtful gift."


    Swallowing his nervousness, Tyson bowed slightly, "Thank you for seeing us, Ancient One."


    She tilted her head in acknowledgment and looked at them both, her eyes shimmering with curiosity. "So, what brings you both to my doorstep?"


    Illyana, never one for hesitance, leaned forward, her voice dripping with annoyance, "We had a run-in with Azazel. I assume you know of him since he thought we were sorcerers. He decided to crash my realm, Limbo." She scoffed, "Since he made the assumption, figured we''d seek you out."


    Tyson cleared his throat, taking a moment to steady his voice. "We should''ve probably started with introductions," he began, his eyes glancing between The Ancient One and Illyana. "I''m Tyson and this," he motioned to Illyana, "is Illyana Rasputin." Illyana raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her seat but not interrupting. "We are... or were, students under Professor Charles Xavier, at his institute." He paused, taking a deep breath as the weight of their recent battles pressed upon him. "We first encountered Azazel not too long ago. Working together, we managed to fend him off. But..."


    Illyana took over, her voice carrying a tone of frustration, "He came back, and this time he''s brought along many demonic allies." She leaned forward, her blue eyes fiery with determination. "We''ve dealt with our share of problems, but this... This is something else. Azazel¡¯s not playing games. He has magic and confused Tyson for a sorcerer, so here we are."


    The Ancient One''s face remained impassive, her fingers gently cradling the teacup as she listened to their story. The silence that hung in the room was almost palpable as she took a moment to sip the brew thoughtfully. Once done, she placed the cup gently on the table. "I¡¯m aware of Azazel and his recent activities in Limbo," she began, "Charles Xavier and I have crossed paths in the past. He reached out after your initial confrontation with the demon."


    Tyson''s eyes lit up, the realization dawning on him. He snapped his fingers and pointed at The Ancient One, "Oh! That''s right! Professor X did mention contacting someone about this. I just didn¡¯t put two and two together."


    Tyson looked at The Ancient One expectantly. Her gaze, however, was directed towards Illyana. "So, now that we''ve established our connections," she began, her voice gentle yet probing, "what exactly do you want from me?"


    Tyson met The Ancient One''s gaze squarely. "Training," he stated simply. "We need to be better prepared for what lies ahead."


    Illyana jumped in, her voice edged with desperation, "And to drive Azazel out of Limbo once and for all."


    The Ancient One leaned back, her calm demeanor never wavering. "As Sorcerer Supreme, it falls upon me to protect Earth from threats emerging from other dimensions. Azazel is certainly one such threat."


    Illyana''s eyes lit up, hopeful. "So, you''ll help me reclaim my realm?"


    The Ancient One''s voice was gentle but firm, "My duty extends to Earth, Illyana. Limbo, as much as I sympathize, is not within our realm''s jurisdiction."


    Illyana''s face twisted in frustration, the weight of her predicament weighing heavily on her. She turned to Tyson, her voice laced with bitterness, "Training? That''s all we came here for? More training?"


    Before Tyson could respond, The Ancient One continued, her voice soft yet compelling. "You both possess incredible potential." Her gaze shifted to Tyson, eyes sharp and probing, "But you should know, the path of the mystic arts is not without its sacrifices. To learn our ways comes at a cost."


    Illyana shot back, "How much? If it''s money you need, we can find a way."


    Tyson shook his head slowly, an expression of grim understanding on his face. "I don''t think it''s that kind of cost."


    Illyana''s eyes blazed with anger and confusion. "What then?" she demanded, her patience thinning.


    The Ancient One regarded her calmly, her gaze unwavering. "The cost of your training, Illyana, can only be paid after you drive Azazel from Limbo," she stated in her composed and measured tone.


    Illyana''s hands clenched into fists, her voice rising in frustration. "What kind of twisted game is this? We come to you for help with that very task, and you turn around and offer to help us only if we complete it?"


    Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Illyana muttered a sharp curse in Russian. To her surprise, The Ancient One responded fluidly in the same language.


    Illyana took a moment, exhaling deeply to calm herself. The Ancient One waited, patient yet curious. "What exactly is Limbo?" she finally inquired.


    Illyana''s gaze turned distant, reflecting a deep emotional bond. "It''s my safe space," she replied, her voice softening. "My dimension."


    The Ancient One turned her thoughtful gaze towards Tyson. "You should know," she began, her voice filled with expectation. "Where do Sorcerers draw their power?"


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Tyson hesitated for a split second before he responded, drawing on his meta-knowledge. "From other dimensions," he answered.


    The Ancient One gave a nod of approval before directing her gaze back to Illyana. "Your connection to Limbo makes you unique. While most of us must pull from other dimensions for power and face the limitations and... drawbacks," her eyes shifted subtly to Tyson, hinting at an unspoken understanding, "for you, that connection offers an essentially limitless source. You can draw from it without facing those same restrictions."


    Illyana''s brows knitted together in confusion. "I don''t understand the problem," she voiced, trying to grapple with the information, "this all sounds good."


    The Ancient One¡¯s gaze remained steady and patient. "The problem, Illyana, lies with Azazel and all the demons in Limbo. Should you start drawing power from Limbo while it remains tainted by these entities, you risk transforming into a demon yourself."


    Illyana''s eyes widened, her face contorted with a mix of anger and frustration. "Then, like I said, you can''t help me," she spat out bitterly. She paused, letting the weight of the conversation sink in before her eyes darted to Tyson. "But you mentioned my cost," her finger pointed accusingly at Tyson, "What''s his?"


    The Ancient One''s lips curled into a mysterious smile as she took a sip of her tea. "I cannot say. His cost cannot be paid until after yours is," she responded, her tone enigmatic.


    Illyana''s impatience bubbled to the surface, her eyes darting between Tyson and the Ancient One. "Why are we still here?" she snapped, "She can''t teach us. She won''t help us fight. What''s the point of even learning magic if we can''t use it to fight Azazel?"


    The Ancient One, ever poised, extended her hand towards Tyson, palm up, fingers slightly curled. "Would you shake my hand?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving his.


    Illyana tilted her head slightly, suspicion clear on her face, while Tyson hesitated. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, uncertainty evident in his voice.


    "Quite sure," the Ancient One assured with a calmness only she possessed.


    With a cautious slowness, Tyson extended his hand, fingers wrapping around her hand. Illyana, and perhaps Tyson himself, anticipated a surge of energy, memories, or some magical connection. But there was nothing. Just a simple handshake.


    Illyana''s gaze flitted between the two, her brow furrowed. "Is this an illusion?" she demanded.


    Tyson pulled his hand back, still somewhat stunned. He shook his head slightly, "No. But...how?"


    The Ancient One unclasped the pendant from around her neck. Its intricate design seemed to shimmer ever so slightly, a hint at its latent magical power. "We can imbue objects with magic," she began, holding the pendant between her fingertips, "to alleviate some of the pressures on ourselves. For this pendant, I''ve employed two enchantments: Sheltered Vitality and Death Ward. One neutralizes your Ability Drain, and the other counters your Energy Drain. Together, they neutralize your unique power."


    Illyana''s eyes darted to the pendant, a glimmer of hope within them. "Can I have that?" she asked, her usual bluntness apparent.


    The Ancient One passed the pendant to Illyana but added a cautionary note, "Regrettably, the enchantment isn''t permanent. The materials used can only sustain the magic for about twenty minutes."


    Illyana turned the pendant over in her hand, inspecting it closely. "Twenty minutes? Can you make it permanent?" she asked.


    The Ancient One sighed softly, "Yes, it''s possible. But as with many things in life, it comes at a cost." She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle. "To craft that pendant, it took materials worth approximately 16 thousand dollars. That, or in this case because it''s a single-use item, 16 days of continuously investing magical energy. If you want a pendant or ring with a permanent enchantment, you''re looking at around 369 years of magical investment, or 392 million dollars for the materials."


    Illyana''s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by the hefty price tag. "369 years?" she questioned, disbelief evident in her tone.


    The Ancient One''s lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. "That was merely one method," she said softly. Standing gracefully, she moved closer to Illyana, "If I may?" she asked, extending her hands slightly.


    Illyana hesitated for just a moment. Then, with a curt nod, she consented.


    The Ancient One began moving her hands in intricate patterns. Bright, ethereal lines started weaving in the air, intertwining and expanding. The once-simple lines became mesmerizing patterns, a shimmering, iridescent dance of colors and symbols that seemed both ancient and otherworldly. The spellform''s complexity grew, spiraling and glowing brighter and brighter. As the Ancient One gently touched Illyana''s chest. The radiant spellform descended upon her like a cloak of luminescent starlight. It wrapped around her, encasing her momentarily in its brilliant glow before sinking seamlessly into her very being. The room was momentarily cast in a softer, golden hue before everything returned to normal.


    Drawing back, the Ancient One met Illyana''s eyes. "Go ahead," she encouraged, nodding towards Tyson. "Take his hand." As Illyana reached out hesitantly, the Ancient One added, "That was the Death Ward spell. For the next seven minutes, Illyana, you will remain unaffected by Tyson''s life drain. Tyson, while you will still gain her memories and abilities, I promise, you won''t harm her."


    The weight of the Ancient One''s words hung in the air, and a profound silence settled over the room. Illyana and Tyson''s eyes met, a cascade of emotions passing between them. Hope, fear, longing, and perhaps¡­ love. In that instant, they didn''t need words; their eyes said it all.


    Hesitatingly at first, they inched closer. Illyana''s fingers trembled as they reached up to touch Tyson''s cheek. He responded by placing a hand gently at the nape of her neck, drawing her in. Their foreheads touched first, a gentle collision of souls basking in the safety and warmth of each other''s presence.


    And then their lips met, a delicate brush at first as if testing the waters. But as seconds passed, their kiss deepened, growing more passionate and fervent. Every pent-up emotion, every ounce of longing they had held back, poured into that kiss. Their embrace tightened as if trying to merge into one. Time seemed to stop, and all that mattered was the here and now.


    When they finally pulled apart, they rested their foreheads against each other''s, breathing heavily. Their eyes remained closed, savoring the aftermath of their shared moment. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them, intertwined in an embrace that had been denied for far too long.


    The silence that filled the room was broken by the Ancient One''s soft voice, "Time is nearly up."


    Illyana''s face softened, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "Thank you," she murmured with sincerity. "Really."


    Beside her, Tyson was overwhelmed. The sensation of touch, unmarred by his power, left him almost breathless. "Thank you," he managed, his voice fragile, laden with emotion.


    Illyana tilted her head thoughtfully, and her earlier frustrations subsided. "Why offer us a glimpse of something we can''t have?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone.


    The Ancient One, with her perpetual air of calm, began to explain. "What I displayed to you is a mere glimpse of potential. Tyson," she motioned gracefully towards him, "you came with aspirations to grasp the intricacies of magic. And Illyana," she looked directly into the young mutant''s eyes, "you arrived with a mission to defeat Azazel."


    As she spoke, a spellform began to glow and take shape in the air, illuminating the room with its intricate patterns. She then gestured towards Illyana''s amulet, which gleamed in response.


    "You assumed that without sorcery, Azazel remains unbeatable. Your challenge," she continued, her gaze unwavering, "is to prove this belief wrong. What you see before you, this spell and that amulet, are merely two solutions to a singular problem. While the way of sorcery might be barred to you now, another route exists to defeat Azazel. Discover it, tread its path, and then magic will be yours to wield."


    The Ancient One lowered her hands, the sparkling spellform fading into the air. "However, in five weeks, this Sanctum will be sealed to you."


    Illyana''s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Five weeks? Why so specific?" Her frustration was evident. "So, what you''re saying is, I have to defeat this demon, reclaim my dimension, and come back here, all in less than five weeks? Just to have a chance at learning sorcery?"


    The Ancient One met Illyana''s fiery gaze with a calm demeanor. "Yes. Challenges often present themselves in tandem. Life rarely gives us the luxury of facing one obstacle at a time."


    Illyana crossed her arms, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how very insightful of you." Illyana sighed, her sharp edge softening just a bit. "Alright. Five weeks. I''ll do it." She paused, her resolve clear as she looked at Tyson. "I have to."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The golden hue of the morning sun painted the streets of New York as Illyana and Tyson exited the Sanctum Sanctorum. The city''s relentless pace surrounded them, but for a moment, they felt detached, processing everything they had just experienced.


    "How is it even possible?" Illyana mused, her voice tinged with frustration. "To feel like I''ve learned so much and yet... nothing at all?"


    Tyson glanced at her, taking a deep breath. "It''s like... when you learn that each star in the night sky is like our sun. You suddenly realize just how much of the universe you don''t know."


    Illyana sighed, looking at the ground. After a moment, she looked back up at him, her gaze serious. "What do you think we should do?"


    Tyson stopped walking and turned to face her. "Look, the Ancient One believes we can take on Azazel, so there must be a way. Training at the dojo is a start. It''ll sharpen us, prepare us." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "But let''s be real, five weeks won''t close the skill gap between us and him. We need... something more."


    "Like more allies?" Illyana suggested. "The X-Men?"


    He shook his head firmly. "I don''t want to involve Xavier unless the world''s ending. And putting our other friends in the crosshairs with Azazel?" He shuddered at the thought. "You saw how quick he was, trying to kill me."


    Illyana nodded, her face clouding with worry. "So, what? We''re on our own?"


    Tyson hesitated, then with a slight smirk said, "Well... maybe Logan."


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, "Wolverine? That could work." She mused. Illyana added confidently, "My brother will help. He can be discreet."


    Tyson asked, "And how exactly do you plan on contacting him?"


    Illyana shot him a quizzical look, her tone dripping with dry humor, "His cell phone, genius."


    "Right," Tyson murmured, making a mental note. He''d forgotten that just because smartphones were uncommon at this point, didn''t mean cell phones didn''t exist. He seriously needed to get a phone, he thought.


    The two continued to walk. Illyana held up the pendant the Ancient One had given her earlier. A mischievous glint in her eye, she teased, "Well, if nothing else, we do have twenty minutes." She swung the pendant playfully. "Any ideas on how you''d want to spend it?"


    Tyson''s face flushed slightly, caught off guard by her flirtatious suggestion. "Twenty minutes... It''s just not long enough," As he considered their situation, Tyson''s thoughts raced, connecting dots that seemed obscure moments ago. He froze, his eyes wide, a realization dawning.


    Illyana noticed the change and turned to him, brow furrowing in a mix of concern and curiosity. "What''s wrong?" she asked, her voice taking on a slightly impatient tone typical of her.


    Tyson looked at her, excitement gleaming in his eyes. "The spell," he began, his voice trembling with urgency. "We hugged, Illyana. For seven minutes."


    A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, and it was nice," she remarked, a teasing tone evident.


    But Tyson was in no mood for light banter. His voice elevated in excitement as he exclaimed, "Not just that! Because of that hug, I have your power now. For seven hours!"


    Illyana''s playful demeanor disappeared, replaced by a look of dawning comprehension. Her powers, combined with Tyson''s unique abilities, had been key in driving off Azazel the first time. "Wait, so you mean..."


    He nodded fervently, "Exactly. If there was ever a time to take the fight to Azazel, it''s now. With both of us having your powers at full strength, we have a chance."


    A fierce determination settled over Illyana''s face, her stance shifting into one of readiness. "Then let''s not waste any time," she said.


    "Do you know how to get back to the institute?" he asked, brows furrowing slightly in concern.


    Illyana gave him a look that was half-amused, "Kind of," she replied, her tone casual. "Just go north. If we get lost, pop into the sky and follow landmarks. Easy." She shrugged, as though navigating through the vast city was just another mundane chore.


    He nodded, appreciating her confidence, though he knew her nonchalant exterior often masked the depth of her thoughts. "Call your brother," he instructed. "Get him and Logan on board. We''ll pick them up at the train station."


    Illyana''s gaze lingered on him, noticing the tense line of his jaw and the distant look in his eyes. "Okay," she agreed slowly, "But what are you going to do?"


    Tyson exhaled, his expression solemn. "Getting some supplies. We need to be prepared." His gaze met hers, intensity evident in his eyes. "Then I''ll meet you there."


    Illyana watched him for a moment, the strength and determination evident in his stance. With a resolute nod, she used her power to their penthouse to use the phone. When she arrived he was already at the computer looking something up. By the time she got off the phone, Tyson was already gone.


    Tyson focused on his surroundings, heeding Illyana¡¯s advice to guide him. He summoned the energy to teleport, and in the next instant, he was standing atop a nearby building. He looked around, using the vantage point to gauge his direction. The wind ruffled his hair as he blinked rapidly, teleporting from one building to the next, moving swiftly northwards. His teleports were precise, ensuring he jumped less than a quarter mile each time, but doing so in rapid succession allowed him to cover vast distances in mere seconds. The city blurred beneath him until the familiar curve of upper Manhattan came into view. His eyes locked onto Interstate 87, and he adjusted his trajectory.


    As Tyson reached Yonkers, he slowed his pace, searching intently for the location he''d researched earlier. It took him about 15 minutes of zigzagging across the area, but finally, he saw the sign he was looking for.


    He stopped in front of the establishment. The gun shop''s windows were dark and covered with crisscrossing metal bars. Without hesitation, Tyson reached for the door handle. He knew that every step was leading him closer to the ultimate confrontation with Azazel. And he had to be ready.

 Arc 3 - Ch 6: The Battle For Limbo

    Date: Tuesday, July 27, 2010.


    Location: Xavier Insitute, Scarsdale, New York


    The common area of the Xavier Institute buzzed with low conversation as several students lounged around or discussed assignments. Close to the kitchen entrance, Colossus sat with a sketchpad, his metallic fingers creating delicate lines and curves. He enjoyed drawing, and it was difficult for him to do so while transformed. However, the exercise was his way of practicing his control and fine motor skills while in his metallic state. A distinct, tinny ringtone broke his concentration.


    He shifted out of his metal form to avoid damaging another cell phone. Pulling out the device, he saw Illyana¡¯s name flashing on the screen and answered, immediately, "Illyana? Is everything alright?"


    Jubilee who sat a few meters away reading a graphic novel, lifted her head at the mention of Illyana''s name. She pretended to be engrossed in her book, but her ears were focused on the conversation.


    "Piotr, I need your help," a touch of desperation seeped through Illyana¡¯s voice.


    ¡°What happened? Are you safe?¡± Colossus''s brows furrowed with concern.


    ¡°We''re safe for now. But we can''t handle this on our own. Azazel... he¡¯s making his move. Limbo has been invaded again, this time he has allies."


    Colossus repeated questioningly, ¡°Azazel is back?¡±


    Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened. She knew of Azazel from Tyson¡¯s recounting and recognized the danger.


    Illyana continued, "I need backup. Where''s Logan?"


    ¡°Why do you need Logan?¡± Colossus asked, hesitating.


    ¡°He¡¯s a fighter. Tyson respects him and thinks he¡¯ll come to help.¡± Illyana¡¯s voice held an edge of urgency.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get him,¡± Colossus promised. ¡°Stay safe. I¡¯ll call back soon.¡±


    He ended the call and stood up, heading in search of Wolverine.


    Jubilee waited for a moment, biting her lower lip. Concern for Tyson and the danger of Azazel, caused her to make up her mind. She couldn¡¯t stay behind and wonder. She needed to help. Placing her graphic novel down, Jubilee snuck after Colossus. She tiptoed after him, staying hidden behind corners and larger decorations.


    Colossus found Logan in a secluded alcove. His rugged face was focused on a cigar. Colossus cleared his throat, "Logan."


    Logan looked up, ¡°Peter. What¡¯s up? I promise I wasn¡¯t going to smoke it here.¡±


    Colossus ignored his comment, and that Logan had mispronounced his name, "Illyana called. She and Tyson are in trouble."


    Logan immediately stopped what he was doing, his eyes narrowing. "What did she say?"


    "She said they decided to confront Azazel. They''re going in together against him and a horde of demons. I told her I¡¯d help, but she said Tyson suggested asking if you were willing to join them.¡±


    Logan grunted, standing up, "That kid is always biting off more than he can chew."


    Colossus nodded solemnly, ¡°She asked specifically for you, Logan. She said Tyson trusts you."


    Logan smirked, ¡°That kid. Got a lot of nerve.¡± He took a moment to consider, then nodded, "Alright. I''m in." The two turned to exit the Institute heading towards the train station.


    Jubilee watched them from her hiding place. She started sneaking after them, keeping to the shadows and ensuring she was never too close to give herself away. However, Logan''s heightened senses picked up on her presence almost immediately. The scent of bubblegum and sparklers drifted to his nose. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was not about to reveal her, not after Tyson commented about him and Ororo just before he left.


    As Wolverine and Colossus arrived at the train station, they immediately spotted a familiar face. Illyana¡¯s blonde hair stood out as they approached. Relief was evident in Colosus¡¯s eyes as he swiftly closed the distance and wrapped his sister in a warm embrace. "Illyana," he murmured, pulling back to inspect her. "Are you alright?"


    She gave a small smile. "I''ve seen better days, big brother." Turning to Logan, she stepped forward and gave him a brief hug. "Logan. Thank you for coming. Tyson will be glad to see you."


    Logan nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Always got your backs. Now, where''s the boy wonder?"


    Almost as if on cue, a bright flash of white light erupted. When their vision cleared, Tyson stood there, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder. ¡°Logan, Piotr,¡± Tyson greeted with a nod, then smirked. ¡°Thanks for joining the party.¡±


    Colossus frowned, glancing at the duffel bag. "What¡¯s in there?"


    Tyson shifted the bag¡¯s weight, ¡°Supplies.¡±


    Logan''s nostrils twitched, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Guns?"


    Tyson smirked, ¡°Good nose.¡±


    But then Tyson¡¯s nostrils flared, catching a whiff of a familiar scent. Logan''s grin widened, almost wolfish. Tyson''s eyes scanned the surroundings, settling on a particular corner. "You can come out. I know you''re there."


    With her position revealed, Jubilee hesitantly stepped around the corner, her face a mix of defiance and nervousness. She gave a sheepish smile, ¡°Guess I¡¯m not as sneaky as I thought.¡±


    Tyson gave Logan a knowing look before he walked over to Jubilee, his face softening. To her surprise, Tyson reached out, seemingly ruffling her carefully styled hair. Jubilee¡¯s eyes widened slightly, she let out a small yelp, swatting at him in mock irritation. "Hey! Watch the hair!" She stopped suddenly, her eyes darting to where his hand had just been. "Wait... you touched me! How?¡±


    Tyson laughed, ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing. Using the illusions. I didn''t actually touch you."


    Jubilee huffed, but her eyes shimmered with a mix of awe and curiosity. "So, what have you and Illyana been up to?"


    With a casual shrug, Tyson responded, "Oh, you know. Caught a couple of flights, and hopped from one hotel to the next. Met some wizards, getting ready to battle a few demons." He paused, glancing at Illyana with a teasing glint in his eyes. "You know, just the usual stuff."


    Jubilee folded her arms, trying to look stern but her playful nature broke through. "Wizards and demons huh? Need any help? I can tag along."


    Tyson''s demeanor shifted. The levity in his eyes was replaced with a gravity that bore down on Jubilee. He slowly shook his head. "Not this time, Jubes. I''m sorry."


    She frowned, "But¡ª"


    He cut her off, "Azazel means business. Last time we squared off." He drew an X on his chest with his fingers over where his heart was. "Stabbed me right through the heart."


    He gestured towards Logan and Colossus. "They''ll survive something like that." Tyson then turned his gaze back to Jubilee, his eyes filled with a mix of protectiveness and pain. "You won¡¯t."


    "Hold on, Tyson," Illyana said with her eyes locked onto Jubilee.


    Tyson turned, an objection ready on his lips, but Illyana was already moving. She walked up to Jubilee and, in an uncharacteristically warm gesture, linked arms with her. The movement was so fluid that it left little room for protest as she started to guide Jubilee away from the group. Tyson watched them go. He looked over at Colossus and Logan, silently pleading for backup. But Colossus simply raised an eyebrow, an amused look crossing his metallic face. Logan, meanwhile, took a deep draw from a cigar, the ember glowing brightly. He simply gave a non-committal grunt, seemingly content to let things play out.


    Tyson sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Great," he mumbled.


    Meanwhile, away from earshot of the men, Illyana and Jubilee stood facing each other. Illyana¡¯s blue eyes searched Jubilee''s. "Look, thanks for coming. I know you''re mostly here for Tyson," she began, her tone softer than usual.


    Jubilee blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting this. She started to speak, but Illyana held up a hand.


    "I treated you like crap when we were at the Institute." Illyana continued with a trace of regret in her voice.


    Jubilee nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Yeah, you did."


    Illyana chuckled dryly. "Trust me, I know." A pause stretched between them, the past momentarily bridging the distance. Then, with a sly glint in her eyes, Illyana added, "I also know you have a thing for my boyfriend."


    Jubilee''s face turned a deep shade of red, her eyes wide. "I¡ª What? I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    "I see the way you look at him. It¡¯s always been like that. Since the moment he arrived at the institute." Illyana¡¯s tone was candid yet oddly gentle, "He spent his nights with me, you know. But his days?" She leaned in closer, "His days were with you."


    Jubilee''s brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing. The implications hung heavily between them. But before she could retort, Illyana continued, "He cares about you. A lot. He might not say much, and might not let it show, but I see it. The way he looks at you, the way he worries. Trust me, I know Tyson."


    Jubilee looked down, her face a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and guilt. Illyana took a step closer, her gaze softening. "But you showed up. That means a lot. More than you probably realize." She sighed, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "None of the other girls from the Institute ever made such an effort for me. So, thank you."


    Jubilee blinked, taken aback by the unexpected gratitude. She opened her mouth, perhaps to say something conciliatory, but Illyana beat her to it.


    Leaning in conspiratorially, Illyana whispered with a smirk, "But between you and me? Tyson''s never gonna let you tag along. He cares too much to let you get hurt."


    Jubilee swallowed and gave a slight, sad nod. Her usually vibrant face held a somber expression. After a moment of contemplation, she lifted her chin, making eye contact with Illyana. "Look, I get it," she began, trying to hide the tremor in her voice, "You guys have been through a lot¡­ But I''ve seen what Tyson can do with other mutants'' powers. With Jean, he took on Magneto, and with your help, he faced down Azazel. Just think of the possibilities with mine."


    Illyana''s brow raised skeptically, a playful challenge evident in her eyes. "No offense," she drawled, "But what are a few sparkles going to do against a legion of demons?"


    Jubilee''s cheeks reddened, but she squared her shoulders, meeting Illyana''s gaze head-on. "They aren''t just sparkles," she retorted defensively, her hands balling into fists, tiny lights flickering between her fingers. "They''re explosions. And with focus, I can make them a lot bigger than you''ve seen."


    Illyana''s eyes traveled to the dancing lights in Jubilee''s hands, then slowly trailed back up to meet her eyes. The playful smirk on Illyana''s face turned into a broader, more sinister grin. "Explosions, you say?" she mused, almost purring the words. "Now that we can work with."


    Illyana raised her voice, "Tyson, come here."


    Tyson turned his attention from Logan and Colossus to find Illyana beckoning him. Wolverine simply tilted his head towards the two women and made a ''go on'' gesture with his hand. "Looks like you''re being summoned, bub," he teased.


    Tyson rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He approached Illyana and Jubilee, "What''s going on?"


    Jubilee stepped forward, "Listen," she began, her voice filled with urgency. "I want to help. I know you think it''s too dangerous, and maybe it is, but..." she took a deep breath, steadying herself, "...if you won''t let me come with you, at least take my power. Make it count."


    Illyana crossed her arms giving Tyson a challenging look as if saying, ''What will you do now?'' Her tone was soft as she explained, "It hurts, you know," she murmured.


    Jubilee raised an eyebrow, "Doesn''t look like it hurts you."


    "Not me," Illyana whispered, eyes darkening, "Everyone else."


    Jubilee squared her shoulders, steeling herself. "I can handle it," she insisted, shooting Tyson a desperate look that screamed, ''Trust me.''


    Tyson rubbed the back of his neck, "You''ll be safer this way. I''m good with it if you''re sure." He paused, turning his gaze to Illyana. "But if I''m taking her power, you have to give me the time to make it count. If it''s as destructive as I imagine, you can''t be anywhere near. I''ll need five minutes without worrying about friendly fire."


    Illyana crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "If you''re going to do this, promise me something."


    "What?" he asked, wary of her intensity.


    Her voice filled with steel. "No banter. No mercy."


    Wolverine chuckled from behind them, "That''s more like it." Colossus simply nodded, agreeing silently with Illyana''s sentiment.


    Tyson gathered everyone closer, "Here''s the plan." He pointed a finger towards Jubilee. "I touch Jubilee for five seconds. That''ll give me five minutes to cut loose with her power."


    Jubilee tried to look determined, but her eyes revealed her anxiety.


    Tyson then gestured towards Illyana, his face tightening with concern. "When I go, take her back to the institute so we know she''ll be safe. I need those five minutes. After that? Portal in with the cavalry."


    Wolverine grunted, cracking his knuckles. "So what should we expect?"


    Tyson explained. "Magic traps, demons, and all sorts of shenanigans. Azazel won''t make it easy. He can teleport like Kurt too. But nothing I came in contact with there couldn''t be hurt by your claws." he smiled grimly, "I''ll clear as much as I can with Jubilee¡¯s power."


    Illyana remarked, "Alright, we all get it." She glanced between Jubilee and Tyson. Turning to Logan and her brother, she suggested, "Let''s give them a minute, and we''ll start when they''re ready. Go guard the guns or something."


    Wolverine raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and with a nod, Colossus replied, "Understood." They both moved away, leaving Jubilee and Tyson in their private bubble.


    Jubilee looked earnestly at Tyson, her voice filled with concern. "It was hard leaving you behind. I knew you''d be okay, but we just... left you. In the middle of nowhere. We had no idea where you were going or if we''d ever see you again."


    Tyson''s eyes softened, his gaze distant. "I couldn''t come back to the institute. Still can''t. There are reasons."


    "Whatever it is, the professor will forgive you," Jubilee insisted, her voice hopeful.


    Tyson took a deep breath, the weight of his choices apparent in his eyes. "Maybe. But I took advantage of him. On principle, I can''t just accept handouts from him after that. My idea, what I did... it''s too soon to tell if it even worked. Years from now, perhaps we can talk about it, but I''ll never live at the institute again."


    Jubilee''s face fell, the pain of his words evident. Tyson tried to console her, "We''re almost set, you know, with a more permanent place to live. Once this Limbo mess is sorted, I promise we''ll talk."


    Jubilee took a moment to process this, a million thoughts and emotions playing across her face. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on her. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing aside the chaos of feelings to focus on the task at hand. "Alright," she said, her voice firm. "Are we doing this or not?"


    Tyson stepped closer, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on both him and Jubilee. The atmosphere was charged with anxiety and anticipation, but before the tension could become unbearable, Illyana piped up, "Hey, it''s her first time. Be gentle."


    Jubilee was caught off guard and blushed a deep crimson, but she grasped onto the momentary levity. She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly at Tyson and playfully leaned in, her voice dripping with faux sultriness, "She''s right, you know. It''ll be my first time being touched like this." Slowly, she slid off her yellow gloves, revealing her delicate fingers, and placed them on Tyson''s face. As their skin made contact, a sudden rush of energy flowed between them.


    She was a lonely child to two prosperous Chinese immigrants who hardly had time for her between business meetings and overseas trips. When her mutant power manifested, fearful whispers and pointing fingers followed her down the halls of her elite boarding school. She chose to escape the mounting pressures and incessant bullying by running away. She relied on her wit, agility, and powers, often resorting to stealing to survive on the streets of Los Angeles. The X-Men discovered her, and the institute became her sanctuary, her new family. For the first time, she didn''t feel alone or out of place and her personality shone as bright as her powers. Her experiences had given her a blend of youthful exuberance, resilience, and independence, yet left a yearning for connection.


    As Tyson connected with Jubilee''s memories, a cascade of emotions and images rushed into his consciousness.


    Curiosity.


    Tyson recalled Jubilee¡¯s feelings when he first stepped foot into the institute and she led him on the tour of the institute. She studied him, trying to figure out the enigma that he presented.


    Sympathy.


    Then came the memories of an understanding that only someone who had been through their fair share of struggles could offer. Tyson experienced Jubilee¡¯s feelings from when he¡¯d revealed his power and its harrowing side effects to her. She responded not with fear or disdain, but with compassion.


    She saw past the powers, past the facade, Tyson realized. The memories shifted again, this time to their shared moments, little snippets of time when they laughed, confided, and just... existed together. She liked me for who I was, quirks and all.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Jealousy.


    But it wasn''t all pleasant. He felt a twinge of what lurked whenever he spent time with Illyana. She wanted to be closer, to be the one he confided in.


    Loneliness.


    There was a profound sense of loss when he decided to leave. She felt like she was back on the streets, alone in the world.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in panic and pain, her breathing grew rapid, but determination held her in place. The cold, numbing sensation of Tyson''s power made her entire body shudder with the sensation of impending doom. Yet, she held her hands steadfastly against Tyson''s face, bracing herself against the anguish and deepening abyss that threatened to consume her.


    Jubilee''s grip began to weaken, her energy waning. Sensing this, Tyson gently removed her hands from his face. His eyes, now filled with gratitude and understanding, locked onto hers. "Thank you," he whispered.


    Without another word, he turned and stepped through a swirling portal, its center revealing an unmistakable gateway to Limbo. The portal closed behind him, leaving Jubilee standing there, her knees buckling from the exertion. Illyana, for once looked genuinely concerned. She moved quickly to support Jubilee.


    Time passed differently within Limbo. With her free hand, Illyana opened a portal, high in the dimension¡¯s sky, to ensure their time was synced. She called Piotr over, ¡°Stick your hand through here.¡± He looked at her skeptically. She ensured in a tone that hid her uncertainty, ¡°It will be fine.¡±


    With a series of quick jumps, Illyana''s teleportation ability whisked them away, depositing them in the familiar surroundings of her old room at the Institute. The room felt like a forgotten relic, untouched since the chaos of the invasion. It seemed like so long ago, but it¡¯d been less than two weeks since the institute was invaded. There was so much damage to the rest of the mansion that noone had gotten to examine her room yet. A few of Illyana''s trinkets still lay scattered on her desk from her hurried exit.


    Illyana''s eyes, usually so guarded and fierce, softened with concern as she took in Jubilee''s pale complexion. She guided the slight girl into the bed. Jubilee offered no resistance, her strength sapped by Tyson''s power. She groaned, her voice barely above a whisper, "You weren''t kidding, that felt horrible. I imagined weakness, maybe some nausea... But that? That felt like I was dying."


    She slowly turned her head, locking eyes with Illyana. "You said earlier that you knew how I felt about Tyson. So why are you being nice to me now?" She questioned, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her tone.


    Illyana leaned back, crossing her arms and regarding Jubilee coolly. "Because," she began, choosing her words carefully, "he''s now fully aware of your feelings."


    "What? How¡­" Jubilee''s eyebrows knitted together as understanding dawned, ¡°He has all my memories, he knows what I went through, and how I felt.¡±


    Illyana''s gaze was distant, her usual confidence replaced by a raw vulnerability. "There are things about my past, that I''ve locked away, deep inside. I hadn¡¯t told anyone, even my brother doesn¡¯t know everything," she began, her voice tinged with the pain of memories long buried. "When I was younger, I was taken. They wanted to use me; to sell me to the highest bidder. But my powers emerged just in time, and I escaped that horrid fate." She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Growing up, as I became a woman, I felt the natural urges, like everyone else. But after everything I went through, the idea of being close to someone, especially a man, was... tainted. It scared me." Her eyes glimmered with a hint of tears, "But then Tyson came along, and somehow, around him, things felt... different. I didn¡¯t have to hide what happened to me or be ashamed of my past. When I touched him, he saw everything I experienced. There isn¡¯t another person who could understand me better than him."


    Jubilee''s heart ached as she listened. "Illyana, I''m so sorry. I thought my life on the streets was tough, but what you went through..."


    Illyana shook her head, silencing her. "I don''t need pity. It''s the past, and I''ve learned to cope. But there''s something else." Her expression grew solemn. "Limbo, it''s not just a place. It''s a part of me. When we use your power against Azazel, it''s like you''re helping to heal a piece of my soul. You wanted to help, to save me from the darkness. Regardless of your motivations, today you are my hero.."


    Jubilee was taken aback. She opened her mouth, trying to form a response, but words failed her; she¡¯d been left speechless. Illyana leaned in, "Thank you again, Jubilee." She leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on Jubilee''s forehead. "Rest now, you did your part." And with those parting words, Illyana vanished in a flash of light, leaving Jubilee alone with her thoughts.


    ~~Rogue Replacement~~


    From the vantage point of the jagged cliff, Tyson could see the sprawling castle being built in Limbo''s chaotic terrain. The reddish sky and the castle''s eerie structure created an atmosphere of dread. Tyson invoked his illusion power, masking his presence. He delved deep into Jubilee''s memories and images flooded his mind.


    Jubilee, much younger, experimenting with her powers in a dimly lit room; her joyous laughter as she created tiny sparkles in the palm of her hand; the intense focus as she tried to generate bigger, more controlled bursts; the night skies lit up with her miniature fireworks, leaving spectators in awe.


    Yet, in all those memories, her power remained controlled, never reaching its full potential. Maybe a 3/10 of her total potential.


    Tyson aimed his hand towards the castle''s outer wall, he visualized the power scale he had constructed in his mind. As he recalled Jubilee''s practices, he decided he wouldn''t just mimic them. He needed more. Much more. Pushing aside any reservations, he dialed her power up to 8 out of 10.


    From his outstretched hands, a radiant stream of plasmoid energy shot out, more concentrated and forceful than anything Jubilee had ever produced. The brilliant energy beam roared like a fiery dragon, surging towards the wall. The impact was catastrophic, the castle wall vaporized upon contact, leaving a gaping hole amidst a cloud of dust and debris. The sheer power of the blast sent shockwaves through Limbo, shaking its very foundation.


    A grin spread across Tyson''s face. In a split second, he teleported just outside the now-broken wall, his feet barely making an imprint in the ash below before he raised both hands. He drew deep from the reservoir of Jubilee''s power. Twin streams of scintillating energy roared forth, vaporizing walls and structures with ease. Every release of her power was accompanied by a thunderous boom, resonating like a war drum across Limbo.


    That powerful sound acted like an alarm, drawing in the demons. They came in droves, charging and roaring, but as they neared Tyson, they were effortlessly consumed by the raw power he wielded, disintegrating into nothingness.


    Suddenly, amidst the chaos, Azazel appeared. With a mocking tone dripping with arrogance, he began, "You''ve returned, Nameless One¡­"


    But Tyson promised Illyana he wouldn''t hold back, and wouldn''t banter. Without letting Azazel finish, he swiftly turned the full force of Jubilee''s power on him. Azazel''s eyes widened in surprise and the mighty demon lord disappeared in a swift puff of smoke just before he would have been engulfed in the brilliant blaze.


    Azazel made it his mission to frustrate Tyson''s efforts, teleporting around him in an attempt to strike with his lethal blade. But Tyson shared Illyana''s innate connection to Limbo. It gave him a heightened sense of his surroundings, allowing him to detect the nuances of Azazel''s teleportation. Each time Azazel vanished, leaving a swirl of dark energy in his wake, Tyson would already be a step ahead. Sensing where Azazel would reappear, Tyson adjusted his aim accordingly, targeting the spot moments after Azazel manifested. When that wasn''t enough, Tyson tapped into Illyana''s teleportation abilities, repositioning himself to cause maximum havoc. But Tyson never lost sight of his true mission amidst the cat-and-mouse chase.


    Wreak as much destruction as possible.


    Drawing on Jubilee''s explosive energy, Tyson obliterated wave after wave of demons. They charged, hoping to overwhelm him, but ended up vanishing into blinding light before getting close. The castle, once a looming structure of dread, was steadily reduced to rubble under Tyson''s relentless assault. Towers crumbled, walls shattered, and courtyards were razed.


    Throughout the battle, Azazel attempted to break Tyson''s concentration, lunging with his rapier and teleporting rapidly. But Tyson possessed both Jubilee''s explosive power and Illyana''s connection to Limbo and managed to keep the devil at bay. Vilsteth, the faceless demon that saw through Tyson''s illusions, joined Azazel. The demon''s unique ability to merge with stone made it an evasive target. Each time Tyson directed Jubilee''s explosive energy towards Vilsteth, the demon seamlessly flowed into the nearest stone structure or the ground itself, becoming one with the rock. By the time the explosion hit, Vilsteth had already traversed through the stone, avoiding the attack and re-emerging ready to strike.


    Tyson''s surroundings became a treacherous maze. Every rock, every wall might hide Vilsteth. And Azazel was still relentless in his teleporting attacks. Yet, Tyson managed to fend off both adversaries. He danced around Azazel''s teleportation stabs and anticipated where Vilsteth might emerge, all the while using Jubilee''s powers to destroy any demon that dared to approach.


    But the tide of battle took a sudden turn. The explosive power Tyson relied on waned, its radiant bursts cut out with a flicker.


    Azazel and Vilsteth sensed the shift, their confidence growing as Tyson lost hold of Jubilee''s explosions. The demons advanced, taking advantage of this unexpected change. Tyson could feel the weight of the battle shifting, the odds now stacking against him.


    The ebb and flow of battle took a sharp turn as Vilsteth continued using its unique capabilities. Every time Tyson attempted a direct attack on the demon, Vilsteth seamlessly melded into the stone terrain, evading the assault. Previously, Tyson could use the explosions to destroy the stone, but now, it was like battling a ghost. Unable to destroy the stone, Tyson was surrounded, every surface a vector the demon could attack from. Vilsteth re-emerged unpredictably, sometimes from the walls, other times from the ground beneath Tyson''s feet, catching him off guard. Its claws, sharp and forged of stone, lashed out, slashing Tyson''s skin. Oddly, these cuts, while painful, didn''t activate his absorbing power. It was as if the demon¡¯s stone anatomy was immune to Tyson''s life-drain ability.


    The relentless assault by Vilsteth kept Tyson off-balance, each swing and slash was aimed not just to harm Tyson but to divert his focus.


    And Vilsteth''s assault was a successful distraction. In the backdrop, Azazel was preparing darker and more dangerous magic. As Tyson fended off Vilsteth''s rapid strikes, Azazel''s voice began a chant, low and haunting. The ground beneath them quaked slightly, and black, inky tentacles erupted from the stone. They snaked around Tyson''s limbs, pulling and constricting. Each tentacle felt cold and void of life, sapping his strength.


    Desperate, Tyson tried to access Illyana''s teleportation power to make a quick escape. But the tentacles held him firmly, their grip unyielding. Every time he thought of a location to teleport to, the tentacles tightened, disrupting his concentration and preventing his escape. Tyson was trapped, his powers restrained by Azazel''s dark magic.


    Azazel, with a smug grin stretching across his face, stepped closer to the restrained Tyson. His voice dripping with malicious amusement, he said, "Feel like talking yet? It''s quite a sight, seeing my beautiful castle in ruins and my minions turned to dust. They did toil so hard. But then, you bring me such a delightful consolation prize."


    Gasping in pain, Tyson managed to ask, "What are you talking about?"


    "That fragment of Limbo that now resides in you," Azazel replied, his eyes glittering with greed. "It''s like a beacon, calling out to me."


    The devil''s fingers began to dance in the air, hinting at an incantation. "All I need is a simple ritual. Once complete, the fragment shall be mine, and I shall reign supreme over Limbo."


    Azazel''s laughter began to echo around them, a chilling sound that would send shivers down the spine of any mortal. But then, something unexpected happened. Tyson began to laugh too. It was hearty and genuine, contrasting sharply with Azazel''s sinister chuckles.


    Taken aback, Azazel''s laughter ceased as he squinted at Tyson, trying to decipher the meaning behind the unexpected mirth. Just as he was about to question Tyson, there was a sudden display of raw power. Using his strength, Tyson was finally able to tear through the tentacles that had bound him. The spell Azazel woven around him dissipated like smoke.


    With a defiant glint in his eyes, Tyson faced the devil and said, "It won''t work. Your plan is doomed from the start."


    Azazel was unaffected by Tyson dispersing his spell. The devil asked, his voice dripping with condescension, "And pray tell, what flaw do you see in my plan?"


    As the last word left his lips, the very air seemed to warp, and from the distortions, a portal took shape. The portal revealed Colossus and Wolverine ready for combat. They stepped into Limbo, eyes focused on the threat at hand. Tyson saw Illyana through the portal, still standing near the train station. She looked in, evaluated the situation, and closed the portal.


    Vilsteth wasted no time. Its stone-like claws extended, and the demon lunged toward Wolverine and Colossus. The ground shook as the three met in a collision of power and fury.


    Tyson turned his gaze back to Azazel. With a smirk, he said, "That fragment of Limbo you''re so eager to obtain? It''s not permanent. It''s an echo, a shadow of the real thing."


    Azazel''s eyes narrowed, attempting to decipher if Tyson spoke the truth or merely sought to deceive him. His expression contorted with rage. "Then, there''s no more use for you," he sneered. "Perhaps your death will coax out the true Mistress of Limbo."


    Meanwhile, Tyson felt a familiar presence. Above them, the swirling portal shifted positions, indicative of Illyana''s power. However, Illyana herself did not come through. Instead, the portal remained open, as if watching, waiting.


    Azazel lunged towards Tyson. Tyson dodged and parried Azazel''s attacks with his hands, the slices healing over nearly instantly. In return, Tyson sliced at the devil with his claws, attempting to grab hold of Azazel. Azazel, however, was no novice. He teleported out of range and countered with his magic, conjuring a quickly cast shield to protect himself from Tyson¡¯s touch.


    The landscape of Limbo echoed with the sounds of the battle. The ground trembled, dust and debris flew as the powerhouses duked it out.


    "Alright, rock-face," Wolverine growled, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Let''s dance."


    Colossus''s organic steel skin reflected the red hues of Limbo. "Stay alert, Logan," he warned, positioning himself between Wolverine and Vilsteth.


    Vilsteth, showing off its agility, lunged at Colossus, its stone claws aiming for the metallic mutant. Colossus deflected the first swipe with a heavily armored arm, but Vilsteth swiftly maneuvered to his side, aiming another blow.


    Meanwhile, Wolverine dashed with feral speed, trying to flank the creature. As he lunged, claws extended, Vilsteth melded into the ground, disappearing. Wolverine''s claws struck stone, sending sparks flying.


    "Crafty little--" Wolverine started, but before he could finish, Vilsteth reappeared behind him, slashing down with a swift motion. However, Wolverine''s keen senses allowed him to twist out of the way just in time.


    Colossus seized the opportunity, aiming a heavy punch at Vilsteth. The creature, anticipating this, darted to the side, causing Colossus''s fist to smash into the ground, creating a small crater.


    While Vilsteth was agile and unpredictable, it was the masked demon''s unique abilities that ensured neither side could gain a clear advantage.


    High above, Illyana''s portal pulsed, the window-like opening seemed like Illyana''s watchful eye, waiting for the right moment. Tyson knew he had to do something drastic to tilt the balance in their favor. Every clash had Azazel trying to go for Tyson''s head or neck. The demon was cunning and had learned from past mistakes. Aiming for the heart wasn''t going to get him the victory he craved.


    Tyson''s thoughts remained on the portal. He realized Illyana was waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He needed to create one for her.


    In the heat of their next exchange, Tyson deliberately left himself exposed. The bait was set. And Azazel took it.


    Azazel''s eyes gleamed with malevolent joy as he saw the opening. He aimed his blade at Tyson''s neck.


    "Got you," Azazel whispered, a triumphant grin on his face.


    The blade made contact. A gasp left Tyson''s mouth as it sliced through his skin and into his neck. Time seemed to slow. From the corner of his eye, Tyson could see Colossus, momentarily distracted from his battle with Vilsteth, horror evident on his metal face.


    As Azazel''s blade glided effortlessly through Tyson''s flesh, blood erupted in a pulse.


    Until an unexpected resistance met its razor-sharp edge. Just when it should have cleaved through the spine, it halted. The adamantium fused to Tyson''s skeleton had stopped the demon''s weapon.


    A moment of sheer confusion flitted across Azazel''s eyes, his arrogant grin faltering for the first time. "What?" he murmured, the realization dawning on him.


    But Tyson didn''t give the demon a moment to collect himself. Seizing the fleeting advantage, Tyson''s fingers closed around Azazel''s wrist, his adamantium claws piercing the demon''s tough skin, making his escape impossible, and allowing Tyson¡¯s palm contact with the demon.


    Azazel''s face contorted in pain as he felt his very essence being drained away. As Tyson absorbed the demon''s life force, he transformed. His skin deepened to a fiery shade of red, and a sinuous tail sprouted from his lower back, swaying menacingly.


    "No!" Azazel gasped, feeling the very core of his being siphoned off. But it was too late. With each passing second, more of the demon melded into Tyson.


    The infusion of Azazel''s malevolence twisted the fibers of Tyson''s thoughts, filling his mind with dark intentions and wicked whispers. He reveled in the surge of power flowing through him. The demon''s essence coursed through his veins, awakening a hunger for more. Tyson''s gaze drifted upwards towards the portal hovering above. Beyond it, he could sense Illyana watching, waiting.


    A slow smile spread across Tyson''s face. She would be the key to securing his reign over Limbo. With her by his side, none would stand against him. Tyson pictured Illyana at his side, beautiful and terrible, Limbo''s magic bending to her will. Together, they would be unstoppable.


    Tyson called out to the portal. "Come to me, Illyana," he purred, his voice resonating with confidence and allure. "Join me, and we shall rule this realm as one."


    He could feel Illyana''s hesitation through the portal. But Tyson knew how to coerce her. With Azazel''s charm, he would exploit her most intimate desires and vulnerabilities.


    Tyson continued. "I see you, Illyana. I know the darkness that lies in your soul, mirroring my own." He imbued his words with temptation. "Why resist? Embrace your destiny, as I have embraced mine."


    The landscape around him began to shift in response to Tyson''s connection with Limbo, and the growing darkness in his heart. The reddish sky deepened to a nightmarish hue. Tyson''s tail swayed behind him as he declared, "Behold, my kingdom transforms to welcome its new lord. With you at my side, we shall reshape it into a true dominion."


    Tyson could sense Illyana''s resolve wavering. Her soul resonated with his words. He would ensure she accepted her full potential. "Come, claim your destiny," Tyson commanded, his voice echoing through the unstable realm. The portal flickered in response.


    With Tyson distracted by his declarations to Illyana, Azazel attempted to teleport away. But Tyson would not allow Azazel to escape his grasp again. He channeled Azazel''s knowledge of teleportation and traveling through dimensions to thwart the demon''s escape. As Azazel tried to teleport away, his silhouette blurring for an instant, Tyson instinctively countered. With a snap, they both vanished and then reappeared almost immediately. The two combatants were locked in an intense battle of wits and wills. To the onlookers, they seemed to be stationary. The only evidence of their teleportation duel was the slight distortion of their figures and the faint aura of smoke that surrounded them.


    From the corner of his eye, Tyson spotted Vilsteth''s form dissolving into the stone, the ground rippling as it swiftly moved toward them. Tyson knew he had mere moments before the stone demon would be upon him. He tightened his grip on Azazel, determined to finish what he had started before Vilsteth could intervene.


    Illyana''s portal snapped shut. Tyson felt the shift in Limbo. He sensed her presence nearby and anticipated Illyana''s timely intervention against Vilsteth. His words, combined with the stone demon''s intervention had finally stirred her to join him. But when the familiar shimmer of her teleportation magic flared, she wasn''t positioned between them and the incoming stone demon.


    Instead, Illyana emerged next to Tyson and Azazel, determination clear in her eyes. Her arm reached out straight and unwavering, her hand inches from the side of Azazel''s head. The silence of Limbo was shattered by two booming sounds.


    Azazel''s eyes went blank. Any malice, determination, or emotion in his gaze vanished. The steady stream of energy Tyson had been siphoning cut off instantly as brain matter and bone sprayed out from the opposite side of Azazel''s head.


    What was left of Azazel''s head lolled. It was then that Tyson noticed the large chunk missing, and the weapon clenched in Illyana''s grasp. It was one of the guns he''d picked up after leaving the city.


    Illyana had ensured that Azazel''s reign of terror was halted, once and for all.


    The winds of Limbo suddenly felt even colder. The battlefield, which had moments ago been a swirl of relentless action, came to a standstill. Each of the mutants seemed frozen in place, the reality of what had just transpired taking its time to set in. Illyana''s face remained as steely and resolute as ever, but there was an undeniable weight behind her eyes. No quip, no jest, no banter; only the grim expression of someone who''d made a hard choice.


    The stone around them remained eerily quiet. Vilsteth never re-emerged from its hiding place within the rocks.


    Finally, the silence was broken by Illyana. She exhaled, a breath she didn''t even realize she''d been holding. "It''s over," she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of relief mixed with sorrow.


    Wolverine grunted, his gaze fixed on Illyana. "Didn''t see that one coming."


    Colossus nodded. "Neither did Azazel," he said in his thick Russian accent.


    Tyson, still processing the enormity of what had just happened, managed to find his voice.


    Tyson coldly asked, "You... What have you done? Millennia worth of knowledge, all that power, all that magic... gone." The others turned to Tyson. His mismatching yellow and purple eyes narrowed into slits as Limbo''s skies turned blood red, mirroring his rage. "I was to be king, with you the queen at my side. And now what? There''s no rewind from this..." Tyson stopped, his words sending his thoughts into a spiral. "Unless I attack the Sanctum. I''ll take it from the Ancient One. If I bring it back here, it can bring Azazel back. I¡¯ll take his strength as my own and possessing it, my power will stretch beyond infinity."


    Illyana approached Tyson. She said calmly, "You''re not going to attack the Sanctum." Tyson''s eyes narrowed as she spoke, "You are already my king, and I am your queen." She was so close, Tyson could hear her whisper as she wrapped an arm around his neck, "I am my beloved''s and my beloved is mine." The line froze Tyson in his tracks. His memories and meta-knowledge came to the forefront of his thoughts as the line resonated with something he remembered from his past life. ''Game of Thrones''. "I am hers and she is mine."


    But how could Illyana know that? Tyson''s thoughts began to spiral. Thinking of Game of Thrones reminded him of the first time he saw Jean, and thought she was Sansa Stark. Thinking of Jean brought Tyson''s thoughts to Jubilee and her gifting him her powers so they could fight Azazel. Then his thoughts came full circle to Illyana who he was about to harm, because of Azazel''s insidious, malicious thoughts. Tyson felt his rage replaced by confusion and unease. Illyana''s words had stirred something deep within him, awakening memories and feelings from another lifetime. Had she peered into the depths of his mind the way he had done with others? Or did she possess some other means of unveiling his secrets? Tyson searched Illyana''s face, looking for deceit or manipulation. But all he saw was openness, compassion, and¡­ regret.


    All his thoughts ground to a halt as Illyana stabbed her Soulsword through Tyson''s abdomen, angled upward. She placed the blazing sword perfectly to slide under his adamantium ribcage. It pierced his lung and lodged in his heart. The look of betrayal on Tyson''s face nearly broke Illyana''s heart.


    But then it twisted into a snarl, becoming a murderous mask as Azazel''s personality reemerged.


    Tyson tried to teleport, tried to use his magic, but the Soulsword lodged in his chest dispersed any power he brought to bear. The weapon held a particular strength against magic, magical creatures, and demons; among which Tyson was now counted.


    Tyson¡¯s adamantium claws emerged to rend Illyana, but Colossus and Wolverine were there, holding his arms out, away from her. His healing factor worked to heal his body, as fast as the Soulsword damaged his insides, but it was only temporary as the weapon was still lodged within his chest.


    "I''m sorry," whispered Illyana.


    The tears running down her face revealed it was the truth.

 Arc 3 - Ch 7: Heres Your Papers

    Date: Wednesday, July 28, 2010.


    Location: 177A Bleecker St. Greenwich Village, Manhattan, New York


    The tea room in the New York Sanctum was a cross between a Gothic cathedral and a cozy Victorian parlor. High-vaulted ceilings were supported by intricately carved wooden beams. Elaborate stained-glass windows refract the outside light, casting the room in a dance of muted blues, reds, and golds. In the center of the room stood a grand table, hewn from a single piece of dark mahogany. An intricate silver tea set, rested on ornate coasters, emitting delicate tendrils of steam. The air was filled with the comforting aromas of exotic blends; hints of jasmine, bergamot, and mint.


    The Ancient One sat at the head of the table. Her ever-present air of wisdom seemed to add weight to the room. As she lowered her cup from her lips, she asked. "Then what happened?" Her voice was calm, but the curiosity in her eyes was undeniable.


    "If Logan and Piotr hadn''t been there to back me up, I''m not sure I could have contained him on my own." Illyana said, "Azazel presence in Tyson''s mind was strong. Even with my Soulsword, it took all my concentration to keep him from teleporting away while Logan and Piotr restrained him." Illyana absently brushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. She shook her head before continuing. "But finally, the red left Tyson''s eyes. Azazel''s appearance, mind, and powers faded away. That''s when I knew we had him back."


    Illyana glanced over at Tyson, offering a faint, relieved smile. Tyson''s gaze momentarily dropped to the intricate patterns on the table in shame before meeting the Ancient One''s eyes. "After the battle, we searched the ruins of the castle. With so much of it destroyed, the intact parts were easier to pinpoint and explore." He paused, taking a breath, "They didn''t just build upwards. They carved deep into the ground of Limbo, creating a labyrinth below."


    The Ancient One raised a questioning eyebrow, "And what of the bodies?" she inquired, her voice calm but carrying an underlying intensity.


    Tyson shifted slightly, a sense of closure in his voice. "We didn''t find Vilsteth; I assume it retreated. As for Omega Red," he paused a hint of disapproval crossing his face.


    Illyana continued, "I had a chat with Omega Red. I released him through a portal to Russia."


    Tyson interrupted noticeably unhappy, "With such a long-distance portal, he could be there now, or in the past, or future. Who knows." The Ancient One smiled knowingly. Tyson concluded, "We made a cairn over the remains of Azazel. But I kept his sword, it''s just a normal, but well-crafted rapier as far as I can tell. "


    Illyana chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration, "In one of the larger underground chambers, we found a portal. It pulsed with energy, and we could sense the demons, itching to pour out." She leaned back in her chair, fingers playing with the rim of her teacup. "I tried using my connection to Limbo to close it. But nothing happened. And without any knowledge of magic, we were stuck."


    The Ancient One listened intently, her face impassive. After a moment, she nodded. "I''m not surprised you couldn''t close it." She paused, considering. "A gateway should have been beyond even Azazel¡¯s capabilities to create. Unless he had help and used a ritual."


    Illyana''s eyebrows knitted together, her blue eyes clouding with confusion. "Gateway?" she echoed, the term unfamiliar to her.


    The Ancient One leaned back, her expression turning grave. "Yes, a portal that remains open indefinitely, unaffected by external factors. If Azazel did create such a portal, then there''s nothing you can do. At least, not as you are."


    "Could you close it?" Illyana asked, her voice laced with a mix of hope and desperation.


    The Ancient One looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Illyana''s gaze. "Likely, yes. But entering Limbo poses a significant risk." She paused, her voice turning somber. "If I were to venture there, powerful entities would notice my absence. Earth would be left vulnerable to threats from beyond our dimension."


    Illyana''s face fell, her fingers tightening around her teacup. "So you can''t help?"


    The Ancient One continued, "I can traverse the mirror dimension, the astral plane, and a select few others without drawing attention. But Limbo... is not one of them."


    Illyana sighed, her shoulders drooping in defeat. "So, what? I''m just stuck with this problem?"


    The Ancient One smiled, a small, reassuring gesture. "Not quite. You faced Azazel and emerged victorious. That in itself is commendable. And while I may not be able to intervene directly, I can offer you another path." She paused, letting the weight of her next words settle. "We would be honored to welcome you as a student at Kamar Taj, Illyana Rasputin. In time, with both your connection to Limbo and knowledge of the magic, you might be able to close those portals yourself."


    Illyana looked up, surprise evident in her eyes. The weight she''d been carrying seemed to lighten if only a little. "You''d train me?"


    The Ancient One nodded. "Yes, Illyana. I believe you have the potential to master the mystic arts."


    The room grew quieter, the only sound being the Ancient One¡¯s faint sips as she awaited Illyana¡¯s response. "What about Tyson? You were cryptic before, saying he couldn''t pay his cost until I paid mine. What does that mean?"


    The lines on the Ancient One¡¯s face deepened as she chose her words carefully. "Tyson has great potential, but there are rules that even I cannot bend. We cannot train him, not yet."


    Illyana''s brow furrowed, confusion evident in her eyes. "Why not?"


    The Ancient One sighed slightly. "He hasn''t completed his formal education. As per the traditions of Kamar Taj, he must at least finish high school before he can be trained as a sorcerer."


    Illyana''s face hardened, determination shining through. "Then I''ll wait for him."


    The Ancient One''s eyes softened with a hint of sadness. "I had truly hoped you''d join us. Your potential is vast, and it''s a pity to see you pass up this chance."


    Illyana shrugged, "It''s just a year. I''ll come back next year after he finishes school."


    The Ancient One shook her head, her voice tinged with regret. "You misunderstand, Illyana. When you took on the challenge to face Azazel, I explicitly stated that after five weeks, the doors of the Sanctum would be closed to you. That condition still applies. If you don''t decide to join Kamar Taj within that period, the opportunity to learn will be lost."


    Illyana was still absorbing the Ancient One''s words when Tyson broke the heavy silence. "You should go."


    His statement felt like a slap to her face, and she looked at him, her eyes filled with a sense of betrayal. "How can you say that?"


    Tyson took a deep breath, meeting her eyes earnestly. "Look, you have five weeks to decide, right? Instead of waiting those five weeks, why don''t you go and train? Use that time to see if Kamar-Taj is the right fit for you."


    Illyana looked puzzled, her eyes searching Tyson''s for a hidden meaning. "What are you trying to say?"


    He leaned in, his words carefully chosen. "I''m saying you aren''t a prisoner there. You have the freedom to decide at the end of the five weeks if you want to stay or come back. But at least you''d know, rather than spend the whole time wondering ''what if?''"


    As Tyson spoke, Illyana''s eyes flicked to the Ancient One, as if seeking confirmation. The Ancient One simply nodded. "He speaks the truth. You are bound only by the choices you make."


    Illyana looked back at Tyson, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. It was a hard decision, but the logic was there. Five weeks of training could give her the insight she needed, without making an irreversible choice. Finally, she broke the silence. "Alright, I''ll train at Kamar-Taj."


    Tyson nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. But then, he turned to the Ancient One, a question furrowing his brow. "Will she be able to come back to New York after the five weeks?"


    Illyana looked at him, confused. "What do you mean, ''come back''? Isn''t this sanctum Kamar-Taj?"


    The Ancient One shook her head, her voice retaining its mysterious calm. "Your suggestion is acceptable, Tyson. As for your question, Illyana, Kamar-Taj is not in New York. It''s the place where sorcerers receive their training. It''s located in Nepal."


    Illyana blinked, her eyes widening. "Nepal? As in, halfway across the world Nepal?"


    "Correct," the Ancient One confirmed. "It''s far from here, a place that will challenge you, and help you grow."


    "So," Tyson pressed, "she can return to New York after the training period?"


    The Ancient One looked from Tyson to Illyana, then nodded. "At the end of her training period, I''ll allow her to return to New York. You both can discuss your options then. If Illyana wishes to discontinue her training before the five weeks are up, she will be allowed to return to the New York Sanctum."


    Tyson looked relieved. "Well, that settles it then. You get to go, train, and we''ll still be able to see each other afterward to consider your decision."


    Illyana felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "Alright. I''ll do it." but as she looked at Tyson, she felt a twinge of sadness. She would be leaving behind the one person who had stood by her.


    "You sure you''re okay with this?" she asked Tyson, seeking reassurance.


    He met her gaze, "I''m sure. It''s an opportunity you can''t pass up. And who knows, you might like it there." He could see the swirl of emotions mirrored in her gaze. "Guess this is it, huh?" Tyson said softly, his voice tinged with sadness.


    Illyana nodded, her eyes suddenly shimmering with the first hint of tears. "Yeah. But this isn''t it. It''s not a goodbye, just a see-you-later."


    Unable to bear the space between them any longer, Tyson stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. For a moment, they stood there, wrapped in each other''s arms, as if trying to memorize the feel.


    Illyana pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, and then they kissed; softly, briefly. She felt a subtle tug, a lessening of her life energy. It was a kiss filled with a promise, a hint of the depths of their relationship that could not be fully explored. Not until Tyson learned to control his power, or Illyana learned to wield the magic demonstrated by the Ancient One.


    "Can you do it again?" Illyana asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but full of urgency. "Can you cast that spell so I can...you know, say goodbye properly?"


    The Ancient One looked at the young mutant for a few seconds, seemingly considering her request. Finally, she nodded. She looked at Tyson as she said, "One last chance. Make the most of it."


    With graceful motions, The Ancient One waved her hands. The scene was mesmerizing. Vibrant sparks of gold and azure sprang to life in the air. Like tiny fireflies, they spiraled around, shimmering and dancing in delicate patterns. They were intricate and beautiful, illuminating the room. Each spark gradually began to converge on Illyana, who closed her eyes, allowing them to envelop her. As the last spark entered her, the room returned to its normal ambiance, signaling the completion of the spell.


    Taking a deep breath, Illyana moved towards Tyson. They looked at each other, the weight of their farewell evident in their eyes. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, they leaned in. Their lips met, gently at first, and then with increasing intensity. The world around them blurred, and for those few minutes, it felt like time had stopped. They held each other tightly. It was a moment of profound connection, of longing, of promises whispered without words.


    But, like all things, the moment was fleeting. Reluctantly, they pulled apart, each taking a step back, their hands lingering until the very last second.


    Illyana''s eyes shimmered with tears, but she forced a smile, the weight of separation heavy in her heart. The Ancient One watched silently, understanding the depth of their bond and the challenge of their farewell.


    "I know it''s hard, but try not to miss me too much," Illyana said as they parted.


    Tyson smiled sadly as Illyana wiped away a lone tear that had escaped down her cheek. "I''ll try to find a way to survive your absence."


    "Sure you will," she teased, but her smile faded as she glanced over Tyson''s shoulder to see Master Drumm waiting patiently by the door. She leaned in, her lips close to his ear. "I still have the amulet," she whispered. "When I get back, we''ll use it, okay? Practice with your power because twenty minutes isn¡¯t long enough." Illyana wiped away the last of her tears. "I''ll see you in a few weeks."


    "Take care, Illyana. You¡¯re going to do great."


    With that final exchange, Illyana turned and walked toward Master Drumm, who led her into the inner sanctum, the door closing softly behind them. Tyson¡¯s heart was both heavy and light, filled with the conflicting emotions of loss, sadness, and hope.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The Ancient One gestured to the chairs surrounding the ornate wooden table. "Would you care to sit? There are some things we need to discuss."


    "Of course," Tyson replied, taking a seat. "Can we speak candidly?"


    At his request, the Ancient One¡¯s fingers danced through the air as sparks flickered around them, drawing intricate arcane patterns that shimmered with otherworldly energy. With the final flourish of her wrist, the glowing pattern contracted before melding into the walls, forming an invisible shield.


    "We can speak freely," she assured him. "No one outside this room will hear our conversation."


    Taking a deep breath, Tyson looked the Ancient One squarely in the eyes. "I can''t help but feel like you''re separating Illyana and me purposefully. Is that part of her training or something more?"


    The Ancient One picked up her cup of tea and took a slow sip before answering. "Every journey into the realm of sorcery comes with its trials¡­ A quest, if you will, as well as a cost."


    "So, Illyana''s quest was to drive off Azazel, but that wasn¡¯t her cost?" Tyson clarified, trying to grasp the mystifying rules of magic.


    "Correct," she nodded. "Her quest was to rid Limbo of Azazel''s influence. Her cost... is you."


    Tyson felt like he''d been punched in the gut. "But why? Why do I have to be her cost?"


    Setting her cup down, the Ancient One looked at him with empathy. "Illyana has few attachments in this world. Her brother, Limbo, and you. Of those, you are the only one she can truly ''sacrifice.'' The cost of magic must be something of deep, personal significance."


    "But what does that mean for us?" Tyson asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "Is our relationship a price that she pays for her power?"


    "In a manner of speaking, yes," the Ancient One replied. "Being a sorcerer is a path fraught with sacrifice. Many before her have paid similar prices, forsaking what they love to serve a greater cause. Your separation tests not only her resolve but also her capability to make the difficult choices that will inevitably lie ahead."


    "I think I understand," Tyson said, pondering the required sacrifices. "Like Doctor Strange. His quest was¡­err¡­ will be to find Kamar Taj and to learn to let go, to open his mind to new possibilities. His cost; his hands, his love, and his career as a doctor."


    The Ancient One nodded, clearly pleased with his summation. "That''s a simplified, but fair description of the path Steven Strange will walk. However, I must insist that you do not interfere with that journey, in any way."


    Tyson looked at her, his eyes twinkling, "Is that my cost, then? To stay away from Doctor Strange?"


    She laughed heartily. "If only it were that simple." Once her laughter subsided, Tyson saw an opportunity to steer the conversation back to his concerns.


    "So what is my cost, then? What''s my quest?"


    The Ancient One''s eyes grew serious. "Your quest is rather specific. You must ensure that New York survives the Chitauri invasion and that Thor Odinson returns to Asgard with the Tesseract at its conclusion."


    Tyson looked away for a second, parsing his memories in confusion, "Isn''t that what happens anyway? That¡¯s the outcome if I do nothing, right?"


    She shook her head. "A quest where you do nothing is hardly a quest. Although, for you, restraint might be a challenge all its own. Perhaps you will not need to act, and events will continue as you expect. Or perhaps events will change in unforeseeable ways, as other experiences have. But so long as Loki Laufeyson''s scheme is thwarted and the Tesseract returns to Asgard, thus allowing the repair of the Bifrost and Rainbow Bridge, your quest requirements would be considered fulfilled."


    Tyson says, "You speak as if the breaking of the Rainbow Bridge is a guarantee.¡±


    The Ancient One remarks, "Things may not always play out as you expect as there are millions of possibilities. However, certain events are destined to occur. Try as you may, I have not foreseen an outcome where your actions prevent the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge."


    Tyson frowned, considering the Ancient One''s words carefully. The idea that some events were destined to happen, no matter what he did, didn''t fully align with his understanding of timelines and alternate realities. The way he understood it, every choice created a branching path, spawning an infinite number of parallel timelines. This explanation was the most likely, especially considering Tyson shouldn''t exist in this world. Preventing the Rainbow Bridge''s destruction seemed like something that should be possible if the right actions were taken. As much as Tyson wanted to argue, he had to acknowledge she likely understood the workings of time better than he did.


    Still, he decided to press the issue, if only to satisfy his curiosity. "With all due respect," he met the Ancient One''s gaze. "How can you be so sure the Rainbow Bridge will be destroyed? Isn''t it at least possible to create a different chain of events?"


    The Ancient One smiled, though her eyes remained serious. She leaned forward, steepling her fingers together contemplatively. "In most cases, that would be true. However, to shift the course of pivotal moments, while possible, would require tremendous power and have potentially catastrophic consequences."


    Tyson''s brow furrowed as he absorbed her perspective. It seemed to contradict itself; affirming malleable timelines yet insisting certain points were immutable. Though he still didn''t fully comprehend.


    "So changing the outcome of the Rainbow Bridge''s destruction..." Tyson said slowly. "That would require intervention beyond mine or invoke significant unforeseen consequences?" The Ancient One gave a single nod. Still, the protective, almost maternal look in her eyes told him she only wished to shield him from forces beyond his control. "I think I understand," Tyson finally replied. "Some things are just...beyond me. At least for now." He offered a small, resigned smile. "I''ll just have to focus on fulfilling my quest."


    The Ancient One''s expression softened. "A wise choice. Accepting the limits of our reach is a difficult but necessary lesson for any sorcerer." She picked up her tea, taking a long, thoughtful sip before continuing. "We cannot control all outcomes. But we can control the choices we make in the moments before us. That is where our power lies."


    Tyson nodded as the Ancient One spoke, but his mind was racing. He didn''t care one bit about the fate of the Rainbow Bridge itself. What he was concerned about were the consequences of its destruction.


    He knew from his memories that after the bridge exploded, Odin had awoken prematurely from his Odinsleep. The Allfather had already delayed his hibernation once before for Thor''s botched coronation and subsequent banishment. By waking early again to save his sons from the unstable Bifrost, Odin weakened himself tremendously. Tyson suspected that, combined with Odin using dark magic to send Thor to Earth while the Rainbow Bridge was still destroyed contributed greatly to his eventual death during the events of Ragnarok. With Odin gone, Hela returned to decimate Asgard, and later Thanos retrieved the Tesseract, slaughtering half of the remaining Asgardians in the process.


    Ultimately, the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge set off a disastrous chain of events. Destabilizing Asgard, and opening the door for Thanos to gather the Infinity Stones.


    Tyson tuned back into the Ancient One''s words, nodding politely. But internally, his mind was racing with the implications of his quest, and the true goal of diverting the oncoming storm that was Thanos. Tyson cared little about some magical space bridge, but he understood how one piece would bring down Asgard like a house of cards. He''d attempt to save the bridge, but if its destruction was inevitable, he''d try to save Thor and Loki, so Odin wouldn''t have to.


    Tyson leaned in, growing more curious. "Okay, I understand my quest, but what''s the cost? Every quest has a cost, you said."


    The Ancient One looked deep into his eyes. "Your cost will be paid along the way."


    Tyson squinted, suspicious of the enigmatic response. "So, the whole ''finishing high school'' thing was hogwash? I''ve got one year left, and if my memory serves me right, it''s closer to two years until the Battle of New York."


    "The time frame is indeed longer than a year," the Ancient One conceded. "However, one event doesn''t preclude the other. Completing your education isn''t a waste; it¡¯s a different kind of preparation. Your quest and your cost aren¡¯t separate from the life you live; they¡¯re a part of it."


    Tyson sat back, absorbing her words. "So you''re saying that by living my life, fulfilling my quest, I''ll eventually pay my cost, whatever that may be?"


    The Ancient One nodded, "Exactly. In between are a myriad of choices for you to make. In almost every circumstance, these lead to your cost being paid. And when it is, you will know. And when you do, I hope you''ll find the cost, the sacrifice was worthy of the power." she said, her voice carrying a note of finality that seemed to close this chapter of their discussion.


    Tyson contemplated the Ancient One''s words. Ward off the Chitauri invasion and ensure Thor returns to Asgard with the Tesseract. But it was also what she didn''t say that lingered in his mind. She had made no mention of Loki''s Scepter, the weapon that housed the Mind Stone. Was she giving her blessing to take it? It seemed like implied permission. The Mind Stone set off a cascade of events that Tyson couldn''t ignore. Loki¡¯s scepter eventually made it into the hands of Hydra leading to the Maximoff twins becoming Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver. No Scepter, no Ultron. No Ultron, then Vision would never be created, and never house the Mind Stone in his synthetic forehead. Then, ultimately, the stone wouldn''t be torn from Vision¡¯s forehead by Thanos, sending Wanda Maximoff spiraling into an abyss of grief and¡­ madness. Each event was like a domino, and he had the potential to knock the first one off course. But should he? And was it even that simple? Tyson had already run into Magneto twice, and he was supposedly the Maximoff twins¡¯ father in some comics. Was it possible they were mutants that already had their powers, and the Infinity Stone wasn¡¯t part of their origin?


    Shaking his head, he realized he was getting ahead of himself. These were issues for another day, problems that were years yet to come. But the seed had been planted. Up until now, he had often been reactive, jumping from crisis to crisis as they appeared before him. That wouldn''t be enough. When the sky over New York opened up and alien forces poured through, he couldn''t afford to improvise; he would need a plan.


    Tyson was deep in thought when the Ancient One slid a manila folder across the table, snapping him back to the present. Intrigued, he opened the folder and was met with a stack of papers that looked strangely familiar yet completely foreign. A Birth Certificate, a Social Security Card, and a Mississippi Driver''s License; all bearing his name and face. Well, almost his name. He looked at the photo on the license; it showed him as he was when he first arrived in this world.


    The image wasn''t an exact match to his current appearance, but he mused that teenagers change quickly as they go through puberty. Maybe he could pass it off as an old photo. Then he noticed the last name on all the documents.


    Smith.


    "Is this a joke?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.


    The Ancient One sipped her tea, her eyes twinkling just a bit as she hid her smirk behind the cup. "No, it''s all quite valid," she assured him. "Foreknowledge can be a useful tool."


    "I can see that," Tyson said, a little amused by the ''Smith'' detail.


    His eyes then moved to a large stapled packet at the bottom of the folder. He quickly skimmed through it. First, he saw transcripts from Rogue''s school in Mississippi. Then, somewhat surprisingly, there were transcripts from his partial semester at Xavier''s Institute for Gifted Youngsters. And lastly, high school enrollment papers for a place he recognized.


    Midtown School of Science and Technology.


    "Midtown High? Really?" he questioned, genuinely puzzled.


    The Ancient One set her teacup down. "Midtown offers an excellent curriculum, particularly in the sciences. It would be beneficial for you."


    Tyson rolled his eyes, "And if I don''t want to follow this script you''ve written?" he asked.


    Tyson studied the Ancient One''s expression, trying to discern any hidden motivations behind her suggestion. Her eyes held a knowing look that made him suspect there was more to this.


    "If you would prefer, you''re welcome to return to Xavier''s Institute, or attend the Massachusetts Academy, or any number of public schools," the Ancient One said smoothly. "I was merely presenting a possibility I thought you might find appealing."


    Tyson considered her words. He knew Midtown High held significance in this world. But Tyson chafed at the idea of having his choices dictated. Ever since arriving in this world, it felt like he''d been swept along by forces beyond his control. First Magneto, then Stryker, and now sorcerers. He was tired of reacting, tired of having his path decided for him.


    "I appreciate you looking out for me," Tyson began carefully. "But I think I need to figure this out on my own. I''ve spent too much time being tugged in every direction. When I return to high school, I want it to be my choice, not what someone else laid out for me."


    He unflinchingly met the Ancient One''s eyes, silently asserting his right to self-determination. Tyson expected to be met with stern refusal, but instead, her expression softened into an approving smile.


    "I cannot make your choices for you, nor would I wish to. The offer still stands, but the decision is yours alone," she said with a nod.


    The future felt heavy with the weight of impending threats, but he was determined to meet it on his terms.


    "Thank you for understanding," Tyson replied sincerely. "I know you''re trying to help steer me down the right path. But I need to walk it myself."


    He gathered up the documents and slid them back into the folder. For the first time since arriving in this world, Tyson felt like he was regaining control over his life. Wherever he ended up next, it would be on his terms.


    ~~Rogue Replacement~~


    Tyson pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Greenwich Village. The scene outside the sanctum was a stark contrast to the serene mysticism within. The sidewalk was bustling with people. But despite the clamor and noises, Tyson felt an emptiness, a profound loneliness. Illyana''s familiar presence, her wit and charm, were gone. He missed the mutants from the institute too. Every face in the crowd around him was a stranger.


    Tyson began to walk, but not in the usual way. Channeling Illyana''s power, every step he took felt like a leap through space. It was accompanied by the sensation of the world around him folding and unfolding with each stride. Within moments, the Sanctum was a distant blur. Half a dozen steps, and he found himself inside his room in the Four Seasons downtown.


    As he sat on the bed, a sudden realization washed over him.


    The Ancient One¡¯s spell. Like before fighting Azazel, the moment she¡¯d given him would allow her ability to linger. He¡¯d have Illyana¡¯s power coursing through him for the next seven hours, giving him a unique advantage. He could travel to Limbo at will¡­


    Or he could use it to earn some money, especially since he hadn''t secured a job.


    Tyson''s mind raced, brainstorming the possibilities. The window of opportunity was narrow which limited his options. But with Illyana''s power at his fingertips, Tyson knew he had the means to change his circumstances. He just needed to figure out how.


    Tyson paced back and forth in his hotel room, his thoughts spiraling into darker territory. A dangerous idea began to form in his mind. What if he could rob a bank? With Illyana¡¯s power, he could be in and out of a bank vault within seconds, leaving no trace behind. It was almost too tempting. The allure of quick money, the thrill of the heist, and the assurance of his getaway weighed heavily on his conscience.


    "Just this once," he whispered to himself, trying to justify the idea. "One heist and I''d have enough to be set."


    But deep down, he knew it wouldn''t be enough. What bank had the kind of money he needed? He needed a bigger score, something substantial, something that would be enough for a long time. That''s when the thought of Oscorp entered his mind. If he was going to cross a line, it should be worth it. Oscorp was a giant conglomerate with secrets and military prototypes. But what could he take that would be valuable? He needed something he could sell. Who would he even sell a prototype or some groundbreaking tech that hadn''t been released yet? A rival company or a foreign country? With his ability to jump in and out of places, Tyson could potentially infiltrate Oscorp, find something of worth, and disappear before anyone realized what had happened.


    Sitting on the edge of the bed, he grappled with his conscience. "Could I become the villain, even if it''s just for one day?" he wondered aloud.


    He weighed his options. He had an extraordinary opportunity, with Illyana¡¯s powers at his disposal, but there was the very real risk of becoming something he didn¡¯t want to be. Tyson would have to make a decision. The allure of quick riches battled against the morals he held himself to.


    Tyson sat at the edge of his hotel bed, tapping his foot rhythmically against the polished wooden floor. In his mind''s eye, he envisioned the bank vaults, overflowing with money. But was that the kind of life he wanted to chase after?


    His fingers drummed on the bedspread. "If I''m going to do this," he mumbled, "it has to be for something monumental."


    He thought about what the value of his integrity was. A hundred thousand? Millions? The idea seemed absurd. But what about billions?


    He chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. "Yeah, right. Like there''s something I can just grab that''s worth billions."


    But then, a realization slowly dawned upon him. He thought of the Ancient One¡¯s words when she cast the spell allowing Tyson and Illyana to say goodbye. She hadn¡¯t spoken to Illyana, she¡¯d looked directly at Tyson when she said, ¡°One last chance. Make the most of it."


    Of course, the Ancient One knew what he would be planning. She knew what he would do.


    "I can''t believe I''m even considering this," Tyson whispered as he planned his future.

 Arc 3 - Ch 8: The Heist

    Date: Wednesday, July 28, 2010.


    Location: 44 Maiden Ln., Manhattan, New York


    Tyson paused at 44 Maiden Ln, letting the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. Before him, the Federal Reserve Bank of Manhattan loomed. Its grand limestone fa?ade rose upwards, accentuated by ornate carvings and patterns reminiscent of an age long gone. Two enormous iron-bound doors, framed by two lanterns, stood as gatekeepers guarding the entrance.


    He noted the constant flow of tourists lining up for the regular tours. Most of them chattered excitedly, cameras around their necks, their eyes full of curiosity. To them, it was an opportunity to get a rare glimpse inside one of the world''s most important financial institutions. For Tyson, it was so much more.


    As the magnitude of his intent weighed heavily on him, the bustling New York crowd seemed oblivious to his internal struggle. Just as he was about to turn and walk away, a playful voice pierced through his thoughts. "You know, when you''re standing outside a big building looking all conflicted like that, it''s either girl trouble or you''re about to make a really tough decision."


    Tyson turned to see an elderly man standing beside him, dressed in aviator glasses and a cardigan, his silver hair perfectly coiffed. The man had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes and a grin that told of countless stories and adventures. "I''ve seen a lot of things, been in a lot of places. More places than you might think."


    Tyson recognized the man immediately. He was stunned, staring in amazement and confusion. But he chose not to press the issue and instead spoke truthfully. "I''m... I''m contemplating something big," he admitted.


    The old man chuckled. "Oh, I can see that. Trust me, kid, I¡¯ve seen that look on many faces."


    Tyson looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Lowering his voice, he asked, "What if what I''m thinking isn¡¯t noble or heroic? What if it''s...selfish?"


    The old man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, not every story is about saving the universe or a damsel in distress. Sometimes, the story is about making a choice for yourself."


    Tyson nodded, understanding the gravity of what the man was hinting at. "But what if I get caught?"


    "Ah, the age-old dilemma," the old man said with a smile, "To take the risk or to stay safe? Look, every choice comes with consequences. The real question is are you ready to face them, whether they''re good or bad?"


    Tyson hesitated, thinking deeply about the weight of his decision. "I don¡¯t know if I can do this."


    The elderly man clapped him on the back. "You know, I¡¯ve seen many others hesitate before they leap. But sometimes, all you need is a little push in the right direction."


    "Are you saying I should do it?" Tyson asked incredulously.


    The man grinned. "I''m not saying you should, but I''m also not saying you shouldn¡¯t. All I know is that sometimes you have to take risks."


    Tyson took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening. "I just... I don¡¯t want to regret this."


    The old man smiled warmly. "Regret is a part of life. But remember, sometimes the biggest regret is not taking the chance when you had it."


    Tyson looked up at the Federal Reserve one more time, determination creeping into his eyes. The clock was ticking on his use of Illyana''s power.


    "Thank you," he said, turning to the elderly man. But to his surprise, the man was nowhere to be found. He had disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he''d appeared. Tyson swore he heard a word echo from the space the man had vacated¡­


    Excelsior.


    Tyson approached the entrance to the Federal Reserve Bank, easily blending into a group of eager tourists. All around him, people chatted animatedly, their faces lit up with excitement. One man was pointing at the various features of the building, while couples leaned into each other, sharing whispered conversations.


    Tyson activated his illusion ability, wrapping himself in a disguise. Though he was standing amidst the crowd, none would see the real him. To the tourists and guides, it was as if he was a medium-height, wide, overweight, Texan tourist with a wide-brimmed hat. Tyson was, in reality, wearing the outfit of the illusion he projected, but he changed his height, and skin color, and replaced his muscular form with an obese bulk. To complete the outfit, Tyson wrapped a bandanna around his face, another detail that was obscured by his illusion, and hopefully wouldn''t be too noticeable on cameras, obscured by his oversized hat.


    The heavy, ornate doors of the Federal Reserve Bank slowly opened, granting the group entrance. As they stepped inside, the transition was remarkable. The noisy, bustling streets of New York were replaced by a hushed, grandiose aura. The bank''s interior was a blend of historical architecture and modern functionality. Marble columns reached towards a high, decorative ceiling. Golden chandeliers hung low, casting soft, elegant light upon the polished floors. The very air inside felt rich with legacy.


    The tour guide, a petite woman with a bright smile, ushered the group forward. "Welcome to the Federal Reserve Bank of Manhattan! Throughout this tour, you''ll see the operations of one of the most important financial institutions in the world."


    The group followed her as she led them through grand hallways. They passed offices with frosted glass doors, where silhouettes of employees could be seen discussing important matters. Display cases showcased historic coins and old paper currency. The highlight of the tour was, of course, the vault. After descending the elevators in smaller groups, and passing through numerous security checkpoints, the tour found themselves standing before a massive steel door.


    The guide paused, letting the suspense build. "Behind this door," she began dramatically, "is one of the largest gold vaults in the world. Thousands of gold bars, each weighing approximately 28 pounds. A literal mountain of wealth."


    Tyson''s eyes locked onto the immense vault door. But Tyson made no overt actions. This wasn¡¯t the time. Not yet. Instead, he silently committed every detail of the vault to memory. The number of security cameras, the placement of guards, the patterns on the vault door; every piece of information was crucial. As the tour guide continued to speak, discussing the history and significance of the bank''s gold reserves, Tyson took mental notes. He needed to understand everything about this place. Every corner, every hallway, every door.


    After what felt like an eternity, the guide began to usher the group away from the vault. "Thank you all for visiting the Federal Reserve Bank. We hope you''ve found this tour enlightening, enjoy your stay in New York!"


    Tyson, still under his illusion, moved with the group, careful not to cause suspicion. As they made their way through the same opulent halls they had entered, he felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety.


    Finally, the tour group emerged back onto the busy streets of Manhattan. The city¡¯s sounds and sights were jarring compared to the bank''s quiet, grand interiors. Tourists chatted excitedly, recounting their favorite parts of the tour and discussing the unbelievable amount of gold they''d just seen.


    Blending in with the departing crowd, Tyson removed his illusion. He merged seamlessly into the New York foot traffic, just another face in the crowd. The Federal Reserve Bank''s grand facade began to recede behind him, but his mission was only just beginning.


    Tyson walked the few blocks to Wall Street, finding TJ Maxx. Once inside his eyes scanned the aisles as he made his way to the luggage section. He perused the selection carefully. He needed suitcases that were not only large but also sturdy enough to handle significant weight. After a few moments of consideration, he selected a pair that seemed to meet his criteria. Their robust build and spacious interiors were exactly what he needed. With a plan in mind, Tyson proceeded to the checkout. He paid for the suitcases, maintaining a low profile amidst the crowd. Then, with the purchased items in hand, he casually walked outside, maneuvering through the bustling streets until he found a secluded spot around the corner. Ensuring no one was watching, he teleported the suitcases to Limbo.


    He repeated this process, returning to the store to purchase another pair of suitcases, taking them outside, and teleporting them to Limbo just as he had done before. Tyson used his illusions to, blend in with the crowd of shoppers and change his identity each time he re-entered the store. After several trips, Tyson had successfully transported a total of 10 suitcases to Limbo. With his task completed, Tyson took a moment to ensure everything was in order before preparing for his next move.


    He had picked out an alley behind a Chick-fil-A, nestled between John St. and Fulton St., as his staging area. This location was strategically chosen for its relative seclusion and its proximity to two key locations. The alley offered the perfect cover for Tyson''s activities. It was quiet, tucked away from the street, providing the privacy he needed for his plans. Just as importantly, the alley put him within a quarter mile of both The Federal Reserve Bank, which he had visited earlier, and the Four Seasons Downtown where he had been staying in the Empire Suite.


    As Tyson stepped into the alley, he scanned the area with a careful eye, ensuring that he went unnoticed. Satisfied, he paused to take a deep breath, before beginning to execute his plan.


    Tyson''s surroundings shifted instantly as he initiated the teleportation into Limbo. The bustling sounds of New York City were replaced by the eerie, timeless atmosphere of Illyana¡¯s dimension. Around him were the suitcases he had gathered and transported here.


    The alley had been a strategic choice because it provided a stable anchor point for his portals. In Limbo, time behaved differently, and the risk of time-warping was a constant concern when using Illyana¡¯s teleportation powers. By using the alley as a fixed starting point, Tyson minimized these risks as both his target destinations were within a safe distance.


    Standing amidst his luggage collection, Tyson focused his attention on the next phase of his plan. He visualized the guest bedroom in his suite at the Four Seasons Downtown, a space he had become familiar with during his stay. With a clear image in mind, he conjured a portal, the swirling vortex of energy opening up to the well-appointed guest bedroom.


    Closing his eyes for a moment, Tyson tried to recall every detail of the vault from the tour. The security measures, the size of the room, and the exact location of the gold stacks. With a clear image in mind, he extended his hand outward, focusing his energy. A small, shimmering portal opened before him.


    Through the portal, he saw the gleam of the gold bars. It was the vault, just as he had pictured it. No guards in sight, at least not from this vantage point. The sheer amount of gold was staggering, almost unbelievable. A lump formed in his throat. This was it, the moment of truth. Would he go through with it?


    With a flick of his wrist, Tyson closed the portal. The shimmering void dissipated, leaving behind only the ever-gloom of Limbo. Taking a moment to regain his focus, he visualized the inside of the Federal Reserve''s gold vault. He pictured the stacks of gold bars, glistening and neatly arranged. With another gesture, a new portal materialized, this one offering a bird''s-eye view into the vault. It was a golden wall, the metal bars packed so densely they reached near the ceiling. The sight was awe-inspiring.


    Carefully, Tyson reached an arm through the portal. He wrapped his fingers around a gold bar, its cool weight instantly pressing into his palm. The dense metal was heavy, but with his enhanced strength, Tyson hardly noticed.


    Lifting the lid of one of the suitcases, he started stacking the bars inside. One by one, the bars clinked together, their weight causing the fabric of the luggage to strain. He counted each bar as he placed it in, ensuring he had exactly one hundred bars.


    Closing the lid, Tyson took a moment to marvel at his achievement. The heist was proving successful, but he had a long way to go.


    With a grunt, Tyson gripped the suitcase''s handles tightly, the sheer weight of the gold threatening to slip from his grasp. The wheels were utterly useless under the immense load. He could feel the strain on the luggage¡¯s frame, knowing it might give way if he wasn''t careful.


    He held the first suitcase horizontally, using the solid side as a base while it was heavy with gold, and carefully maneuvered it through the portal into the guest bedroom of his suite at the Four Seasons. The weight was significant, but Tyson managed it with ease, thanks to his super strength.


    Once the first suitcase was securely through, he turned his attention to the next one waiting in Limbo. He dragged it over to another portal he had opened, one that led directly down into the vault of the Federal Reserve above a different stack of gold.


    One by one, Tyson filled each suitcase with gold, working efficiently to transfer the precious metal through the portal. After filling all ten suitcases, Tyson began the process of dispersing them around his suite. He placed them in strategic locations, ensuring they were well-hidden yet easily accessible when needed. The suite, with its luxurious decor and expansive layout, offered plenty of options for concealment.


    "Made it," he whispered to himself, a victorious grin spreading across his face. As he spread the suitcases throughout the suite, Tyson couldn''t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The plan had come together smoothly. The heist had been a success, but what came next was uncertain. Tyson now had to decide how to use his newfound wealth.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Inside a dimly lit conference room in the heart of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Director Nick Fury paced the floor. His piercing gaze held the intensity of a storm, yet his voice was calm and calculated when he began. "Listen up. We''ve got a situation."


    Four agents sat around the table, heads turned toward Fury. Agent Coulson leaned forward with pen poised over his notepad. Beside him, Clint Barton, the famed Hawkeye, scrutinized the room with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, sat with an elegance that belied her lethality, her red hair a splash of color in the otherwise muted space.


    Fury slid a series of folders to each of the agents. "The Federal Reserve Bank in Manhattan was hit. The thief got away with 1000 gold bricks. Each brick weighs 27.4 lbs, and gold is valued at around $1,200 an ounce. For those mathematically challenged, that''s 526 million dollars worth of gold." He paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. "Clean getaway. No prints, no mistakes."


    Agent Coulson lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "Any leads?"


    Fury pointed to a surveillance photo of a tall, imposing figure. "This is the only lead we have. Caught on camera, yet didn''t register with any of the tour groups that day."


    Clint squinted at the photo. "Man''s a giant. You''d think someone would''ve noticed."


    "That''s what''s odd," Fury said. "He stood with the tour group, and when the others were questioned, they only recalled a ¡®fat cowboy¡¯."


    Natasha leaned in, her green eyes studying the image. "Fat? That''s quite a stretch for an entire group to agree on. Are we dealing with an enhanced individual?"


    "It''s looking that way," Fury replied.


    Coulson pondered aloud. "It''s possible he possesses some form of telepathy or mind manipulation, given that no one noticed him."


    Natasha frowned, picking up the file. "Still, leaving behind this image was careless. An amateur mistake. Unless it was intentional."


    Fury nodded, mulling over the possibility. "It might be a message. Or a challenge. We need to find out who he is and what he wants¡­ Besides the gold."


    Natasha added, "We should consider known enhanced individuals who fit the profile, and cross-reference with any recent activities."


    Clint leaned back, eyes still on the image. "Whoever this guy is, he''s playing in the big leagues now. You don''t just rob the Federal Reserve and walk away."


    The air was thick with purpose, the kind that made the entire room buzz with intent. Nick Fury, face grave, addressed his team.


    "We''ve got the FBI, CIA, and a handful of other agencies combing the streets," Fury began, using his hands to emphasize the breadth of the investigation. "They''ll handle the usual protocols, interviews, witness statements, and scouring every available camera feed."


    Agent Coulson shifted slightly in his seat. "So, where does that leave us?"


    Fury''s one eye gleamed with a mix of determination and cunning. "I want S.H.I.E.L.D. to think outside the box. Use our resources and our contacts. We''ve got a bigger pool to fish from than the feds. Ideas?"


    Clint Barton, always quick on the draw, offered, "The gold''s got to go somewhere. I suggest we make contact with gold buyers. Not just any buyers, but the ones who deal in bulk. The ones who''d melt it down to resell. We need to find out if anyone''s approached them recently with a massive amount of gold."


    Coulson nodded, tapping his pen on the table thoughtfully. "Additionally, we should check out high-profile auction houses. If this thief wants to move the gold quickly, they might turn it into artifacts or art pieces, selling them to the super-rich on the black market."


    Natasha''s lips curved into a sly grin, her mind always several steps ahead. "Or we think even more unconventionally. What if our thief isn''t selling? What if the gold is a means to an end? Perhaps a distraction for something bigger or a component for a significant project."


    Fury leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Elaborate."


    "Suppose he''s using the gold to buy something more valuable or dangerous. Weapons or information. Of if it''s being used in some kind of new technology." Natasha continued, her voice dripping with intrigue. "I suggest we watch the arms and tech black market. See if there''s any unusual activity or big buyers."


    Fury''s stern expression cracked into a smirk of approval. "Good ideas. Barton, you take point with the gold buyers. Coulson, look into the auction houses and underground art world. Romanoff, dive into the black market. See what bubbles up."


    The agents nodded in agreement, each with a clear direction and purpose.


    "This isn''t just a theft," Fury reminded them, his voice firm. "It''s a statement. Let''s find out what they''re trying to say."


    The energy in the room was palpable as the agents dispersed, ready to unravel the mystery of the gold heist.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The room''s overhead lights illuminated the smooth surface of the conference table, casting a warm glow on Clint Barton''s face. He looked triumphant as he faced his SHIELD allies.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "I got something," Clint said, clicking a remote to play the footage on a large screen. The video was grainy but showed a busy Diamond District street. A man entered a gold dealer''s shop and left shortly after. From a distance, he looked just like any other customer, but a few telltale signs caught Clint''s expert eyes.


    "The guy''s big, like our guy from the Federal Reserve footage," Clint began. "Talked to a few folks in the Diamond District, and they pointed me to this dealer. This guy," he pointed at the man on screen, "walked in and sold half of a gold brick. 80% market value, roughly 204 thousand dollars."


    Nick Fury leaned forward, brow furrowed, "But he''s not our guy?"


    Clint sighed, "Here''s the interesting part. I got to the gold-monger before any of the feds did. He described the man who sold the gold bar as an average-height, Caucasian guy. Nothing like the big guy from the Federal Reserve footage."


    Fury''s good eye narrowed, "What are you saying, Barton?"


    "I''m saying the video time stamp matches our tall suspect, but the description doesn''t."


    Natasha quickly chimed in, her voice razor-sharp with intrigue, "Even with a photostatic veil, you can''t change someone''s height that drastically."


    Agent Coulson nodded in agreement, "So, we''re dealing with an enhanced individual. Someone who can not only change their appearance but also their physical build. Or at least, the perception of their appearance."


    Nick Fury sat back, taking it all in, his fingers tapping the table thoughtfully. "I¡¯m going to get some of the eggheads on this. See what we can learn.¡±


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Nick Fury stood at the head of the conference room, its high-tech interior illuminating the new set of folders Fury had placed in front of his agents. "Our techies worked some magic and managed to piece together a clearer picture of our suspect."


    He slid a picture across the table, revealing a young black man with a strong build. "This is Tyson Smith."


    Natasha''s eyes scanned the contents of her folder. "Currently living it up in the Empire Suite at the Four Seasons downtown," she commented dryly.


    Clint looked up with an eyebrow raised, "Empire Suite? Swanky."


    Fury nodded, "That''s not all. Turns out Mr. Smith has enrolled in his senior year at the Midtown School of Science and Technology."


    Agent Coulson jumped in, "So he''s a student. That gives us something."


    Clint was still stuck on the age detail, looking incredulously at the photo, "Hold on a second, he''s still in high school?"


    Fury¡¯s stern face betrayed a hint of amusement. "He is, or will be, in a few weeks."


    Natasha leaned forward, her mind racing ahead, "What''s the play here? Do we pick him up?"


    Fury''s expression turned more contemplative, "No. Not yet. We know he''s only pawned a small portion of that gold. But the gold''s not our top concern anymore. The Feds are still scratching their heads, so we''re going to drop the investigation, saying it''s not our jurisdiction. Our priority lies here. Enhanced individuals like him are a rarity. And this one''s just a kid. I want eyes on him to watch his movements."


    Agent Coulson quirked an eyebrow, "Are you suggesting one of us goes undercover at a high school?"


    Nick''s smirk widened, "Exactly. And I might just have the perfect cover for one of you."


    The room went silent for a moment, and Clint said with a smirk, "I can already see Coulson as the new principal."


    Natasha rolled her eyes but grinned, "Only if you''re the new wood shop teacher, Barton."


    Fury chuckled, "We''ll sort out the details. For now, let''s keep our eyes on the prize and remember. This is a reconnaissance mission. No moves until I give the order."


    The agents nodded in agreement, ready for their next mission... Even if it meant heading back to high school.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The heavy wooden doors of the Chikara Dojo creaked open, and Tyson stepped inside, pausing for a moment to observe. The focused faces of the children greeted him. Their forms were precise as they went through katas under the watchful eye of Colleen Wing. Tyson silently moved to a corner, waiting. After the class, the children dispersed, bowing to Colleen and bidding their farewells.


    With the room now quiet, Colleen turned to Tyson, "Took you a few days. Thought I might not see you again."


    He ran a hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed, "Got caught up with some... odd jobs to earn a few bucks."


    Colleen''s eyes scanned him briefly, landing on the space beside him. "Your companion, Illyana. She''s not with you today?"


    Tyson''s gaze fell to the floor momentarily, sadness flickering in his eyes, "She left New York. I don''t think she''s coming back anytime soon. It''s just me now."


    A brief silence followed. Colleen then tilted her head, studying him, "Still interested in the intense program?"


    "Yeah," Tyson nodded, "but I only have a few weeks before school starts."


    Colleen crossed her arms, considering, "We could work hard for the rest of the summer, and lay a strong foundation. And once school''s back, you could practice in the afternoons. I''ll have other classes, but I can guide you with exercises and pointers. Think of it as a supervised, self-study."


    Tyson looked hopeful, "Really? That would be great."


    Colleen smiled, her eyes softened as she said, "This dojo is more than just a training center. It''s a family. We look out for each other. And, Tyson, you''re welcome to be a part of it."


    He grinned, "Thanks, Colleen. Sensei?"


    As the two discussed the plans for Tyson''s training, Colleen cleared her throat, she began, "There''s just the matter of payment. You mentioned picking up some odd jobs, but if the fee is too steep, we can work something out. Weekly installments or..."


    Tyson waved his hand dismissively, cutting her off. "No need," he replied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thick wad of cash. With a smirk, he asked, "Is it cool if I pay for the first three months upfront?"


    Colleen blinked in surprise, taking a moment to process what just happened. She hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded, stretching out her hand to accept the money. "Of course, that works," she replied, trying to keep her tone casual. However, as she looked at the notes in her hand, she couldn''t help but wonder about the origin of this unexpected windfall. She eyed Tyson, a hint of suspicion in her gaze, "Doing odd jobs around town, huh? Must be some high-paying gigs."


    Tyson nonchalantly replied, "Let''s just say I''ve had a bit of good luck lately."


    Although grateful for his contribution to the dojo, Colleen couldn''t shake off the nagging feeling. She wondered if Tyson was involved in anything dangerous or illegal. But for now, she decided to let it slide and focus on his training.


    Over a month, a montage of lessons played out¡­


    ¡­Tyson executed a series of kicks and punches. Under Colleen''s watchful gaze, he practiced roundhouse kicks, jab-cross combos, and elbows, tirelessly working on his footwork and agility.


    ¡­When the time came for a more personalized session, Colleen sat cross-legged on the mat, looking at Tyson intently. "You''ve grasped the basics quickly," she began. "But martial arts is not just about movements. It''s about the spirit, the intention behind every punch, every kick. What do you want to focus on?"


    Tyson took a deep breath, understanding the gravity of her question. "I''ve always been strong," he began hesitantly, "but I prefer open-palm strikes." He shaped his hand into a claw and explained, "This... feels natural to me."


    Colleen raised an eyebrow, confusion, replaced with suspicion, before giving way to consideration. "That''s not a common choice. Most find it uncomfortable." She paused, observing Tyson¡¯s hands closely. "But there''s a style, a form of kung fu, called Fu Jow Pai. Tiger Style. Its techniques are inspired by the strikes of a tiger''s claws."


    Tyson¡¯s eyes lit up. "That sounds perfect."


    Colleen smirked, amused by his excitement. "It won''t be easy. But if you''re up for it, we can start today."


    ¡­Sessions became more intense. Tyson lunged at his imaginary opponent, fingers curled like a tiger''s claws, aiming for the opponent¡¯s throat or face. He learned to combine swift footwork with devastating claw-like strikes. The power he felt, the alignment of his unique style with this ancient martial form, was invigorating.


    ¡­Colleen introduced weapons into his training. First, the staff. She demonstrated a few moves, twirling it with an ease that left Tyson awestruck. When Tyson attempted, his movements were awkward and clumsy. But with every wrong move, Colleen was there, guiding, correcting, and encouraging him.


    ¡­Colleen explained the art of ''Iaido''. The way of the sword. She demonstrated how to draw, strike, and sheath the sword with swiftness and precision. Tyson watched, absorbing every detail, and when he got his turn, he managed a few strikes, mimicking Colleen¡¯s movements. As they practiced, Colleen paused and looked at Tyson. "You''ve come far, but remember, a weapon is only as good as the person wielding it. Respect it, understand it, and it''ll never fail you."


    The days flew by, with Tyson¡¯s skills becoming more refined. Colleen often sparred with him, pushing him to his limits, and making him adapt and think on his feet. The month of intense training ended with Tyson, standing at the center of the dojo, executing a series of Tiger Claw strikes with utmost precision.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Tyson opened the door to the Empire Suite after another intense training day, anticipating a warm shower. As he stepped in, a rich and inviting smell tickled his nostrils, causing his mouth to water. But what caught him off guard was a familiar scent, nearly masked by the food.


    He walked further in, and there she was. Illyana sat on the lavish couch in the common area, a smile adorning her face. The table in front of her was a delightful sight, covered in dishes he didn¡¯t recognize but felt an instant craving for. Discarded bags lay haphazardly across the kitchen counter.


    "I hope you¡¯re hungry," Illyana teased with a playful lilt in her voice, her accent as captivating as he remembered. "I brought all this from Nepal."


    "You know I am," Tyson responded with a grin. He moved towards her, wrapping her in a warm embrace. Their lips met briefly in a sweet reunion after weeks apart. He¡¯d been doing some light meditation during his training. But it hadn¡¯t helped to rein in his power in the slightest. So he quickly pulled back.


    Tyson''s eyes took in the spread. There were savory dumplings, spicy curries, and a steaming pot that smelled of rich broth and fresh herbs.


    "You didn¡¯t have to go through all this trouble," Tyson remarked.


    Illyana shrugged, "I wanted to. Plus, I thought you might need some comfort food before heading back to school."


    Tyson groaned at the mention of school. "Don¡¯t remind me. From training all day to sitting in a classroom."


    "But think about it," she countered, "only a year, and then you''re free."


    He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. She didn¡¯t know it would be closer to two years before the Ancient One would accept him as a student. And didn¡¯t know how to explain it to her.


    As the rich aroma of the Nepalese dishes filled the room, Tyson and Illyana settled comfortably opposite each other. Tyson eagerly picked up a dumpling, taking a savory bite. "This is amazing," he praised, mouth full.


    Illyana chuckled. "Wait until you try the curry."


    "I''ve missed you," Tyson admitted, his tone slightly melancholic.


    Illyana reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I missed you too," she whispered, her blue eyes softening. "Tell me about your training with Colleen."


    With an enthusiastic nod, Tyson began recounting his experiences at Chikara Dojo. "Colleen is patient. We worked on some basics first, but then I told her about my... preference." He wiggled his fingers, indicating his claw-like strikes.


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And?"


    "She introduced me to Tiger style. It¡¯s perfect for my claws." Tyson demonstrated a few moves, looking quite pleased. "Plus, she also taught me to use various weapons. There''s so much to learn, but I feel far more confident."


    Illyana grinned, "Sounds intense. Let me tell you about Kamar Taj."


    Tyson leaned forward, eager to hear her tales. With a dramatic sigh, Illyana began, "First, the altitude. It took me days to adjust." She made a face, clearly not having enjoyed that part.


    Tyson chuckled, imagining Illyana huffing and puffing in the Himalayas.


    "But once you get past that, it¡¯s... magical, literally." Her face lit up with excitement. "The way they manipulate energy, creating spellforms, it''s unlike anything I''ve ever seen."


    His curiosity piqued, Tyson asked, "Did you learn any... cool tricks?" Illyana picked at her food, her brow furrowing in what seemed like frustration. Tyson took note of the sudden shift in her mood. "Hey, what''s on your mind?" he asked, concerned.


    With a deep sigh, Illyana looked up. Her usually fierce blue eyes held a hint of vulnerability. "It''s just... you¡¯ve progressed so much in your training, and here I am, struggling with the basics."


    Tyson leaned forward, trying to gauge her emotions. "What do you mean?"


    She scoffed, "I see other initiates opening portals left and right. And me? I''ve managed some flashy sparks, but that''s it." She looked genuinely frustrated, a side of Illyana Tyson hadn¡¯t seen before. "And spells?" she continued, "Don¡¯t even get me started. I can punch, kick, and grapple with the others, but magic? It feels like I''m hitting a wall."


    Tyson reached out, taking her hand gently. "Hey, everyone has their own pace. Just because you''re finding it challenging now doesn''t mean you won''t master it later."


    Illyana''s gaze hardened, her pride evident. "I''m not used to being... mediocre," she admitted begrudgingly.


    Tyson smiled softly. "You know, Colleen says that true mastery isn''t about getting it right the first time, or even the tenth. It¡¯s about perseverance. It''s about rising every time you fall."


    Illyana rolled her eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at her lips. They shared a moment of understanding. Illyana''s expression softened. "It''s just... frustrating, you know? I want to be the best. But I guess I need to learn patience."


    He chuckled, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I have no doubt you¡¯re going to be a powerful sorceress. They were calling you Magik before you even knew magic was real."


    The atmosphere in the room became heavy with anticipation, as Tyson hesitated. Finally, he took a deep breath and asked, "So, you''re going to stay at Kamar Taj?"


    Illyana looked deep into his eyes, her voice softer than usual, "Yes," she nodded, "I feel like I belong there. I''ve missed you so much, Ty, more than words can describe. But training there, feeling the magic in the air, it''s like finding a missing piece of me. It''s something I need."


    Tyson took a moment to digest this. He knew how important this was for her, but their separation was tough on him too. "Illyana, this past month..." he began, choosing his words carefully, "it felt both long and short. Days flew by, but every moment felt... incomplete without you. I felt... hollow."


    A hint of vulnerability peeked on Illyana¡¯s face. "I felt the same way. But we both know, we''re on separate journeys right now. Journeys that''ll pay off in the end."


    He sighed. "I know. And I want you to learn, to become powerful enough to cleanse Limbo. But it doesn''t make missing you any less difficult."


    She moved closer to him, "We''re a team, and we always will be. Distance can''t change that." Drawing close, Illyana gently cupped Tyson''s face, her fingers cool against his heated skin. Her thumb slowly traced the line of his cheekbone. Pulling away before the drain became too much, she looked deep into his eyes. "A year, Tyson," she began softly, "It''s going to be a long time. But you need it. You need to go to school, experience some sense of normalcy, have fun... be happy."


    Tyson shrugged, discomfort wrinkling his brow. "I don''t know about all that. I''m not exactly... typical high school material, Illyana. Normal isn''t exactly in the cards for me."


    "Oh, come on," she rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a challenging edge. "After all the hell you''ve been through? This should be a cakewalk. Think about it." she said, flicking her hand at him, "You in high school. Making friends, going to lame parties, and oh" she feigned a gasp, "Maybe getting a girlfriend?"


    He blinked, taken aback, his mouth opening and closing as he processed her words. "A girlfriend? Aren''t you... I mean... aren''t we..." He stumbled over the words, his certainty waning under her intense, playful gaze.


    "Of course, we''re something," Illyana said with a shrug, but her voice had an undercurrent of something deeper. "It''s just a year, Tyson. Besides, with your... condition," she continued, circling her finger in the air vaguely towards him, "it''s not like you can get super close to anyone else, right? So, what''s the harm?"


    Tyson frowned, "It feels wrong," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "And you''re not just ''something'' to me, Illyana. You know that."


    "I know. And you''re not just something to me either. But we''re not normal, are we? We don''t get the luxury of simple. We''re always in the middle of some storm." Her eyes, usually so fierce, held a hint of melancholy. "You need to grab every experience you can. Because who knows what tomorrow holds?"


    "Is it selfish to not want to let you go?" Tyson questioned, his voice low, almost a growl.


    Illyana''s tough facade was crumbling. "I don''t want to hold you back. think about it. A high school sweetheart, the drama, the excitement. It''s a rite of passage, no? I won''t lose you to some cheerleader. And who knows, it might be fun to hear stories about you fumbling through flirting."


    A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. "You think I''d be bad at it?"


    "I know you''ll be adorable trying," she quipped back, the fire returning to her eyes. "So, promise me you''ll give it a shot? Live a little, for both of us? Since you didn¡¯t get to at the institute."


    Tyson''s gaze held hers, reading the earnest plea in her eyes. This was her way of caring, he realized, her way of ensuring he didn''t miss out on life, even if she couldn''t be as much a part of it as they both wanted.


    "Okay," he capitulated, "I''ll try.."


    Illyana''s smirk returned, full force. "That''s the spirit," she said with a wink. She pulled out the small enchanted item the Ancient One had given her. The artifact that would allow them to touch, even if just for twenty minutes. She held it up between them, watching his reaction.


    "I mean," she began with a teasing tone, voice dripping with sultry suggestion, "I''m the only one who can really... enjoy you." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, though the mischief in her eyes betrayed her mock seriousness. "So, the question is, should we use this now or save it for later?"


    The room''s air grew thick with tension, a charged expectancy that buzzed between them. Illyana''s eyes were intense, the teasing quality never fully leaving them. "Just because we''re going to be apart doesn''t mean I''m willing to risk some high school girl swooping in and stealing what''s mine," she declared, her tone possessive yet playful.


    Tyson''s throat felt dry, his heart thundering against his ribs. "Yours?" he managed, the word barely a whisper.


    She confirmed with a nod, leaning in so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her. "That innocence? It belongs to me. Imagine," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "if you finally learn to control this power of yours while I''m away..." Her gaze flitted to his lips, then back to meet his eyes. "I''d have missed my chance to... spoil you for any other girl."


    "You''ve already corrupted me, remember?" he tried to joke, though his voice was tinged with longing. "Thanks to my illusions." Tyson swallowed hard, the memory of the night they''d shared flashing in his mind.


    Illyana scoffed lightly, waving a hand dismissively. "Illusions," she echoed with a roll of her eyes. "They''re fun, satisfying, and it feels so real that I can''t tell the difference¡­ but it''s not real." Her hand reached up, hovering mere inches from his face, the desire to touch mirrored in both their expressions. "Nothing can replace the real thing. To actual touch. To true intimacy."


    The words hung heavy between them. Tyson was the first to break the silence, "So, what are you suggesting?"


    Her smile was all victory and temptation, eyes alight with triumph. "I suggest we make some real memories, ones that''ll have to last us both for a whole year." Tyson''s breath caught in his chest, the reality of what she was offering dawning on him. "And when we''re aching from the absence," she continued, "we''ll have this moment to hold onto."


    He nodded, the action bringing his face dangerously close to hers, their breaths mingling. "Okay," he breathed out.


    Illyana''s smirk softened into something tender, perhaps vulnerable, an expression reserved only for him. "Okay," she echoed. "But, since we only have twenty minutes, we should probably start with...illusions."


    Tyson reached for her, his thumb tracing the high arc of her cheekbone, marveling at the surreal reality his powers created. Drawing her closer, their lips met in a kiss that spoke of starved longing and tender affection. To Illyana, it felt so real, so vivid, but she knew it was his power. There was no drain, no ebbing of her life force.


    Their kiss deepened, and the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a universe of Tyson''s creation. Hands explored her body, rekindling the flames between them. It was sighs and soft laughter, a narrative told in the silent language of yearning looks and urgent caresses. Somehow, they found themselves moving, drawn toward the bedroom. Clothes became a forgotten casualty along the way, discarded haphazardly.


    In the soft light of the bedroom, the ethereal glow of her skin contrasted artfully against his duskier tones. Her platinum locks were a wild cascade around a face flushed with need. His features had sharpened with desire yet were softened by affection.


    It was a sight, a moment, they both wanted to sear into their memories, to carry with them through the lonely nights ahead.


    With a breath that trembled, Illyana reached for the artifact that had been resting on the bedside table. It hummed with magic as she clasped it around her neck, the metal felt cool against the heat of her skin.


    Tyson took the place previously occupied by his illusion. The warmth of her skin was real under his hands now. The weight of his touch was no longer an illusion but tangible, real. They gasped at the actual, physical contact they''d been denied for so long.


    The connection they shared in those moments was transcendent. It was tender yet passionate, an expression of love and longing too powerful for mere words. Their world narrowed down to the sound of shared breaths, the patter of skin against skin, and the quiet declarations spilled in the space between kisses. Time was their enemy, but became irrelevant, existing only in the beats of their joined hearts. And when the climax came, it was with a shared sense of wonder, a realization that what they had was worth every second of waiting, every moment of yearning.


    They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and satisfied laughter. The artifact''s glow dimmed as the spell wound down. But the memory of their shared experience, burned all the brighter for it.


    In the afterglow, they lay together, but apart, the artifact silent around Illyana''s neck. They didn''t need words; their shared glances spoke volumes, promises, and reassurances exchanged without a sound.


    They''d face tomorrow when it came, with its uncertainties and challenges. But for now, in this quiet moment, they were simply Tyson and Illyana, together.


    And that was enough.

 Arc 4 - Ch 1: Midtown High

    Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010.


    Location: Four Season Hotel Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    As the morning sun bled into the Empire Suite in the Four Seasons Downtown, Tyson anticipated his first day at Midtown High with excitement.


    Bzzz. Bzzz. His phone vibrated on the marble bedside table, the screen lighting up with a new message. Picking it up, he saw it was from Illyana Rasputin, his now ex-girlfriend. They¡¯d only just broken up a few days earlier. The memory was still tender in his mind.


    Good luck at Midtown, Ty. Remember, try to have fun. Think normal thoughts.


    Despite the ache in his heart, Tyson managed a small smile. Illyana had ended things because she wanted him to experience everything that high school had to offer without worrying about her, especially with her training to be a sorcerer on the opposite side of the world. Quickly, his fingers tapped out a reply.


    Thanks, Illyana. Hope the training is going well.


    No sooner had he sent the message, than another text from Illyana popped up.


    Before I forget, here¡¯s Jean¡¯s and Jubilee¡¯s numbers. Don¡¯t be a stranger to them, okay?


    He texted back before saving the new contacts.


    Got it. Thanks¡­ Miss you.


    Setting the phone down, Tyson¡¯s gaze drifted around the room, finally landing on the shopping bags from yesterday. Getting a new cell phone after Illyana left hadn¡¯t been his only therapy purchase. There was a sense of independence, and perhaps rebellion, in buying the new, leather jacket that lay crisply folded among other things. It was completely unlike his old style, his way of stepping into this new chapter of his life. The jacket was a piece of the person he was becoming, the person he wanted to be¡­ Plus it matched his new ride.


    His routine was simple; a quick shower, followed by a breakfast of scrambled eggs and waffles, bacon, and sausage that was delivered to the room. After dressing up in casual jeans, and a t-shirt, and throwing on his new leather jacket and matching gloves, Tyson grabbed his backpack and headed out.


    Inside the Four Seasons underground parking sat a black motorcycle, which he¡¯d bought the previous day. This purchase was made with the money earned from pawning some gold he¡¯d acquired from the Federal Reserve. Tyson found himself flush with more cash than he knew what to do with. After the paperwork, courtesy of the Ancient One, he had a license and the legal proof needed to make these purchases.


    Straddling the motorcycle, Tyson donned his helmet. More for blending in than safety. With his skull reinforced by indestructible Adamantium and a healing factor that laughed in the face of injury, Tyson was virtually unbreakable. But he needed to maintain appearances. The motorcycle thundered to life, and with a final look at the towering elegance of the Four Seasons, Tyson revved the engine and sped off toward Queens.


    The wind rushed against him, tugging at his jacket and roaring in his ears, the city becoming a blur of color and motion. The iconic structures of Manhattan slowly gave way to the more grounded, community-driven landscape of Queens. As he navigated through the traffic, Tyson couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of exhilaration.


    Finally, Midtown High came into view, students milling about, chatting and laughing in groups. As Tyson rolled into the school parking lot, the low growl of his motorcycle''s engine turned several curious heads. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. Yet, that sense morphed into concern as he noticed a crowd gathering not far from where he parked. Swinging his leg over the bike and removing his helmet, Tyson strode toward the commotion. As he drew closer, his eyes caught sight of a boy at the center of it all.


    He was lean, not particularly tall, with tousled brown hair and a kind of nerdy air about him. He wore a simple combination of a T-shirt and jeans, both of which looked one size too big as if he¡¯d inherited them from someone older. The boy¡¯s glasses were slightly askew, and his books were scattered on the ground. Recognition flickered in Tyson''s mind.


    Tobe¡­Peter Parker.


    The reason for the crowd''s interest became clear. Towering over Peter was another student, broad-shouldered with a confident smirk plastered across his face. His skin was tan, his hair styled heavily with gel, and his letterman jacket seemed to scream "popularity." This had to be Flash Thompson, a stereotypical high school jock, known for his athleticism and his less admirable trait of being a bully.


    ¡°Come on, Parker,¡± Flash jeered, shoving Peter, who stumbled as he was attempting to rise to his feet. ¡°Stand up for yourself, Peter. Or are you just good at hiding behind those science books of yours?¡±


    The crowd laughed; Tyson¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, heat rising in his chest. He pushed through the gathered students, his size making it all too easy. As he stepped into the circle, his shadow momentarily engulfed both Peter and Flash. The crowd¡¯s laughter died down.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Tyson called out, his voice deep and commanding, drawing every eye to him. He towered over Flash, his 6¡¯6 frame broad and muscular, eclipsing Flash¡¯s 6¡¯2 lean athletic build. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    Flash¡¯s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by Tyson¡¯s sudden appearance and imposing stature. But he recovered quickly, ¡°This doesn¡¯t concern you. Why don¡¯t you mind your own¡ª¡±


    Tyson cut him off, pointing at Flash, ¡°You''re going to,¡± and then back at himself in turn ¡°Tell me what to do.¡± He asked threateningly. ¡°Go ahead¡­ finish what you were saying.¡± Tyson¡¯s voice was calm, but it carried an edge, a silent warning daring Flash to continue.


    A murmur rippled through the crowd. Flash sized Tyson up, his gaze traveling up and then down, the smirk fading when he realized he was significantly outsized. There was a moment, a silent standoff, where it seemed Flash might escalate the situation.


    But then, something unusual at Midtown happened.


    Flash backed down.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered, the word laced with frustration. He shot Peter a final, warning look. ¡°This isn¡¯t over, Parker.¡±


    With one last glare at Tyson, Flash turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd, his friends trailing after him. The circle of spectators broke up as the excitement of the confrontation passed, leaving Tyson with Peter, who was slowly gathering his books.


    Tyson extended a hand, offering a small, reassuring smile. ¡°You alright, Peter?¡±


    Peter looked up, a mix of gratitude and surprise in his eyes behind those slightly skewed glasses. He took Tyson¡¯s hand and pulled himself up. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m okay. Thanks, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°Tyson,¡± he filled in, still holding Peter¡¯s gaze, ensuring his sincerity was evident.


    ¡°Thanks, Tyson,¡± Peter repeated. He glanced away for a second, awkwardly adjusting his glasses, before adding, ¡°You didn¡¯t have to, you know, step in. But I¡¯m glad you did.¡±


    Tyson gave a slight shrug, "I couldn''t just stand there and watch," he said. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added, "Plus, it was a pretty good way to make an entrance on my first day, don''t you think?"


    Peter laughed, the sound light and relieving, pushing away the last remnants of tension in the air. "You''re not wrong," he admitted. "So, you''re new here? I haven''t seen you around before."


    "It''s my first day," Tyson confirmed, "And by the looks of it, just in time, huh?"


    Peter''s gaze drifted to where Tyson had gestured, landing on the motorcycle parked a short distance away. His eyes widened behind his glasses. "That''s yours?!" he asked, a note of incredulity mixed with admiration in his voice. "Your parents let you ride that?"


    A shadow passed over Tyson''s features, his smile fading slightly. "My parents aren¡¯t around," he said simply.


    Understanding flashed in Peter''s eyes, and his expression softened. He of all people knew the pain of not having parents around, the gaping absence that was left in everyday life. "I get it," he said sincerely. "I lost my parents too. I live with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben."


    For a moment, the air between them was charged with a mutual understanding.


    "Looks like we have more in common than I thought, Peter Parker," Tyson said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.


    Tyson clapped a hand on Peter¡¯s shoulder, ¡°There''s strength in numbers.¡± he said, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°I helped you up. Maybe you can repay the favor and help me find my first-period class.¡±


    Peter chuckled, and just like that, the air around them felt lighter. As the bell rang in the distance, signaling the start of the school day, Tyson was thankful that he arrived just at the right time. He hadn¡¯t just made a grand entrance, he might have also made an important friend.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The room was alive with teenage energy. Students milled around, chatting about everything from the latest school gossip to their favorite video games. But all that white noise faded into the background as the teacher, Mrs. Morita, a woman of short stature but undeniable authority, clapped her hands sharply. The sound silenced the cacophony as if she¡¯d flipped a switch.


    ¡°Alright, everyone, settle down. We¡¯re assigning lab partners today. This is Chemistry, not a social hour,¡± Mrs. Morita announced. As she began pairing off students, Tyson took the opportunity to look around, his eyes taking in the lab stations, the safety posters plastered on the walls, and his classmates. ¡°Tyson Smith, you¡¯re with Gwen Stacy,¡± Mrs. Morita said, not looking up from her clipboard.


    A girl detached herself from a nearby group. Her blonde hair was secured in a neat ponytail, her blue eyes bright with intelligence, ¡°I¡¯m Gwen,¡± she introduced herself, offering a hand with a courteous smile.


    ¡°Tyson,¡± he replied while shaking. Wearing leather gloves in class may have been unusual, but Tyson making skin contact would¡¯ve been far more problematic.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    As they settled into their assigned task, Tyson¡¯s first impression of Gwen was she was brilliant, handling their chemistry assignment with deftness and understanding. He watched as she skillfully measured and poured, her hands steady, her attention detailed.


    ¡°Man, I just got through Physics, and now this,¡± Tyson couldn¡¯t help but mutter, half to himself, as he attempted to follow her lead with his brows knitting together in concentration.


    Gwen glanced up with a polite smile, ¡°It¡¯s a lot, I know. But you¡¯ll get the hang of it. Chemistry can be tough, but it¡¯s not impossible. Here, you¡¯re adding too much of the reagent. Try to level it off a bit, like this,¡± she demonstrated.


    Tyson managed a decent attempt at mimicking her. ¡°Thanks, Gwen.¡±


    ¡°No problem, Tyson,¡± she replied, that earnest smile still on her face. Then, her tone shifted, ¡°You know, I saw what you did this morning. With Peter.¡± Gwen held an approving expression as she continued, ¡°That was brave. Flash isn¡¯t exactly...easy, to stand up to. But you did it anyway. Not a lot of people would¡¯ve done that.¡±


    He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, ¡°Couldn¡¯t just stand there, you know?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you did,¡± Gwen said earnestly, her focus returning to their assignment but her words lingering in the air between them.


    The conversation ebbed and flowed after that. Gwen wasn¡¯t just the smartest girl in the room; she was kind, empathetic, and just. As the bell eventually rang, signaling the end of class; Tyson packed up his things. He shot Gwen a grateful smile, receiving an encouraging one in return.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The hallway after his third period was like an ocean, with waves of chatter. Locker doors slammed, punctuated by the laughter and shouts of teenagers. Tyson found himself swept up in the current of students, all hurrying to their next destination. He was surrounded by faces in the crowd, none standing out until he saw¡­ her.


    She was like a monochrome siren. Her white hair flowed freely down her back as though it refused to be tamed. Her black clothes were simple yet bold. It wasn¡¯t just her appearance that caught Tyson¡¯s attention; it was the way she moved. There was a deliberateness in her step, a silent confidence that bordered on predatory. She was a panther among housecats, and she knew it.


    Their eyes locked, and the clamor around them seemed to mute. ¡°Felicia,¡± she said when they were close enough. Her voice wasn¡¯t loud, but it didn¡¯t need to be. It had the kind of pitch that demanded to be heard, clear and strong yet inexplicably intimate, as though her words were meant for him and him alone.


    ¡°Tyson,¡± he responded, his name feeling somewhat plain as it left his lips. He found himself wishing he had something more interesting to say, caught up in her presence.


    A small, cryptic smile played on her lips as if she were privy to a secret that he wasn¡¯t aware he¡¯d shared. ¡°I saw what you did this morning,¡± she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. ¡°That was...unexpected. Especially for the new guy.¡±


    He shrugged, ¡°Just seemed like the right thing to do.¡±


    "Oh," she expressed in mock surprise, her eyes gleaming with amusement while a playful grin formed. "A knight in shining armor type... That''s a bold move. You''re already the talk of the town. Not here to just blend in, are you, Tyson?"


    He chuckled, a short, dry sound, and shook his head. ¡°No more than you are, it seems.¡±


    Felicia¡¯s smile widened by a fraction, acknowledging his point. ¡°True. I guess it takes one to know one.¡±


    The bell chose that moment to ring, its shrill sound signaling the end of their brief interlude and the need to move on to their next classes. The spell broke, and the noise of the hallway crashed back into Tyson¡¯s awareness like a tidal wave reclaiming the shore.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you around then,¡± Felicia said. It wasn¡¯t a question, nor was it a simple statement. It was an assurance. With a final, inscrutable look, Felicia turned and merged back into the student body flowing through the hallway. She weaved through the crowd until she was out of sight.


    Tyson stood there for a few seconds longer, the echo of her words lingering in his mind. With a deep breath, he readjusted his backpack and headed to his next class, her enigmatic smile imprinted in his thoughts.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson had been looking for the cafeteria and found himself pushing open a door to the sound of overly impassioned dialogue. Inside, on the stage, was a girl with fiery red hair and an energy that seemed to captivate her classmates.


    She was running lines with another student. The moment he stepped inside, the scene paused, and her eyes found Tyson in the doorway. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the new guy, right? ¡± Caught off guard, Tyson could only nod. The redhead beamed. ¡°I¡¯m MJ. You should join the drama club. We could use someone who¡¯s not afraid of the spotlight.¡±


    Her invitation was impulsive and sincere, and though Tyson didn¡¯t see himself on stage, he couldn¡¯t help but smile at her enthusiasm. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± he promised.


    He made his way back outside the auditorium and continued walking until he stumbled upon Peter. ¡°There¡¯s someone I want you to meet,¡± Peter said. He pointed down the hallway at a boy dressed in a casual ensemble that somehow screamed designer, from the effortless drape of his jacket to the pristine quality of his shoes. His hair was a tidy mess, likely styled to appear unintentional, and though he was engrossed in something on his phone, there was an undeniable air of isolation about him.


    ¡°That¡¯s Harry,¡± Peter explained, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though it didn¡¯t quite mask the worry in his eyes. ¡°Harry Osborn.¡±


    As they approached, Harry looked up, his expression transforming from one of distracted interest to a warm, welcoming grin. Harry quickly sized Tyson up before extending a hand in greeting, ¡°Harry Osborn.¡±


    ¡°Tyson Smith,¡± he replied, accepting the handshake. ¡°Good to meet you.¡±


    ¡°You too, man. Heard you made quite a scene this morning. Flash is all bark and no bite, but I guess you figured that out already,¡± Harry chuckled, though the laughter didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Students shuffled into the gymnasium for physical education. The moment Tyson entered the gym, his eyes were inexorably drawn to the figure standing center-court. Her hair was a cascade of auburn curls that fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and flawless, save for a few almost imperceptible lines that creased momentarily when she scanned her surroundings. Her attire clung to her in a way that managed to be both modest and revealing. The form-fitting nature of her white top and black leggings highlighted a physique that was lean, almost dancer-like in its contours, but Tyson could see the latent strength that resided in her limbs. Her eyes were a striking shade of green. They flicked across the students, assessing with the kind of gaze that seemed to penetrate and analyze one''s very essence. Even when her lips curled into a professional smile, her eyes retained a watchful light.


    When she walked over toward the gathered students, there was an economy to her movements, nothing wasted. Seeing her, Tyson''s senses didn''t just take in a woman of striking beauty; they acknowledged a human weapon in gym teacher''s attire. This was a facade, a guise worn as comfortably as her skin, but as Tyson well knew, appearances could be deceiving.


    She introduced herself with a smile that didn''t quite meet her eyes, maintaining a cool professional demeanor. "Good afternoon, everyone. I''m Ms. Natalie Rushman, and I''ll be guiding your physical education sessions for the foreseeable future."


    Tyson''s heart didn''t so much skip a beat as it did freeze entirely. He knew her, not as Natalie Rushman, but as Natasha Romanoff, also known as the Black Widow. Every alarm bell in his head went off at the realization that one of the most formidable spies and assassins was here, in Midtown High, masquerading as a gym teacher. The question that pounded in his skull was, why?


    "We''re playing dodgeball today," Natalie announced, and the groans and cheers alike couldn''t disguise the students'' curiosity about her, their whispers swirling around the gym. "I''ll participate to balance the teams."


    The game unfolded, and Natalie, Natasha, was nothing short of a spectacle. She displayed an almost surreal agility, dodging and throwing with a precision that hinted at her true, lethal skill set. The gym buzzed with whispers and wide-eyed glances as "Natalie Rushman" showcased moves that made even the most athletic students gawk. Flash Thompson sauntered up to her, a smug grin plastered on his face.


    "Hey, Miss Rushman," Flash drawled, puffing out his chest. "Need a partner for a demonstration? I¡¯m pretty skilled myself."


    Natalie turned to him, "That won¡¯t be necessary," she replied coolly, her voice carrying enough firmness to hush the murmuring students.


    Flash Thompson seemed to take her denial as a challenge. "Bet you¡¯ve never had a student as athletic as me," he declared as he puffed out his chest.


    Natalie looked at Flash, unimpressed, then turned her gaze directly to Tyson, who stood a distance away. "Actually," There was an undeniable softening in her eyes as she said, "I see more talent in him." Her voice held a hint of... Respect, or maybe Fondness? It was hard to pinpoint, but it was there when she referred to Tyson.


    Murmurs erupted among the students as Flash¡¯s smirk faltered, his bravado deflating faster than a punctured balloon. Tyson, suddenly conscious of every pair of eyes on him, found himself analyzing her unexpected response. Red-faced and embarrassed, Flash skulked back to his friends, while the other students struggled to hide their giggles.


    But Tyson couldn''t fully focus on the game. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of Black Widow''s presence. Peter hadn''t become Spider-Man yet. This morning¡¯s altercation with Flash made that clear. So, she wasn''t here for a friendly neighborhood superhero chat. That left one unsettling option.


    She was here for him.


    But why? Was SHIELD now keeping tabs on him through one of their top operatives?


    After the class, as the students filed out of the gym, Natalie approached Tyson. His enhanced sense of smell picked up her subtle, natural fragrance. Rich leather, exotic spices, and a cool wisp of winter air, all intertwined with the faintest trace of gunpowder. Her gaze was inscrutable, and she spoke with casual praise, "You have good moves, Tyson. But your instincts could use a little work."


    Struggling to keep his voice even, Tyson replied, "Thanks. I¡¯ll keep that in mind. You''re pretty impressive yourself."


    A flicker of amusement crossed her features. "I''ve had my share of practice." She held his gaze, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "I look forward to seeing what else you can do," she added. Her tone was light but the undercurrents were deep. It wasn''t a mere statement; it was a warning, one that should have gone over Tyson¡¯s head, but with his meta-knowledge, it gave away her purpose in the school.


    She then moved away to attend her next class, leaving Tyson grappling with his thoughts. The presence of the Black Widow in his school complicated things. As he left the gym, Tyson''s mind was abuzz with the most nagging question being, what game was SHIELD playing at Midtown High? How did he end up on their radar? Was it because of his mutant ability, or maybe he screwed up during the heist.


    Fuck.


    He definitely screwed up during the heist.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The school gradually grew quiet as students dispersed, each to their destination. Peter, with a hesitant but genuine smile, turned to Tyson. "So, um, you want to come over for dinner? My Aunt May''s not half bad in the kitchen," he offered. There was a lightness in his tone to mask the underlying sincerity.


    Tyson was surprised but touched by the invitation, and accepted. They hailed a cab, and the ride was filled with the kind of easy chatter that newly minted friends share. The cab rolled to a stop in front of a quaint, well-kept house. Peter paid the fare, and they headed toward the entrance. The door opened before they reached it, revealing a woman whose smile was as kind as her eyes.


    "Peter. And who''s this?" Aunt May greeted, her voice lilting with pleasant surprise.


    "This is Tyson, Aunt May. He''s new to the school," Peter introduced.


    "Pleasure to meet you, ma''am," Tyson said, extending a hand politely.


    "Oh, none of that ''ma''am'' business," Aunt May chided gently, "Come in, come in. Dinner''s just about ready. You''re in time to save Peter from his cooking duties."


    They laughed, and Tyson felt an unexpected pang of... was it longing? But he pushed it aside as they entered the house. The aroma of a home-cooked meal wafted through invitingly.


    They settled at the dinner table, where a man with a friendly face and a gentle demeanor joined them. Tyson immediately recognized Uncle Ben.


    "So, Tyson, what brings you to our part of the city?" Uncle Ben inquired, passing the mashed potatoes.


    "I had difficulties at my last school up in West Chester. I was lucky enough to get accepted to Midtown, so I made the commute over from Manhattan. It¡¯s not too bad, only twenty-five minutes or so." Tyson replied.


    "And how are you finding things? Settling in okay at school?" Aunt May asked, concern tinting her words.


    Tyson glanced at Peter, sharing a look that held the weight of today''s events. "It''s been an... interesting first day."


    Both Aunt May and Uncle Ben caught the undertone but chose to let it lie, understanding that some stories weren''t meant to be told at the dinner table. Instead, they shared stories of their own, filling the meal with a sense of unity that Tyson hadn¡¯t realized he''d been missing.


    The night had settled when Tyson eventually left. He¡¯d met Peter Parker and his family, but it wasn¡¯t the Peter he¡¯d expected. Add in the presence of Mary Jane Watson, Gwen Stacy, Felicia Hardy, and the Black Widow, and Tyson wasn¡¯t sure what he knew anymore.

 Arc 4 - Ch 2: Oscorp Field Trip

    Date: Friday, September 10, 2010.


    Location: Oscorp, Manhattan, New York


    Midtown High''s students spilled from the school buses and gathered in front of Oscorp''s towering skyscraper. The tide of students parted around Tyson''s large frame. Peter stood in front of him, safe in his wake from being dragged along with the crowd. Both of them craned their necks to take in the building that stretched ambitiously toward the sky.


    "It''s bigger than I thought, the pictures don''t do it justice," Peter commented, his voice barely audible over the clamor of the gathered students and the distant, ever-present hum of the city.


    "That''s what she said," Tyson mumbled, amused.


    It was then that a luxury car pulled up to the curb. The doors opened, and out stepped Harry Osborn, looking as privileged as his name suggested, followed by his father, Norman Osborn. The senior Osborn was a figure straight out of the magazines; confident, imposing, and with an aura that commanded attention.


    "Peter Parker," he declared more than asked, extending his hand in a firm handshake. The familiarity took Peter slightly aback. He''d met Norman Osborne previously, as he and Harry had been friends for years, but Peter hadn''t seen Norman since middle school. He had not expected the magnate to recognize him, let alone remember his name.


    "Yes, sir," Peter responded, a bit flustered but managing to grip the offered hand.


    "Harry tells me you''re quite the science whiz. You know, I''m something of a scientist myself," Norman remarked with a hint of pride in his voice, his smile broadening yet not fully reaching his eyes.


    "I read all your nanotechnology research. It''s brilliant," Peter admired, his respect for the man''s work evident in his tone The nervousness he initially felt began to ebb away in the face of his scientific passion.


    "And you understood it?" Norman teased lightly, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Like father, like son." Norman''s gaze then slid over to Tyson, taking in his stature with a businessman''s assessing eye. "And you are?"


    "Tyson, sir," he replied, offering a gloved hand that Norman shook firmly.


    "A strong grip," Norman observed. The CEO''s eyes momentarily flicked down to their handshake. He remarked, "You might be the biggest high school kid I''ve ever seen."


    Tyson chuckled, unperturbed by the frank assessment. "Yeah, maybe I should put it to use, maybe play Football or get a job as a bouncer," he joked.


    Norman''s lips twitched into a smile, "Tell you what, I''ll have someone from Security find you before your field trip is over. If we have lab interns at Oscorp, there''s no reason we can''t have Security interns."


    "Really?" Tyson was surprised by the unexpected offer.


    "Absolutely," Norman confirmed, "Welcome to Oscorp. Enjoy your tour."


    As Norman moved away to address some waiting executives, Harry, Peter, and Tyson joined the throng of students as they began to move toward the entrance, funneled along by their teachers and Oscorp staff.


    As they crossed the threshold into the building, Tyson couldn''t help but smile at what was coming... Assuming his memories of this field trip held. As the doors of Oscorp closed behind them, sealing them off from the rest of New York, Tyson was ready for the show.


    The students of Midtown High crowded into the lobby of Oscorp. They were all whispers and wide eyes as they took in the tower. However, the buzzing halted when a young woman stepped forward. Clad in a crisp white lab coat that contrasted with her neatly tied-back blonde hair, Gwen Stacy greeted them. ¡°Welcome to Oscorp,¡± Gwen¡¯s voice cut through the murmurs, commanding attention. The badge on her coat marked her not as a student, but a lab intern. ¡°I''m Gwen Stacy, the head intern here, and I''ll be guiding you through today''s tour.¡±


    Tyson nudged Peter lightly, ¡°That¡¯s my chemistry lab partner.¡±


    Peter just smiled. Unlike Tyson, he''d been at Midtown long enough to know of Gwen''s intelligence. But seeing her outside of school, with a position at a leading technology company, elevated his respect for her to another level.


    The group''s first stop was a place that brimmed with the kind of advanced science you only read about in textbooks or saw in sci-fi films. The room was a collection of high-tech equipment, from robotic arms handling DNA samples to computer screens displaying complex genetic data.


    ¡°Oscorp¡¯s leading the world in cross-species genetics,¡± Gwen said with enthusiasm in her voice, ¡°Pioneering studies into combining the DNA of different organisms.¡±


    The tour took them through various exhibits and departments, each new area unveiling another layer of Oscorp¡¯s contribution to science. They saw advanced robotics, renewable energies, and more. As the tour continued, Peter¡¯s anticipation built; they were heading to the laboratory of the renowned Dr. Curt Connors, one of the lead scientists at Oscorp. He practically buzzed with excitement. The students huddled into the department heralded by a crisp sign.


    Department of Genetics, Bioengineering, and Cellular Studies.


    Gwen''s voice broke through the mounting whispers. "Everyone, this is Dr. Curt Connors, Director of GBCS. He''s one of the brightest minds here at Oscorp and a pioneer in his field."


    Dr. Connors, a tall man with a kind face and wearing a lab coat over his one-armed frame, greeted them with a warm, albeit tired smile. "Welcome, everyone. I''m excited to share with you a fraction of the work we do here." The group settled into a semi-circle around him. ¡°Our department,¡± Dr. Connors began, sweeping his hand in a half-circle, a clear gesture encompassing the realm of his life''s work, ¡°is at the forefront of exploring the human genome, understanding its secrets, and pushing the boundaries of what we know about our very existence.¡± He pointed around the laboratory as he spoke, gesturing at the various stations. Each featured cutting-edge technology that seemed ripped straight from the future. There were machines sequencing DNA, microscopes showing magnified cells, and in a secure glass case, a model of a DNA helix. ¡°We¡¯re not just studying genetics in a traditional sense,¡± Dr. Connors continued. His voice was a mix of passion and scholarly wisdom. ¡°We¡¯re looking at bioengineering, the science of altering the genetic makeup for beneficial traits, combating diseases, and potentially, improving human capabilities.¡±


    The students listened, focused on the expert. Tyson glanced over at Peter, noticing the furrow of his brows, and the tilt of his head.


    ¡°And cellular studies,¡± Dr. Connors went on, oblivious to Tyson¡¯s distraction and Peter''s brewing questions, ¡°allow us to delve into cloning, understanding cellular regeneration, and possibly answering one of the biggest questions. Can we replicate human cells effectively and ethically? Imagine being able to copy healthy cells to replace diseased ones, or regenerate lost limbs.¡± His gaze inadvertently dropped to his missing arm, and the room fell into a sympathetic silence. ¡°Anyway,¡± he cleared his throat, redirecting the focus, ¡°the implications of our work are vast, affecting medicine, technology, and even the environment.¡±


    His speech drew to a close amidst a murmur of thoughtful hums and light applause. The students were then given free rein to explore the equipment and speak with the scientists. The lab was a hubbub of curious students exploring every crevice and contraption. Peter, however, stood apart, his gaze trailing Dr. Connors as the scientist retreated to his office. Tyson caught the glint of longing in Peter¡¯s eyes.


    Tyson asked, ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    Peter responded, ¡°I was hoping to speak with Doctor Connors.¡± His expression shifted to one of disappointment.


    Without another word, Tyson clasped Peter''s arm, steering him through the throng until they reached Gwen. She was in her element, yet still exuded an aura of approachability. "Hey, lab buddy!" Tyson greeted with an easy grin, trying to sound as charming as possible.


    Gwen looked up, her expression brightening in recognition. "Tyson. What¡¯s up?"


    "This is Peter," Tyson gestured, though it was clear the two already knew each other from the subtle acknowledgment in their eyes.


    "Hey, Peter," Gwen smiled, then her attention shifted back to Tyson, "What can I do for you guys?"


    Tyson looked into Gwen¡¯s eyes before leaning in slightly, "Actually, I was hoping for a favor. Peter here is dying to meet Dr. Connors personally. Any chance you could introduce him?"


    Gwen hesitated, biting her lip. "I don''t know, guys. Dr. Connors is really busy¡ª"


    "Please?" Tyson interjected, putting on his best pleading face, while Peter''s own mirrored a similar sentiment.


    With a sigh, Gwen capitulated. "Okay, fine¡­ But for the record, you¡¯re too big to make puppy dog eyes. Make it quick, alright?"


    Tyson replied, ¡°Big dogs are puppies too.¡±


    Gwen shot back, ¡°And that¡¯s the only reason I¡¯m going along with this.¡±


    She led them to Dr. Connors'' office, knocking politely before entering. "Dr. Connors? Sorry to disturb you, but there''s someone here who''s very eager to meet you."


    Dr. Connors, seated at his desk, looked up and adjusted his glasses. "Oh? And who might that be?"


    Peter stepped forward, a little nervously. "Hi, Dr. Connors. I''m Peter Parker. I''m a huge admirer of your work."


    The scientist''s face softened into a smile. "Is that so? And what particularly interests you, Peter?"


    "Everything, sir. But especially your research into cross-species genetics. It''s... well, it''s brilliant," Peter''s voice held a reverence, his enthusiasm barely contained.


    "Thank you, Peter," Dr. Connors replied, genuinely pleased. "It''s not often I meet young people so passionate about our work."


    Tyson piped up, "Parker''s the top of our class, Dr. Connors. Super smart."


    Gwen couldn''t help herself. "Second, actually," she interjected with a playful smirk.


    "Second?" Tyson raised an eyebrow, then shot a questioning look at Gwen, "Then who''s¡ª"


    She just gave him a look, a silent, proud, ''obviously''.


    "Oh," Tyson laughed, "Right."


    The word "Parker" seemed to echo in Dr. Connors'' mind, reverberating against his memories. He peered more intently at Peter, recognition dawning on his face like the slow creep of sunrise. "Parker," he repeated, his voice was softer, almost distant. "Your parents... Richard and Mary Parker. I worked with them."


    Peter''s heart skipped a beat, his breath held captive. "It¡¯s true then. The picture wasn''t just a one-time staged photo.¡± he said, more to himself than Connors, before asking, ¡°You knew my parents?"


    "Yes," Dr. Connors nodded, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "Brilliant scientists, both of them. They were pioneers in their field before... before they disappeared." The air in the room grew thick. Tyson, sensing the weight of the moment for his new friend, squeezed Peter''s shoulder in silent support. Dr. Connors continued, his voice took a faraway tone as if lost in memories, "I remember you as a child, Peter. You had your mother''s eyes."


    Peter swallowed, emotions tangled. As he prodded, "My parents¡­¡± Peter recalled Norman Osbron mentioning his father earlier, ¡°...they worked here?"


    "On special projects," Dr. Connors confirmed. "Much of the foundation of what we do in cross-species genetics was laid by your father. He was onto something groundbreaking."


    The conversation drifted naturally to Dr. Connors'' current research, and his aspirations to use genetics for regenerative medicine, potentially even limb regeneration, inspired by his condition. Peter listened, enraptured, every word pulling him deeper into a world his parents had once inhabited.


    That''s when Peter''s gaze fell on the formula dominating Connor¡¯s office. He recognized the sequence of symbols. "That formula," Peter interrupted suddenly, his voice urgent, "I''ve seen it before." Dr. Connors and Gwen turned, following his stare at the complex equation on the whiteboard. "It''s... it''s my father''s work, isn''t it?" Peter''s fingers were almost touching the scribbled numbers, his eyes bright with intensity.


    Dr. Connors observed him, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yes, it was one of Richard''s theoretical formulas. But it''s never been completed."


    Without a second thought, Peter grabbed a marker from Dr. Connors'' desk. And then, in front of a stunned Dr. Connors and an astounded Gwen, Peter completed the sequence. The marker squeaked against the board as he scribbled, the sound punctuating the silence that enveloped the room.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Dr. Connors was the first to speak, breaking the hush that had fallen. "Incredible," he murmured, inspecting the formula as if seeing a ghost from the past.


    Gwen was next, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "How did you do that, Peter?"


    Peter lowered the marker, his chest heaving lightly from the adrenaline. "It''s been in my house all along. My dad solved the formula."


    For a long moment, no one spoke. The gravity of the revelation, the bridging of past and present, hung heavily around them.


    Dr. Connors finally turned to Peter with a serious look on his face. "Peter, thank you. This... this could change everything."


    Tyson clapped Peter on the back, a proud grin on his face. He addressed Dr. Connors, ¡°You know you can¡¯t use this without paying Peter right? It¡¯s his solution.¡±


    Connor¡¯s voice held a promise, "Of course not. I''ll be in touch, Peter."


    As they exited the office, Gwen resumed her role as guide. When they rejoined the tour, she continued to explain the intricacies of Oscorp''s work. But her glances towards Peter held a new light, one of deep respect and a hint of wonder.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The students filed into a large, open lab. Eyes were wide, some in fear, others in intrigue as they took in the rows of glass enclosures, each housing a spider. The genetically-engineered arachnids displayed an array of colors and patterns as they clung to their webs. Gwen began explaining the breakthroughs Oscorp had achieved with these creatures.


    Peter, however, had drifted to the front, his fascination transparent. "You know some spiders can change colors to blend into their environment," he shared, more to himself but loud enough for others to hear. "It''s a defense mechanism."


    Harry, leaning against a table, rolled his eyes in disinterest. "Peter, what would make you think I wanted to know that?" he asked, though there was no real malice in his words.


    Peter was too absorbed to respond. His attention remained fixed on the spiders as he continued, "Some spiders even have super strength relative to their size, and others have a venom that can be adapted for advanced medical treatments."


    Gwen smiled at Peter''s enthusiasm, then directed everyone''s attention to a scientist who began a more detailed lecture about the genetic enhancements they''d introduced into the spiders.


    One sharp-eyed student, squinting at the enclosures, interrupted. "Isn''t one missing? There are supposed to be thirteen."


    The scientist barely skipped a beat, more perturbed by the interruption than the missing spider. "One of our colleagues is likely conducting some tests. Nothing to worry about."


    The explanation seemed to satisfy everyone, and the lecture resumed.


    In a rare instance where Peter''s mind was not focused on science, his eyes drifted to where Mary Jane stood fixated on the spiders. A sly grin crossed Harry¡¯s face. He said to Peter, ¡°You should talk to her.¡±


    Peter challenged, ¡°You go talk to her.¡± Surprisingly, Harry pushed off the table and approached Mary Jane confidently.


    "Did you know," Harry began, "that some spiders can change colors to blend in? It''s a defense mechanism."


    Mary Jane turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "Really? That''s... interesting."


    "Yeah," Harry continued. Peter watched the exchange from a few feet away with a sinking heart. "And some even have like, super strength."


    Before Harry could continue, their teacher''s sharp voice cut through the room. "Mr. Osborn. Do we need to review proper etiquette during lectures?"


    Harry straightened, caught. "No, sir," he mumbled.


    The eyes of the group were now on him, a few students snickering under their breath as Harry was brought to a corner of the lab to be chastised. The teacher''s voice could be heard even though they stepped away, ¡°Just because your name is on the building, isn''t an excuse to be rude.¡±


    Tyson meandered away from the group, his eyes scanning the lab. Amongst the high-tech equipment, he found what he was looking for. A small box of unused vials and a collection of stoppers. With his acquisition in hand, he positioned himself at an elevated area with a clear view of the whole room. He decided to just stand back and observe the iconic moment¡­ and bide his time.


    Meanwhile, Peter mustered up the courage, camera in hand. "MJ, could I get a picture? For the school paper?" he asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.


    Mary Jane looked surprised but then agreed with a hesitant smile. "Sure, Peter."


    The first few shots were awkward, Mary Jane was unsure how to pose with the glass enclosures of spiders. Yet, as Peter''s camera clicked away, she warmed up. Her poses became more natural, even playful.


    "Great! That''s really good," Peter encouraged, his own nervousness abating with each photo. Yet he still hid behind the camera.


    Just then, one of Mary Jane''s friends came bounding over. "MJ, you have to come see this!" she exclaimed, grabbing Mary Jane''s arm and pulling her away, leaving Peter alone with the camera still raised.


    Tyson saw it all from his vantage point. His focus, however, shifted when a tiny movement caught his enhanced sight. It was a spider, but not just any spider. It was the genetically engineered spider that had been pointed out as missing earlier. Its blue and red hues were vibrant, almost pulsing.


    This was it. The moment Tyson had been waiting for.


    As if in slow motion, Tyson observed the arachnid descend gracefully from its web above, lowering itself via a silken strand directly toward Peter, who was oblivious, still looking at the photos he''d just taken.


    Tyson watched with eager anticipation.


    The spider landed softly on the back of Peter''s hand. For a split second, it seemed as if nothing would happen. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, the spider bit down.


    Peter''s reaction was immediate. His hand whipped back from the sharp sensation. The camera nearly slipped from his grasp as a surprised yelp escaped his lips. He stared at the tiny red mark on his skin, then up at the space where the spider had been, now empty.


    "What the¡ª?" Peter began, but the spider was already scurrying away, having avoided his notice. The commotion had drawn a few curious looks, but the tour continued. Peter wasn¡¯t popular enough for his outburst to hold the group¡¯s attention.


    In the immediate aftermath of Peter''s bite, Tyson''s entire focus was locked onto the spider. While it had evaded Peter''s notice, Tyson channeled his predatory nature and focused on his prey. Its vibrant blue and red hues stood out starkly in his enhanced vision as it scurried away, attempting an escape. However, with Tyson''s senses, it couldn''t hope to disappear; he tracked it as it darted across the lab floor.


    As Tyson moved to intercept it, he cloaked himself in an illusion so as to not draw attention. The spider suddenly altered its course, rapidly ascending another student''s leg. This girl, unaware of the tiny creature scaling her, continued her conversation with a friend. Before Tyson could intervene, the spider bit her, just as it had Peter. The girl flinched, her hand shooting to the spot on her leg where the spider had struck. But she wasn''t fast enough to hit the spider. She missed, and it fell toward the floor anchored by an invisible thread.


    Seizing his chance, Tyson approached quickly, but carefully and precise with his movements.  He caught the spider in the vial as it drifted toward the floor. Securing the stopper, Tyson slid the vial with the captured spider into his pocket.


    Tyson approached the girl who had slapped her leg. He walked over and spoke to her just as she was recovering.


    The girl was slender, with long dark hair. Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she laughed at something her friend said once she recovered from the sting of the bite.


    "You okay?" Tyson asked, his deep voice laced with concern.


    She looked up at him, her initial surprise at his towering presence quickly melted into an easy smile. "Yeah, I''m fine. Thanks," she replied, rubbing her leg absently. "You¡¯re the new guy, right? I''m Cindy."


    "Tyson¡­" he responded simply, eyeing the spot where the spider had bitten her.


    "You''re big, Tyson," Cindy remarked, a playful note in her voice. "Do you know how to skate?"


    "Skate? Like, Ice skating? Dunno, Never been," Tyson admitted.


    "Too bad. We could use you on the hockey team," she said with a wistful sigh. "You''d make a great defenseman, just standing there like a wall."


    Despite the situation, Tyson chuckled. "My ex-girlfriend said I should try hockey."


    "Welp, that¡¯s awkward,¡± Cindy said after a pause, taking a step back. "See you around."


    With that, she turned and rejoined her friends, leaving Tyson to consider the spider in his pocket and the event that had just unfolded.


    As the group lingered, a security guard approached Tyson. The guard¡¯s expression was professional but not unkind. The students fell silent, their eyes darting between Tyson and the guard, whispers tracing the edges of the crowd. They seemed to expect a confrontation of some kind. However, Tyson calmly followed the guard without protest. He was led through a series of corridors until they reached the epicenter of Oscorp''s security. It was a space filled with monitors displaying every inch of the Oscorp building. In the center sat a stern-looking man. His sharp eyes flicked from screen to screen until they were drawn by Tyson''s entrance.


    "Tyson, this is Mr. Gargan, head of security," the guard introduced.


    "Nice to meet you," Tyson greeted, offering a hand which he shook firmly.


    "Mr. Osborn mentioned you might be interested in an intern position here," Mr. Gargan began without preamble. "What makes you a good fit for our security team?"


    Tyson stood tall. "I''m a fast learner, and I don''t scare easy. Plus, I''ve got a good sense of when things aren''t right."


    Gargan studied him for a moment before a slight smile cracked his professional facade. "You certainly have the physical qualifications," he conceded. "You''re a student, but you could still learn something on the afternoon or night shift. How''s that sound?"


    "Night shift works for me," Tyson agreed promptly. "I''ve got school during the day, and I train at Chikara Dojo in the afternoons."


    "You do martial arts?" he raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed.


    Tyson answered, "I have some training in fighting and firearms, but I recently took up eastern martial arts."


    "Good. You''ll start with security training as soon as you can get in. We''ll ease you into it," Mr. Gargan decided, handing him a badge with the Oscorp logo on it. "Welcome to Oscorp security, Tyson Smith."


    Accepting the badge, a slow smile spread across Tyson''s face. "Thanks, Mr. Gargan. I appreciate the opportunity."


    As he left the security office, badge in hand, Tyson felt a sense of accomplishment. He''d pocketed the spider that bit Peter Parker. And landing a security internship gave him a foothold in Oscorp, and hopefully, a way to keep an eye on things from the inside. Plus, with his limited need for sleep, the late-night shift was perfect. And as an intern, he could set his own schedule and fly under the radar.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As the engines of the school buses hummed, ready to depart, Tyson squeezed through the throng of students to find Peter pale-faced, swaying like a branch in the wind. Peter''s hands missed the railings repeatedly as he tried to climb the stairs inside the bus.


    "Peter, you don''t look so good," Tyson commented as he steadied Peter with a firm hand.


    "I...I don''t feel so great," Peter confessed. The weakness was as prevalent in his voice as it was in his body as he leaned heavily against his friend.


    The teacher approached with a frown. "What''s going on here? Why aren''t you getting on the bus?"


    "Peter is sick," Tyson explained, quick thinking kicking in. "I think he''s gonna hurl. It''s better if he doesn''t do that on the bus, right?"


    The teacher''s nose wrinkled at the thought. "Well, we can''t just¡ª"


    Tyson''s eyes flashed as he made eye contact with the teacher.


    Suddenly he had a cell phone in his hand. He held it out for the teacher. "It''s okay, I''ve got his Aunt May on the line," Tyson interjected, "She says I can take him home."


    "Oh, well, if Aunt May says it''s okay," the teacher relented, albeit still hesitant.


    She put the cell phone to her ear. Aunt May¡¯s voice came through clearly. The teacher gave Tyson the phone back


    She said, "Make sure he gets home safely, Tyson."


    "You got it, ma''am," Tyson nodded, supporting Peter''s weight more fully now.


    They moved away, and Tyson hailed a cab, helping the staggering Peter inside. Peter mumbled what might have been a thank you, his head lolling against the seat. The city blurred past them as Tyson kept a steady arm around Peter, whose quick and shallow breaths revealed his discomfort.


    "Hang in there, man," Tyson urged softly, "I got you."


    Peter''s home came into view, and Tyson paid the driver before helping his friend to the door. With one arm supporting Peter, his other grabbing the keys Peter handed him, Tyson managed to get them inside. The worry was palpable in Aunt May and Uncle Ben''s eyes as Tyson half-carried a listless Peter through the front door. "What happened?" Aunt May fretted, rushing to Peter''s other side.


    "I¡¯m just sick," Peter croaked weakly, trying to muster a reassuring smile but failing. "Need some sleep, that''s all."


    Tyson nodded in agreement, adding, "Yeah, it was a close call in the taxi. Thought he was gonna hurl." His tone was light, attempting to inject some levity into the situation.


    Together, though mostly through Tyson¡¯s efforts, they maneuvered Peter up the stairs and into his bedroom. Peter collapsed onto the bed with a groan, his energy completely sapped. Tyson, acting like an honorary family member, took the initiative to get a glass of water and some aspirin. He set them on the nightstand, within Peter''s easy reach.


    "Thanks," Peter mumbled, his clarity momentarily returning.


    "No problem, dude. Just get some rest," Tyson replied.


    "Will do," Peter breathed out, his eyes already closed, just giving a weak thumbs up. Tyson lingered, ensuring Peter was resting before he quietly let himself out, shutting the door behind him.


    Downstairs, Aunt May was a flurry of motion in the kitchen, the homely scent of cooking wafting through the air. Uncle Ben was setting the table, his movements betraying his lingering worry. They both looked up as Tyson descended the stairs. Feeling like he needed an excuse Tyson commented, ¡°The flu and stomach bugs have been running around school early this year. Might want to make sure you wash your hands extra good for the next few weeks.¡± Then he took a step toward the door.


    "You''re not leaving without having something to eat, young man," Aunt May declared before Tyson could even say goodbye. It wasn''t a request, but a gentle demand. Her expression softened as she added, "You brought our boy home. It¡¯s the least we can do."


    Tyson hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but the warm, inviting smells from the kitchen tugged at his senses. "Well, if you insist, Aunt May. I¡¯d hate to let good cooking go to waste," he relented with a smile.


    As they sat down to eat, the conversation was light. They chatted about school and the Oscorp trip, and Tyson even mentioned his new late-night internship, careful to play down how unusual it was for a student.


    Aunt May acted as the caring surrogate, encouraging Tyson to balance work, school, and rest. "You boys, always trying to do so much," she chastised affectionately.


    Uncle Ben added, "We appreciate you taking care of Peter. Keep taking care of those around you. We lift each other up. That''s how we all succeed. And success isn''t just about what you accomplish in your life, Tyson. It''s about what you inspire others to do."


    Getting a motivational phrase from Uncle Ben resonated with Tyson. Perhaps even on a level he wasn''t fully ready to confront.


    The meal ended with warm goodbyes and Tyson assuring he would visit again. As he stepped out into the evening chill, he couldn''t help but feel a sense of foreboding. In this house, he''d found a kind of family albeit transiently.


    And he knew what would happen next.


    With a sullen sadness, Tyson wondered if he¡¯d be able to interfere and prevent the approaching tragedy.

 Arc 4 - Ch 3: Yet More Basketball

    Date: Monday, September 13, 2010.


    Location: Midtown High, Queens, New York


    The Monday morning sun heralded the start of a new school week as Tyson made his way to chemistry class. He thought about how his weekend had progressed.


    Saturday morning he¡¯d made a trip to the pet store for a terrarium and plenty of crickets and mealworms for his new pet spider.


    Tyson had fought the desire to prod the spider to bite him. He knew how deadly his touch was.


    Instead, he had tested the viability by walking outside of the Four Seasons, and grabbed one of the many pigeons loitering around the street¡­ barehanded. By the time Tyson raised the captured bird to his face to inspect it.


    It died.


    He looked himself over quickly. No feathers, wings, or beak. He didn¡¯t experience a rush of memories. He wasn¡¯t overcome with the feeling of using his wings to fly, or scavenge from the streets, or shit on random pedestrians. Actually, according to Tyson¡¯s memories, Victor Creed had done that a few times. But Tyson gained nothing from the bird. He just killed it. Pretty much instantly.


    As much as he coveted the abilities of Spider-Man, he had no desire to harm the spider. Especially since he had it safely contained. Besides, Tyson strongly believed his healing factor would prevent whatever process Peter went through to gain his abilities. He''d need to find some way to harvest spider venom. Then find a way to temporarily suppress his healing factor or his mutant powers completely. Both were things he would need to look into. Not just to acquire spider powers, but because it represented a massive vulnerability for Tyson. If his mutant abilities were suppressed he wouldn¡¯t have any way to defend himself.


    In his disappointment at not being able to gain the powers of Spider-Man, he turned to his studies. So, for once, Tyson was prepared for class. Chemistry wouldn¡¯t be the new physics. Even after spending several hours at the dojo with Colleen on Sunday, he was well ahead of his coursework.


    Tyson settled into his seat in Chemistry, scanning the room. His gaze paused on an empty chair. He hadn¡¯t noticed Cindy Moon before she was bitten by the same spider that bit Peter. But since she came to his attention, she was on his mind frequently. Tyson knew very little about her. Seeing her being bitten and learning her name had sparked his memory, but Tyson hadn¡¯t been an expert when it came to the comics. He didn¡¯t recall much more than she existed and was a spider person. And now, seeing she was absent, Tyson''s mind registered the implications. Like Peter, she must have transitioned.


    As the class progressed, despite his lingering thoughts, Tyson demonstrated an unexpected grasp of the day''s topic, drawing a surprised look from Gwen. After class, she commented to him in the hallway. "Tyson, I have to say, I''m impressed with how you stepped up in class," Gwen remarked genuinely.


    Tyson smiled slightly, but remained modest, "Well, after meeting Dr. Connors with you and Peter, I realized I was the only one in the room who was completely lost. " he admitted with a chuckle, "I''m no genius, but I figured if I put in the work, I should be able to pull off an A."


    Gwen''s smile widened at Tyson¡¯s compliment, "That''s the spirit," she encouraged. "But, for the record, you¡¯re not giving yourself enough credit. You went from struggling to being one of the better students in like a week."


    Tyson appreciated Gwen''s sincerity. They chatted a bit more before parting ways for their next classes.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As Tyson stepped into the gym for PE, he couldn''t suppress a small, anticipatory grin. It wasn''t the prospect of gym class itself that had him looking forward to this period. It was the knowledge that he''d again cross paths with his teacher, Natasha... or ¡®Natalie¡¯ as she was known here. There was a dangerous allure about her, considering his knowledge about who and what she was, hidden behind the facade of a PE teacher.


    Natalie again stood at the center of the gym. Today, she''d forgone the standard athletic wear for an outfit that was somehow even more striking. A pair of snug, athletic shorts that highlighted the toned, powerful lines of her legs, and an A-shirt. The neckline dipped just enough to bare cleavage, regardless of her sports bra. Again, her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail with a few stray wisps framing her face.


    The students gathered around her, as she snatched up a basketball from the rack nearby and addressed the class.


    "Today, we''re switching gears. Basketball," she announced, her voice carrying an assertive edge that demanded attention. "I''ll be dividing you into teams, and I want to see good sportsmanship and effort from everyone."


    As she began dividing the students, assigning them to different sides of the court, Tyson couldn''t help but get nostalgic. He was reminded of the confrontation on the basketball court at the Xavier Institute with Illyana. He couldn''t help but smile. Here he was, ready to dive into yet another simple game of basketball, and again surrounded by extraordinary circumstances. This time, instead of a class of mutants, it was his instructor Natalie, the Black Widow in disguise, and the potentially newly superpowered Peter Parker hovering nearby.


    Tyson caught Natalie¡¯s eye briefly, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. But as quick as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the stern, focused expression of a teacher ready to begin class.


    Tyson positioned himself at center court, his formidable height casting a long shadow across the polished floor. Opposite him, Flash Thompson squared his shoulders, a challenging glint in his eyes. This was a contest of athleticism, sure, but under the surface, it was also a clash for social dominance.


    "Have fun," Natalie encouraged with a smile. Her tone was light, yet somehow suggestive. As she bent to launch the basketball up for the jump ball, her shirt stretched taut against her form, offering Tyson an undeniable view of her cleavage. The sight momentarily hijacked his focus from the start of the game. Her allure was a potent distraction, and he could sense it wasn''t entirely innocent. Her movement was eye-catching, and while he appreciated the view, the closeness of her scent was just as alluring.


    Introspectiveness took over Tyson¡¯s world, like a frozen moment in time. He wondered if his thoughts were his own, or was he being affected by Sabertooth? Was it the allure of Natasha Romanoff that had his senses so heightened? Or could it be the danger she presented? The prospect of dominating an athletic competition alone wouldn¡¯t cause such a drive in his thoughts. Regardless of the source, Tyson was feeling far more aggressive than usual, and he fought to push down his instincts.


    With a flex of his muscles, borne from superhuman strength, Tyson leaped for the ball as Natalie''s hand sent it flying. He soared upwards, his fingertips brushing the sphere first, sending the ball toward his teammate.


    What followed wasn''t just a display of basketball proficiency; it was a spectacle, a one-man show of near-superhuman prowess. Tyson moved across the court like a force of nature. He''d make a pass without even looking, seemingly aware of the player¡¯s position through some preternatural sense.


    "Man, you seeing this?" one of the students gasped from the sidelines. "Unreal!" another echoed, as Tyson crossed Flash. He looked down on the teen bully as Flash stumbled backward, falling on his ass. Tyson then launched the ball from the three-point line. It arced through the air, a perfect trajectory, and swished through the net without so much as grazing the rim.


    But it wasn''t just his offense; Tyson''s defense was impenetrable. When the opposing team managed possession, they found any path to their hoop thwarted by his intimidating form. At one point, a player from the opposing team saw an opening and drove toward the basket. The player lept, arm outstretched, the ball in his palm... only for Tyson to appear as if from nowhere, his hand meeting the ball in a resounding slap. The block was so forceful that the ball rocketed off the court. The students gawked, while Flash''s frustration was evident in his clenched fists.


    The loose ball rolled and rolled, finally losing momentum near the bleachers, where it nudged against a familiar pair of sneakers. There, slightly apart from the excitement, stood Peter Parker. His eyes sparkled with a quiet amusement as he stooped to retrieve the ball. The energy in the gym shifted palpably as Peter picked up the basketball that had rolled his way. With a hint of surprise that he quickly masked, Peter noticed that his fingers seemed to adhere to the ball¡¯s surface.


    "Hey, Parker! Give it here!" Flash demanded, strutting towards Peter with an outstretched hand, expecting the nerd¡¯s compliance.


    Peter looked at the ball, then at Flash, a spark of defiance igniting in his eyes. He held out the ball as if to return it, but when Flash tried to snatch it, Peter quickly moved his hand leaving Flash swiping at the air. This repeated several times before Peter allowed Flash to grab the ball. But surprisingly, inexplicably, it wouldn¡¯t move. A ripple of confusion spread through the onlookers.


    "What the¡ª?" Flash grumbled, grabbing again. But the ball might as well have been glued to Peter''s hand. It was a bizarre tug-of-war, with the ball remaining stubbornly stationary despite Flash''s increasingly aggressive tugs. The spectators'' confusion turned to amusement. Whispers and chuckles bubbled up from the crowd, and even a few snorts of laughter echoed in the gym. Flash''s face reddened, his ego bruised under the weight of unexpected ridicule.


    Peter, meanwhile, seemed to grow more assured with each passing second. Catching everyone off guard, he yanked the ball away, sending Flash stumbling.  Then, Peter moved across the court dribbling the ball with an almost surreal ease. His classmates watched, mesmerized by the shy, unathletic Peter Parker''s transformation. Flash, recovered and charged at Peter, determined to regain his dignity. But Peter seemed to be playing at another level. With a surprising burst of speed, Peter closed in on the hoop. With a leap that defied belief, he soared through the air, arm outstretched and ball in hand. The entire gym seemed to hold its breath. He slammed the ball into the basket with a resounding echo, hanging from the rim for a split second before dropping down to the court. The gym erupted in cheers and gasps of disbelief.


    Flash was left standing there dumbfounded as Peter, the same boy who once faded into the background, basked in the cheers of his stunned classmates.


    The shrill sound of Natalie''s whistle pierced the cheers, immediately anchoring everyone''s attention to her. "Impressive, Peter," she commended with a nod before her gaze swept over the excited students. "How about we up the stakes? A little one-on-one. Parker versus... Tyson."


    The announcement was like a spark to kindling, the students'' excitement bursting into a wild flame of cheers and whoops. They''d all witnessed the incredible feats both boys were capable of, and the prospect of them facing off was irresistible.


    The sly smile on Natasha¡¯s lips barely betrayed her anticipation as she added, "Let¡¯s make it interesting. Whoever wins gets an A for the semester." She explained the rules succinctly, her eyes glinting. "First to seven points wins. One point for field goals, two for three-pointers. Win by 2. And I''ll be calling the fouls."


    The game commenced with an intensity that had everyone on edge. Tyson moved and looked like a basketball player. Peter, however undersized, had a wild agility that was both erratic and spectacular. He was learning his new limits, testing them with every pivot, jump, and dash.


    Tyson scored the first point, but Peter responded by weaving through Tyson¡¯s defense and securing a point. Each dribble, and intuitive reaction, was a subtle showcase of their extraordinary capabilities. It was an interesting experience for Tyson, being so much larger than Peter, but realizing that he couldn¡¯t back the smaller teen down in the post. While Tyson weighed more, he could feel Peter was far stronger than himself. Peter was also quicker. Tyson had to rely on his experience and knowledge of basketball to match Peter¡¯s outstanding physical ability.


    The score tied at five-all. The students were a mix of loud cheers and held breaths, the tension almost tangible. Peter made a daring leap for a dunk, but Tyson predicted the move. Peter, despite his enhanced physical abilities, hadn¡¯t been much of a shooter throughout their match. Tyson had positioned himself to block Peter¡¯s attempt. Tyson¡¯s hand was wedged between the ball and the rim, a scene that might have been devastating to another player, but thanks to Tyson¡¯s adamantium bones, only required a moment¡¯s recovery. The ball ricocheted off to the side, and both sprang after it.


    In a display of dexterity that had the crowd gasping, Peter managed to snag the ball mid-air just before it went out of bounds. And, with acrobatic finesse, Peter spun 180 degrees and launched it toward the basket from behind the three-point line. But Tyson was close, he¡¯d pursued the ball to the out-of-bounds line just as Peter had. Tyson had the opportunity to block the off-balance shot but refrained. Time slowed as the ball arced through the air. It bounced off the opposite side of the rim, high into the air. And fell, swooshing through the net.


    The gym erupted in elation, the students'' voices melding into a thunderous roar. Peter was the victor and several kids crowded around him, praising his shot. But as he and Tyson locked eyes, the mutual respect between them was evident. They bumped fists, once Peter was free of his celebrating classmates. Natalie, meanwhile, observed with a keen eye, mentally noting every display of reflexes, strength, and agility. Her mind was abuzz with calculations, evaluations, and the implications of what she''d witnessed.


    The gym''s ambient noise dwindled as students spilled out toward lunch. Natasha''s hand tapped Tyson''s arm gently but firmly. "A moment of your time, Tyson?"


    He nodded and the world narrowed to the two of them in the vacating gym. The rhythmic squeak of Natasha''s shoes on the polished floor echoed in the now-silent gymnasium as she led him into the PE office.  The door''s soft click as it closed seemed to cut them off from the remainder of the school. Inside the office, Natasha transformed. Her fingers worked deftly, untying the ponytail, and releasing fiery waves that spilled about her shoulders. She leaned forward in a slow, deliberate motion. The fabric of her shirt stretched tight, emphasizing the generous curve of her chest.


    "Tyson," she drawled, "I was wondering¡­ that was an impressive display you put on, likewise for mister Parker. But in that last play, you could''ve blocked his shot but didn''t. Why?"


    Her words hung in the air. Tyson, despite the rush from being alone and close to her, sensed more behind her honeyed tone. His thoughts raced. Had they gone too far in showcasing their abilities? Would her attention shift to Peter? He couldn''t risk that. Tyson knew SHIELD was onto him, there was no changing that at this point, but he could still keep Peter under their radar.


    "Can you keep a secret, Miss Rushman?" Tyson asked. Natalie leaned closer, exposing more of her cleavage as she encouraged him to continue speaking. Tyson admitted, "I could''ve beaten Peter."


    Tyson stared deep into Natalie¡¯s eyes. Her beautiful green met his entrancing green-blue. ¡°Don¡¯t pay any mind to Peter¡¯s abilities on the court today. I put on the real show.¡± Tyson relaxed a little, ¡°I held back a lot because Peter needed the win more than I did.¡±


    Natalie shook her head before refocusing, ¡°Actually, Parker is near the top of the class. Why would he need the A more than you?¡±


    Tyson shook his head, ¡°Not that. The attention of his peers, the cheering, the recognition. Peter needed that more than I did. The grades aren''t important to me. I don''t have to worry about school or finding a job when I graduate.¡±


    Interest flickered in her eyes, her smile a secret. "Oh?" She shifted, one leg crossing over the other, the movement was undeniably staged. Her shorts rode up slightly with the motion, exposing more of her toned thighs. ¡°And why is that?¡±


    Tyson hid his smirk. He''d successfully pulled her attention back to himself. He shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m a trust fund kid.¡±


    Natalie parroted Tyson''s words, ¡°Trust fund¡­ Is that so?¡±


    Tyson continued, ¡°Yup. Don''t need to worry about an after-school job or anything like that. It frees up my time to get plenty of exercise.¡±


    "And what kind of exercise might that be?" Natalie asked as she leaned back in her chair. She leaned backward, arms overhead as she stretched.


    His eyes followed the movement before snapping back up. "Martial arts," Tyson confessed. A sense of playing with fire licked at the edges of his consciousness. "Every day."


    "Martial arts?" Her words were an inviting, inquisitive purr. "Where might you be taking these classes?"


    "Chikara Dojo in Chinatown," he said, now acutely aware of every minute shift in her posture, the way her shoulders rolled subtly, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath.


    "Chikara Dojo," she repeated, savoring the words. Her lips curled into a smile, her eyes held a glint of something unreadable within. "Perhaps I''ll stop by... I could use a good lesson."


    But then, as quickly as her demeanor had softened, she was all business again. "You''re free to go, Tyson. I''m sure you''re hungry after all that work on the court. Enjoy your lunch."


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The door seemed heavier as he exited. Behind him, he left a woman with motives hidden beneath layers of allure and strategic deception. But Tyson smiled, he had pulled off a strategic deception of his own.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Laughter, heated debates, and clattering trays blended in the noisy chaos. The ambiance of Midtown High''s cafeteria enveloped Peter as he shuffled through the crowd, lost in thought. Still dazed from the impossible physical feats in gym class earlier, Peter felt off-balance, as if he''d been forced into a role he wasn¡¯t aware he tried out for.


    Sitting alone at an empty table, Peter picked at his food, his racing thoughts killing his appetite. But then, his whole body buzzed with an odd, unfamiliar energy he couldn''t explain. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mary Jane Watson approaching with her lunch tray. For Peter, everything slowed down when he saw her. Suddenly, disaster struck. A student bumped into MJ, sending her sliding dangerously across the freshly mopped floor. Her tray flew upwards, launching her fruit cup, soda can, and other items into the air like astronauts in zero gravity.


    In the heartbeat that followed, the world that always slowed when MJ was around, now ground to a near standstill. Students nearby were frozen in surprise at her fall...everyone except Peter.


    He moved with impossible speed, his body reacting instinctively. One hand shot out to catch MJ, stopping her fall. His other hand danced through the air with lightning reflexes, catching the runaway tray upright, then moving to catch all its contents, neatly stacking them again. All this happened in a fraction of a second.


    The world snapped back to normal speed. MJ, held steadily by Peter''s arm,  looked at him in awe. "Wow, Peter, that was...amazing," MJ stammered, blushing as she gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes.


    Equally amazed by his own reflexes, Peter managed a sheepish smile, trying to seem casual. "Uh, yeah, I guess..." he said, voice cracking under her scrutiny. At that moment, it felt like they were the only two people around. Peter had always longed for MJ to truly see him. Held almost intimately in his arms, her smile was meant just for him and sent butterflies through his stomach. He didn''t fully understand these new abilities he was manifesting, but in that singular, extraordinary moment, Peter Parker felt like everything was getting better.


    MJ made it safely to her table, but Peter''s mind lingered on their shared moment. Lost in distraction, he went to grab his milk carton.


    That''s when it happened.


    Without warning, a streak of white shot from his wrist. Was that...a web? It happened so fast. The strange strand attached itself to a tray several tables away. Peter jerked it reflexively with surprising force. The tug sent the tray flying through the air until it collided spectacularly with Flash Thompson, who sat mid-conversation halfway across the lunch room.


    Lunch exploded across Flash, dripping from the table and his clothes. The cafeteria''s chatter ground to a shocked halt, all eyes swiveling between the messy scene, the rope, and trailing it from the tray back to its source. Peter Parker.


    Confusion swirled with panic in Peter''s gut. This was bad. Flash''s friends were already rising, intent clear on their faces. But Flash''s glare chilled Peter most. No confusion there, only anger and a promise of payback. Peter''s mind raced. He hadn''t meant to do that, hadn''t even known he could. He couldn''t explain the web, why it had fired. His heart pounded urgently, screaming at him to run.


    But fleeing would make it worse. Swallowing hard, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes, Peter stood. He couldn''t trust his voice. He wouldn''t be Flash''s victim again, not with everyone watching. So he walked away under that intense scrutiny. It wasn''t courage nor fear solely guiding him, it was also an overwhelming urge to get away, to think, to understand what was happening to him.


    Behind him, the cafeteria remained hushed, his exit doing nothing to break the spell. He left his uneaten food, the questions, and Flash''s furious gaze behind. The lunchroom doors swung shut with an ominous echo. Now outside, Peter jerked to a stop, as his arm pulled back.


    The web was still attached to the tray inside. With effort, he released it and continued away from the scene.


    Tyson was late getting to Midtown High''s crowded cafeteria. His conversation with ''Natalie Rushman'' had delayed his arrival to lunch. Scanning the room, he spotted Peter alone at a table. Decision made, he headed for the lunch line. He internally groaned at the thought of more of the school''s food. Mentally kicking himself for not starting to bring his own lunch from the hotel, or picking something up on the way to school. Yet here he was again. Before Tyson could even grab a tray, an unnatural silence suddenly fell over the room.


    A quiet that abrupt only happened when something unexpected seized a group''s attention completely. Tyson''s head snapped up searching for the source.


    Peter''s table was empty except for an untouched tray. But it wasn''t Peter''s sudden exit that had silenced the room. It was likely caused by the cafeteria tray sliding across the floor as if pulled. Not by a rope, but by what Tyson recognized as a web.


    His eyes widened. The tray was tethered to a strand of web leading somewhere outside the cafeteria, presumably attached to Peter based on the shocked faces around him, and Flash Thompson who was following the tray covered in the remains of someone¡¯s lunch.


    Excitement bubbled within Tyson. This was it. Time to view another iconic moment.


    Murmurs swelled as the cafeteria¡¯s shocked silence wore off. Tyson heard speculation, confusion, and inevitable jokes. Grabbing a sandwich, for afterward, he hurried for the door. He heard Flash Thompson''s annoyed, cocky voice rise above the others as he stormed after Peter. Students followed, hyping the impending fight. Tyson slipped through the doors in the crowd, not wanting to miss the show. The cafeteria''s tension spilled into the hall, students flowing out in its wake, eager to see the brewing conflict unfold.


    Peter stopped but didn''t turn, senses tingling in warning. A buzzing at the back of his mind escaped to run along his skin. Then, without thought, he sidestepped a vicious punch aimed at his head. It was like time slowed, letting Peter take in each stark detail.


    Flash''s fist sailed toward his face in a clear trajectory. Peter stepped aside, focused on the punch. He had time to glance between Flash and his hand several times before momentum carried Flash past him.


    MJ stepped in front of Flash, brows knitted in concern. "Stop it, Flash! He didn''t mean it. Leave him alone," she pleaded.


    But Flash was beyond reason.


    Nearby, Tyson watched with folded arms. His stance remained calm even as Gwen anxiously tugged his sleeve. "Tyson, you have to stop this! Remember the first day? Flash will pulverize him," she urged, voice tinged with panic. ¡°You can''t leave Peter alone against Flash.¡±


    "He''s not alone," Tyson replied softly, eyes never leaving Peter. "I''ll step in if it gets bad. But it won''t," he whispered, as much to himself as Gwen. "He''s got this."


    Gwen looked at him like he was crazy. "How can you say that?"


    "Just watch," was all Tyson said. The firm finality of his tone indicated he wouldn''t budge.


    As Flash swung a heavy fist, time slowed for Peter. His senses dialed up, perception shifting. The punch came in a lazy arc, reflexes so heightened Flash seemed to move through molasses. With agile grace that astounded all, even Tyson, Peter dodged the blow with a dance-like step. Flash''s momentum made him stumble, unbalanced.


    As one of Flash''s friends tried circling to ambush Peter from behind, Peter''s heightened senses detected the motion. In a move that made the crowd gasp, Peter effortlessly leaped over the sneaky attacker, flipping midair and landing lightly on his feet. Now facing both would-be assailants.


    The ambusher raised his hands and stepped back. "He''s all yours," he said to Flash as he retreated.


    Flash''s frustration boiled over and he charged again. The bully¡¯s face reddened with embarrassment and rage as he swung wildly. Peter artfully dodged each punch, seeming to predict Flash''s moves before he even made them. Tyson noticed not just the dodging, but the growing confidence in Peter''s stance. The dawning realization in the boy¡¯s eyes that he was more than he thought; more than a nerdy, invisible kid. He was somebody. He was powerful.


    Increasingly frustrated, Flash pulled back for a mighty haymaker, channeling all his weight and pent-up fury. Peter''s senses buzzed in warning and he caught Flash''s fist, stopping it cold. The audible crunch of Flash''s knuckles made him howl in pain and shock.


    Then in a move no one anticipated, Peter struck. A single, precise punch, backed by newfound power. The blow sent Flash flying back to skid across the floor and stop at the spectators'' feet. A stunned silence enveloped the hall. Peter looked at his hands with an expression of awe and a flicker of fear at his newfound strength.


    "See?" Tyson said to Gwen, never taking his eyes off Peter, who looked around as if awakening from a trance. Tyson pushed off the wall, face slowly nodding in approval. This was a defining moment of self-discovery for Peter.


    The fight''s aftermath left students murmuring. Flash was just regaining his footing when a piercing whistle sliced through the crowd. Students parted as Natalie Rushman strode into the circle. Her expression revealed she was unamused.


    "Round''s over, boys," Natalie announced sharply, the whistle dangling around her neck. "Everyone back to lunch or class. Parker, Thompson," her gaze flicked between the two panting from the scuffle, "you''re going to the principal''s office." As she turned to leave, one finger extended directly at Tyson. "You too, Smith. Principal''s office."


    Tyson scoffed, arms opening in disbelief. "Me? I didn''t do anything."


    "Principal''s office," Natalie repeated brokering no argument.


    Tyson shrugged, chuckling as he fell in behind Peter and Flash. Just loud enough for Natalie to hear, he mumbled, "What''s he gonna do? Call my mom?"


    "Maybe," Natalie retorted smoothly.


    "Nah, I''m emancipated," Tyson replied, nonchalantly.


    They walked in an uneasy procession. While Flash and Peter trudged ahead, heads bowed dreading the reprimand, Natalie sidled closer to Tyson. "Why didn''t you break up the fight?" she asked.


    Tyson rolled his eyes. "Not my job," he replied, then shot her a cheeky glance. "Why didn''t you?"


    A slight smirk tugged Natalie''s lips, acknowledging the point though she didn''t respond. They continued in silence, the distance to the principal''s office shrinking with each reluctant step.


    The principal was a stern man with glasses teetering on the end of his nose. He eyed them over steepled fingers. Peter and Flash''s story tumbled out in fragments with both talking over the other until the principal raised a hand, silencing them.


    "And you, Mr. Smith?" He peered at Tyson. "What''s your role in all this?"


    "Just an innocent bystander," Tyson quipped. He sat casually in the chair, his long legs stretched out. "For the record, Peter didn''t mean to provoke Flash. He didn''t even get a chance to apologize before Flash attacked.¡± Tyson pointed at Flash accusingly, ¡°He was butt-hurt after getting shown up on the basketball court earlier.¡± Tyson continued after the insult, ¡°Flash threw the first punch. Well, the first twenty punches. Peter just shoved him back in self-defense."


    The principal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You all know fighting is against school rules. Detention for you two.¡± He gestured to Flash and Peter. Turning to Tyson the principal said, ¡°And detention for you as well Mr. Smith. I want you to think about the influence you have and your role in this school community."


    Tyson held the man''s gaze for a moment, ¡°I¡¯ve only been here a week.¡± But Tyson relented, "Fine, detention it is."


    Peter fidgeted nervously with the straps on his backpack during the exchange. Flash just stared sullenly at the floor. The principal dismissed them with instructions to report to detention that afternoon. As the trio left the office, Tyson clapped Peter on the back. "Don''t sweat it, Pete. Could''ve been worse. At least you won the fight."


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    The school day waned, shadows stretching longer in the halls as Tyson entered the nondescript classroom for detention. He picked a seat and pulled out homework, deciding to use the time productively since he''d be late to the dojo. Not long after, Peter shuffled in, posture subdued. "Thanks for having my back with the principal," he murmured, taking the seat beside Tyson.


    "No big deal," Tyson responded with a casual shrug. He looked up from his textbook and asked, "Got any plans after this?"


    "Just heading home. I need to figure some things out." Peter admitted.


    Tyson nodded understandably, not pushing. A comfortable silence settled between them, only to be disrupted when Flash barged in. The jock¡¯s complaints about missing practice filled the room. His whining fell on deaf ears as neither Tyson nor Peter dignified it with a response.


    Minutes ticked by monotonously until the door swung open and Natalie appeared. "Tyson, you''re coming with me. We¡¯re going to the weight room."


    Flash''s head snapped up indignantly. "He gets to go to the weight room while I miss practice? How''s that fair?"


    Natalie''s lips twitched in a smirk. "Tyson didn¡¯t throw any punches today. But he¡¯ll be cleaning the weight room for his detention assignment. Would you like to join him, Thompson?"


    Flash grumbled under his breath, sinking lower in his seat as he sullenly shook his head. Tyson closed his textbook and gathered his things. As he stood, he met Peter''s gaze and discreetly gave a mocking salute to Flash. Peter bit back a smile, shaking his head.


    Tyson followed Natalie out of detention and down the hallways into the messy weight room. The scattered weights indicated hasty, careless workouts. The teams and PE classes using the facilities didn¡¯t rerack their weights, and it seemed the custodial staff hadn¡¯t cleaned recently. Natalie gestured to the cleaning supplies, a stack of rags and disinfectant spray.


    As Tyson started working, the clinking of weights and hiss of the spray bottle filled the room. Natalie settled into a nearby chair with a book. Her posture was deliberately casual, but every so often she''d shift, drawing his attention, then slowly cross and uncross her legs. Her movements were like a siren''s call, meant to catch the eye. When she leaned forward, holding the book low, her blouse gaped just enough to offer a hint of cleavage creating an unspoken invitation for wandering eyes.


    Tyson continued organizing the weights and wiping down each bench, feeling Natalie''s gaze the whole time, a nearly palpable weight on his back. He finished after half an hour and looked over at her, a silent question hanging between them.


    She simply smiled. The cryptic curve of her lips told him nothing and everything at once. Her eyes roamed appreciatively over his athletic frame as he racked the last dumbbell.


    "Good work," Natalie praised as she checked the time. "You''ve still got 30 minutes of detention, Tyson. But since you did such a thorough job..." she paused, eyes leisurely taking in the spotless weight room, "feel free to use the rest of the time to work out."


    Tyson''s eyebrow quirked up. "You sure that''s allowed?"


    "Consider it a...privilege for good behavior," she replied, mouth ticking upward. ¡°I¡¯m sure a guy your size understands proper technique.¡±


    "I''ve got some experience," he admitted, catching the double meaning despite her innocent tone.


    Natalie strolled confidently over to the squat rack and smoothly loaded a set of plates onto the barbell. Without preamble, she positioned herself under the bar, lifted, and began squatting.


    Tyson noticed her pristine form; back straight, knees stable. Each rep was slow and controlled. Yet there was an exaggerated arch to her lower back that was hard to ignore. The posture accentuated her figure more than it served any practical purpose. Gym etiquette dictated Tyson ignore her provocative posture and focus on his workout. But this wasn''t a public gym.


    That''s what he told himself, at least.


    After finishing her set, she easily added another set of plates to the end of the weight. "Your turn," she beckoned, stepping back with an invitation and challenge.


    Tyson approached the bar, momentarily distracted by Natalie''s performance. But as he positioned himself under the weight and lifted it off the rack, his focus narrowed. The familiar motion of squatting was grounding. He hadn¡¯t lifted since arriving in this world, and it felt good to get back in the gym.


    "Wait," Natalie called out, hand raised. She stepped over and ordered, ¡°Rack that for a moment.¡± Then wordlessly added another plate to each side. Tyson raised his eyebrow but said nothing, resuming his reps. The extra weight was negligible. Again she stopped him, eyes glinting playfully as she loaded on yet another set. "Try now," she challenged.


    Tyson accepted silently, continuing his fluid, controlled squats. He powered through the set and then let out a small, satisfied grin as he reracked the bar.


    Natalie watched appreciatively, arms crossed. "Not bad, Tyson," she remarked, a hint of genuine approval in her tone.


    Her praise warmed him. Natalie grabbed another barbell for herself. She deliberately placed it on the floor in the center of the room with an echoing clank. She loaded a set of plates and positioned herself for deadlifts. Each smooth, controlled bend accentuated her figure and caused her shorts to ride up enticingly.


    Finishing her set, she met Tyson''s gaze. Her eyes sparkled with challenge, "Think you can switch it up to front squats?" she asked casually though her expectation was clear.


    Hesitation flickered across Tyson¡¯s face. Front squats had always been more challenging for him than the standard squat. But he nodded, gripping the bar and moving so that it lay across the front of his shoulders. His first rep was careful, respecting the shifted balance. But realizing the lightweight, his caution faded.


    Natalie watched approvingly. "Impressive," she remarked sincerely.


    As Natalie completed her second set of deadlifts, her movements remained tantalizingly slow and sultry. Each lift was followed by an agonizingly gradual return upright. Despite himself, Tyson watched with barely veiled attention.


    "Your turn again," Natalie called, jolting him from his reverie. "How about some power cleans?"


    Tyson shrugged agreeably. Power cleans were explosive and demanding; a true test of power and technique. In his past life, he wouldn¡¯t even consider, let alone try such a thing with just over four hundred pounds. But the squats had been laughably easy. Nothing more than a warm-up with his enhanced strength. He approached the bar, grounding himself and feeling the weight of Natalie¡¯s expectations.


    His grip was sure, stance measured. He hefted the bar off the rack, stepping back. With surprising control, he dropped it to hang at his thighs, then lowered it to the floor.


    With a breath, he initiated the first pull, a ground-skimming sweep up his shins as momentum built. The transition to the second pull was seamless as his hips drove forward and shoulders shrugged with powerful force, launching the bar high. Then the catch, after a split-second of weightlessness he dropped into a front squat, elbows punching forward to cradle the bar on his deltoids. A paused beat in the bottom position, muscles coiled, before exploding upwards to stand tall, bar secure.


    Each subsequent rep mirrored the first creating a cycle of explosive power and controlled recovery. Finishing the set, Tyson looked up to find Natalie watching appreciatively with her arms crossed under her chest.


    "You make it look easy," she praised. Though her tone was light, Tyson detected genuine respect. "Looks like your hour''s up," Natalie remarked as they moved to rack their weights. She glanced around the tidy room. "Still hitting the dojo after all that?" She asked with a hint of playful challenge in her voice.


    Tyson grinned. "The grind never stops. That was just a warm-up."


    She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly but on her it was charming. She moved closer until her face was inches from his. Natalie confessed in a whisper, "Sorry for dragging you to the principal. I knew you''d defend Peter. Most students wouldn''t." She was so close, her breath tickled his ear, "And I needed help cleaning up in here. So thanks for that."


    ¡°It was worth it.¡± Her intimate proximity quickened Tyson''s pulse far more than the workout had. Her unique scent stirred an urge to reach out. Instead, he cleared his throat, correcting his thoughtless words. "I mean, it''s no problem. All good."


    As they walked to the door, the charged atmosphere eased into something more comfortable. "Maybe next time we work out, it''ll be at the dojo," Natalie suggested.


    "I look forward to it," Tyson replied, leaving the potential hanging between them.


    Natalie paused at the exit. She met his eyes as she commented, "You know, you keep surprising me, Tyson." She smiled. "See you around."


    Tyson watched her walk back down the hall, unable to keep his eyes from wandering. With effort, he tore his gaze away and headed for the dojo.

 Arc 4 - Ch 4: The Night Shift

    Date: Tuesday, October 5, 2010.


    Location: Oscorp, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson''s night shift at Oscorp began like clockwork. A stroll through the pristine lobby, followed by exchanging familiar nods with the middle-aged security guard at the front desk who enjoyed lame jokes. The perfunctory flash of his ID badge was more out of habit than necessity. The guard knew Tyson well enough to skip the formalities, but rules were rules.


    The security locker room with its rows of lockers flanking wooden benches was reminiscent of the locker room at Midtown High. Except here, a crisp uniform awaited Tyson when he arrived. Oscorp didn''t allow the security uniforms off-site. They were laundered and pressed on-premises, returning them fresh for the next shift. Slipping into the stiff uniform, Tyson readied himself. He took the internship seriously, even if nights consisted mostly of empty hallways with the occasional interruption caused by lab techs working late.


    Dressed for work, he headed to the security office. This space, filled with monitors and high-tech surveillance equipment, belonged to his supervisor for the night shift, Aleksei Sytsevich. The stocky Russian with a buzzcut had an authoritarian manner bordering on abrasiveness. But Tyson kept his opinions to himself. Most nights the two manned the security office with a handful of other guards. The job required regular patrols, a task Sytsevich seemed to think was beneath him. He lounged in his chair like a king, dispatching Tyson to the quiet halls with a lazy wave.


    "Another round, Tyson," Sytsevich would grunt, eyes glued to his magazines, barely glancing at the screens.


    Tyson never minded the patrols. The stillness of Oscorp at night contrasted his busy days. It was during these quiet moments, walking the empty halls that Tyson''s mind would wander. To his friends, school, and the looming events that cast shadows on his actions.


    Despite the monotony, despite Sytsevich''s characteristically gruff indifference, Tyson knew Oscorp harbored a secret. The internship was ordinary, perhaps, but he knew Oscorp would see action someday and he''d have insider access.


    The security office was as Tyson had left it. Aleksei barely looked up from his magazine to acknowledge Tyson''s return. Tyson was about to settle in to study when Aleksei''s gravelly voice shattered the tranquility.


    "Camera''s out," Aleksei grunted, stabbing a thick finger at a black screen. "Sector 17-A. Go check it out."


    Tyson nodded, immediately heading for the stairwell. He bypassed the sluggish elevators. The stairs were free of cameras, creating a blind spot that allowed Tyson a moment to cut loose. His feet pounded the concrete steps, leaping entire flights in exhilarating bursts of speed. This freedom to unleash his true abilities was a guilty pleasure. In moments, he reached the 17th-floor door.


    Bursting into the stark white hallway, Tyson glimpsed sudden movement and a whisper of sound as a dark figure vanished around a distant corner. No lab tech working late would move like that, nor wear all black. Instincts kicked in as Tyson pursued the fleeing figure. The intruder was quick, but Tyson was far faster. The distance between them rapidly closed, the thrill of the chase firing through his veins.


    Ahead, the figure suddenly halted and pivoted to face him. Time seemed to slow, every detail burning into Tyson''s memory. The moonlight streaming through a nearby window caressed her form, accentuating the sinuous silhouette. Her skintight, black suit was adorned with fur at the neck and wrists. The outfit highlighted more of her shape than it concealed. A dark mask obscured her identity but failed to diminish the allure in her piercing blue eyes. Platinum blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her lips curved in a knowing, mocking smile.


    Tyson met her intense gaze. The night itself seemed to hold its breath as they engaged in a silent duel of wills. Her smile widened in a challenge, "My, my, a charming night guard playing the hero?"


    A palpable tension thrummed between them. Despite her relaxed, almost casual stance, Tyson sensed the coiled energy within her. Shaking off his moment of being distracted by her appearance, he challenged, "What''s your business here?"


    Her low, sultry laugh curled around him. "Perhaps I''m just a Black Cat who''s wandered into the wrong alley. Or maybe I''m after the cream..." Her gaze flicked to Tyson¡¯s waist suggestively. Almost imperceptibly she looked to the ''Restricted'' door. But Tyson detected the fleeting glance with his enhanced eyesight. That door held Oscorp''s secrets, secrets he was supposed to protect. He recalled this section housed administrative offices, finance, and acquisitions. Not research or weapons.


    The standoff lingered until Tyson relaxed his stance. Even without meta knowledge, he recognized her. Her delicate scent tickled his nostrils; vanilla and jasmine with a hint of leather and cedarwood. Even if he ignored his superhuman senses, her white-blonde hair gave away her identity.


    "Interesting we keep meeting in hallways, isn¡¯t it?" he asked.


    The Black Cat, Felicia Hardy, stiffened. Her eyes widened fractionally, confirming his suspicion. The taut silence stretched for a heartbeat before she recovered, her smile was now tinged with wry amusement. "Took you long enough, night guard," she purred, neither confirming nor denying Tyson¡¯s question. "But what happens now?"


    Tyson''s mind raced. He''d only met Felicia once at school. What secrets did she seek?


    Sensing his turmoil, Felicia tilted her head studying him. "Tick tock, hero. Decisions, decisions."


    An impish spark lit Tyson''s eyes as he leaned in, "You know, I''ve always had a thing for cats," he quipped in a conspiratorial whisper, "So how can this humble night guard help a lost little Black Cat find her way?"


    Felicia''s smirk grew. She pivoted to the door and focused wholly on the lock. Bending over, she brandished a lockpick with practiced finesse. Her back arched deliberately, the skintight outfit accentuating her silhouette''s curves. Tyson found his eyes drawn and their surroundings fading into irrelevance. The lock clicked softly. Felicia''s shoulders rolled in quiet triumph, casting a flirtatious glance over her shoulder.


    She slipped inside the room. Papers rustled, fluttering under her quick, searching hands. Then she released a soft, triumphant "aha!" barely louder than a breath, yet resonant with victory. Gloved fingers extracted a folder, and she clutched it to her chest like a prized possession. The top corner of the file brushed her chin as she pivoted towards him. Her expression embodied mock innocence, "Mind if I borrow these?" she asked. Her voice was like honey threatening to envelop him.


    Tyson outstretched his hand. "That''s not how it works," he countered, trying to project authority against her magnetic pull.


    A playful pout formed on her lips. "Not even a tiny peek?" she cooed intimately.


    Her tone almost had Tyson capitulating, but somehow he held firm. "Nuh-uh," he denied simply, belying his swirling emotions.


    Felicia pouted in disappointment. Approaching with a seductive sway in her hips, she conceded gracefully, placing the folder in his hand. Her gloved fingers grazed his deliberately as she followed Tyson''s mandate.


    Tyson moved to the photocopier. The light briefly illuminated his face as he duplicated the documents. With the originals secure, he extended her the copies. Her broad smile betrayed her satisfaction, "My hero," she teased, genuine gratitude flickering in her gaze.


    His back was turned mere seconds as he replaced the folder. But when he turned back around, she had vanished, like a whisper in the night. He could have tracked her unique scent but allowed her to slip away.


    Back in the security office, Aleksei looked up, lazy interest in his heavy-lidded eyes. "What happened?"


    "Camera''s busted," Tyson shrugged with casual dismissal. "Needs a tech."


    Aleksei grunted, his attention already back on his magazine. Tyson slumped into his chair. Felicia, the Black Cat, had vanished, but her presence lingered in Tyson''s thoughts.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Wonder filled Peter as he stood in the alley gawking at his hands. The sensation was inexplicable. It was as if Millions of tiny hooks sprung from his fingertips, pulling him tight to the wall. He tested tentatively at first, but his confidence bloomed with each successful step up the building''s side. Gravity lost meaning as he scaled, exhilaration rushing through him.


    Peter''s echoing laughter rang between the skyscrapers as he victoriously crested the rooftop. He did a giddy dance, kicking up gravel. "Who needs elevators?" he joked.


    Unable to stand still, he mumbled, "Okay, let''s try something else." He jutted his hand out, rolling his wrists. Disappointingly, nothing happened. Frowning in concentration, he flicked both wrists. Still nothing. "Come on," he muttered, his excitement edged with frustration.


    Different words spilled from his mouth as he tested various hand motions, ¡°Go, Webs.¡±, ¡°Go webs, Go.¡± but no webs fired. Peter¡¯s mind returned to the lunchroom. He recalled reaching for milk then...


    Peter flexed his fingers, reminiscent of the rock and roll gesture. Suddenly, the web shot out, fast and straight, surprising him. "Yes!" he shouted as triumph replaced his frustration.


    He practiced until his aim improved, pegging his far target, on the roof a distance away. He tugged the taut line and briefly wondered if he could swing across the street. Shooting a web was one thing, but swinging on one? That was something else entirely. Peter hesitated as the practical part of his brain protested his crazy thoughts. But his curiosity urged him on, hungry for more. Releasing the line, he carefully aimed and shot again, the web zipping out to anchor across the street. He tugged it taut. The line seemed strong enough.


    Taking a deep breath, he retreated several steps and then sprinted forward, leaping off the building''s edge. Adrenaline punched his gut as the ground dropped away dizzyingly. Gripping the web line, it held firm. Momentum swung him forward and he whooped with joy, the rushing wind tearing away the sound. This was no mere swing; he was soaring, weightless and free! But as the arc''s peak approached, reality kicked in. How would he land?


    The next building rapidly neared. Panic flaring, he let go and desperately flung another webline. It caught, and he swung again, landing in a clumsy run. "Need to work on sticking the dismount," he panted, knees weak with relief at not splatting. But it was a start, the first of many swings to come. With each, his confidence grew until the city transformed into a playground pulsing with possibility.


    Hours passed in blissful freedom as Peter practiced swinging, improving with each attempt. He felt unstoppable until the setting sun snapped him back to reality.


    "Oh no, Uncle Ben!" he gasped, guilt crashing in. He was late to paint the kitchen.


    With a heavy heart, Peter fired a webline banking toward home. The city blurred beneath him as he swung, leaving his laughter behind.


    Peter''s feet hit the ground running, puffing breaths doing little to ease his tight chest. He slowed nearing home, tidying his appearance from the high-flying adventure. Rounding the corner, his heart sank. There was Mary Jane, laughing as she stepped into Flash''s shiny new red car. She didn''t even glance Peter''s way as he stood longing.


    "Flash Thompson...," Peter muttered, shoulders hunching as he shoved his hands in his pockets. The impressive car screamed for attention. Peter looked down at his worn sneakers, thinking spitefully, "Would a cool car make me cool too?"


    He pictured Tyson, revving his motorcycle, the look in people''s eyes, even Mary Jane''s. Maybe that''s all he lacked. Something loud and fast to prove he was more than a nerd.


    But those thoughts came crashing down as he opened the door to Uncle Ben''s disappointed, concerned face. Guilt twisted Peter''s gut for forgetting his promise while he was too busy swinging above the city.


    "Sorry I''m late, Uncle Ben," Peter started, but the older man silenced him with a raised hand.


    "Save it, Peter," Uncle Ben''s voice held unusual sternness. "We were supposed to paint the kitchen together. Your Aunt May can¡¯t help me, we rely on you for work like this."


    Peter''s guilt turned defensive, a prickly heat creeping up his neck. "I know, I just...lost track of time."


    "Doing what?" Uncle Ben pressed, standing stiffly. "We had plans, Peter. You''ve been different lately. Avoiding us. Coming home late. Getting into fights."


    "I''m not different, Uncle Ben," Peter retorted harshly. "I''ve just got a lot on my mind, okay?" he added hastily, desperation creeping into his tone.


    "Try me, son," Uncle Ben gently challenged, but Peter adamantly shook his head.


    "It''s my life, okay?! You wouldn''t get it. You''re not my dad!" The words hung in the air between them creating a gap. Peter had crossed a line. He¡¯d spoken words that could not be unsaid.


    Uncle Ben recoiled as if struck, hurt flashing across his features. "You''re right," he said after a heavy pause, "I''m not your father. But since he couldn''t be here, I''ve tried my best. I promised him I would raise you as my own." He sighed heavily as if the weight of that promise suddenly felt heavy.


    Misreading Peter''s silence as rebellion, Uncle Ben continued, "You''re not a child anymore. You need to be responsible, Peter. Your actions have consequences..."


    "I know, I know!" Peter interrupted, temper flaring. "I¡¯ve heard it before. With great power comes great responsibility."


    Uncle Ben looked taken aback, words failing him. ¡°Peter. Please, talk to me,¡± he pleaded, reaching for his nephew.


    But Peter didn¡¯t linger to hear him out. With one last regretful, defiant look, he turned and stormed off, the slamming door echoing his inner turmoil.


    Uncle Ben stood frozen, hand outstretched, silent sadness in his eyes. He''d only wanted to understand, but the chasm between them had widened making it more vast than ever.


    Peter ran down the block. His ragged breaths couldn¡¯t drown out the chaotic mess of guilt, anger, and deep-cutting sadness. The cool night air did little to calm the storm within. He didn''t know where he was going. He just needed to outrun this swell of emotions, if only briefly. And so he disappeared into the growing darkness, alone with his turbulent thoughts.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    As the sun dipped below New York''s bustling skyline, casting long shadows down the streets, Tyson found himself reflecting on an oddly lonely day. His usual crew had vanished. No Peter at lunch, MJ and Harry nowhere to be seen, and not even an appearance from Flash to stir things up. Chemistry class with Gwen had been routine, but Cindy Moon''s empty seat was now an unsettling new norm. The school felt emptier, classes quieter, and the day decidedly duller.


    But the highlight was anything but dull. Martial arts class at Chikara Dojo, and it wasn''t just the vigorous workout that got his blood pumping, but his partner. Natasha Romanoff, or ¡®Natalie Rushman¡¯ as she claimed. She''d started attending a week ago, always coincidentally arriving when Tyson did. Her impressive skills meant Colleen often paired her with Tyson, the only student whose physicality allowed him to match her skill.


    Today''s focus was grappling. Natalie had demonstrated an intricate knowledge of the art to Collen, prompting Colleen to allow her to instruct Tyson while she worked with other students. Natalie''s instructions were precise, and her demonstrations were flawless. Tyson found himself caught in her teachings. Each collision made him acutely aware of her. The softness of her skin, the scent of her hair, the play of muscles beneath her tight exercise outfit. She''d guide his hands to her waist, shoulder, arms, teaching holds, and locks. But occasionally, just occasionally, his hand would slip or she''d place it teasingly close to more personal territory.


    That sly glint would appear in her eyes, playful, challenging, daring him to speak up. But Tyson, though flushed, kept his focus, respecting the woman and the art she wielded.


    Tyson wore full spandex, including gloves and a turtleneck, under his t-shirt and joggers. He did his best to limit his superhuman attributes to human levels. Not just to maintain his facade, but to ensure he properly learned the techniques.


    Natalie guided Tyson through each grapple with disciplined proficiency. As they shifted positions, he struggled to focus on the technique and not his hyper-awareness of her.


    In a sudden, fluid motion, Natalie twisted his momentum against him. He thudded to the mat, air whooshing from his lungs as he found himself staring at the ceiling. His vision was filled by Natalie''s victorious grin.


    Lying there, Tyson was acutely aware Natalie¡¯s body had followed her throw, leaving her atop him. The faint scent of her shampoo mingled with sweat from her exertion. Her eyes sparkled competitively but now held amusement too.


    Her closeness tested Tyson''s restraint. He sensed the minute changes in her breathing and felt the warmth of her body. Their position, her straddling atop his hips, brought heat to his cheeks and an involuntary response he couldn''t hide. He knew there was no way Natalie had failed to notice his bulge pressing against her.


    "You''re so close," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. The words carried a challenge but something more too. "Keep at it, and maybe you''ll get it." She set his heart racing but he held her gaze, accepting the double meaning.


    Matching her wit, Tyson replied, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll keep trying. I don¡¯t give up easily. I¡¯ll get it eventually.¡±


    Natalie raised an eyebrow in response. She rose, offering a hand, pulling him up and away from the chaotic thoughts their contact inspired.


    Outside the Chikara Dojo, conversation flowed easily between Natalie and Tyson after their intense sparring session. As they lingered outside, Natalie couldn''t help but inquire about Tyson''s unusual attire. The outfit included matching gloves, a high-necked turtleneck sleeveless top, and leggings that disappeared into his shoes, leaving only his head exposed.


    Natalie gestured vaguely at his ensemble. "So, what''s the deal with the spandex bodysuit getup?" she asked, one eyebrow raised quizzically.


    Tyson avoided her gaze and tugged self-consciously at the spandex encasing his bicep. "It''s uh...it''s a skin condition," he mumbled unconvincingly.


    "A skin condition that requires head-to-toe spandex?" Natalie pressed skeptically.


    "Yeah, uh, my doctor recommended I wear breathable fabrics to...help with the irritation," Tyson claimed, still not meeting her eyes.


    Natalie''s eyes sparkled mischievously. "So no touching then? That¡¯s funny, I seem to recall some exceptions during our session," she teased, her husky tone unexpectedly warming him.


    Before he could respond, his phone''s sharp trill cut through the moment. Grateful for the distraction, Tyson retrieved it. Jubilee''s name flashed on the screen.


    "Who''s calling?" Natalie asked casually, though Tyson detected a note of interest.


    "Just a friend," he replied, too quickly.


    Her lips curled teasingly. "A girlfriend, perhaps?"


    "No, not like that. She''s just a friend," Tyson clarified, sounding defensive even to himself.


    Natalie just smiled wider, letting it go. With a graceful tilt of her head, she casually bid farewell, leaving Tyson to his call. But as he answered, Tyson''s eyes followed Natalie as she sauntered down the block, taking a piece of his composure with her.


    Tyson leaned against the wall outside the Chikara Dojo, phone in hand. "Hey Jubes, what''s up?" he greeted, his voice casual, still riding the high from being so close to Natalie.


    Jubilee''s voice crackled with an unmistakable excitement, "Tyson, where are you right now?"


    "Uh, Chinatown. Why?" he replied. Her tone pulled his thoughts away from Natasha.


    "Is that near the Brooklyn Bridge?" she asked, urgency underpinning her words.


    "Yeah, actually it is. Why?" Tyson frowned.


    "Because there''s a dinosaur on the Brooklyn Bridge!" Jubilee blurted out, and the absurdity of the statement gave Tyson pause.


    A dinosaur? Images of the Savage Lands flashed through his mind, but that was so far away, and he hadn''t even considered its existence in this world. A beat passed before realization dawned, his mind turning to Peter, Oscorp, Dr. Connors, and that formula. Is that happening already?


    His thoughts were shattered by the beeping of his phone indicating another call. "Jubes, I''ll call you back," he said quickly.


    Switching calls, Tyson started jogging in the direction of the bridge. "Hello?"


    The phone line hummed before an older woman''s voice filtered through, laced with concern. "Is this Tyson?"


    "Speaking," he replied, slowing his pace slightly, an inkling of worry starting to form.


    "Oh, Tyson, this is Peter''s Aunt May. I found your number on Peter''s desk. Is he with you?" she inquired, the tremor in her voice barely masked.


    "No, sorry, he isn''t," Tyson responded, his worry escalating. Aunt May wouldn''t go looking through Peter''s stuff and call him unless it was important.


    "Oh, that''s too bad. Peter and Ben had an argument, and he stormed out. Ben went looking for him," Aunt May explained, her words rushed and tinged with anxiety. "If you see him, can you call me, or bring him home?"


    A surge of worry welled within Tyson. "Sure thing, Aunt May. I''ll go look for him now," he assured her.


    With the call ended, Tyson''s worry morphed into action. He knew the argument would lead to Uncle Ben''s death. They could be anywhere in the vast city, his only clue was the Lizard''s bridge appearance. It couldn''t be a coincidence.


    He sprinted toward the Brooklyn Bridge, legs pumping, each long stride devouring pavement. The cityscape blurred around his sharply focused mind. Uncle Ben was in trouble, and maybe Peter was too. He had to be there for them.


    Racing through crowded streets, Tyson impulsively snatched a mask from a vendor. He quickly stripped his shirt and shorts leaving him in the spandex getup. It was a spontaneous move to conceal his identity. With no time for doubts, he kept running. Despite the urgency, he smiled slightly at the mask style. An Anbu fox mask from a beloved anime. The only difference was this one covered his upper face and had been cut along the mouth-line. This left Tyson¡¯s lower face exposed while hiding his other features.


    Mask in place, Tyson''s determination solidified. A burst of speed carried him toward the bridge. In the distance, unmistakable sounds of destruction met his ears. He prayed he wasn''t too late. As the bridge loomed nearer, he steeled himself for what he might find. Uncle Ben was out there, possibly amidst this chaos, needing help. Remembering Aunt May''s worry, Tyson pushed himself harder.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Natasha rounded the corner of the block housing the Chikara Dojo. Her footsteps were light and casual despite the adrenaline just fading from her veins. Slipping her smartphone from the pocket of her leather jacket, and putting in her earpiece, she hit the speed dial for her partner''s number. The line trilled once before being picked up by the familiar gravelly voice.


    "Clint, what do you see from that bird''s eye view up there?" she asked, her tone low and even, but not devoid of its subtle, playful undertone.


    Perched high on a rooftop across the street with a clear vantage point overlooking the dojo, Clint''s voice crackled in her earpiece, amusement evident even through the slight static. "Kid''s got some serious moves, no question there. But he''s not the only one bringing the skills today. Looks like you put the moves on him during that sparring session."


    Natasha''s lips curled into a sly smirk, the corner of her mouth ticking up ever so slightly. "Just being thorough in my evaluation," she retorted, the easy banter between them as natural as breathing.


    "Uh-huh, sure," Clint drawled, not buying her feigned nonchalance for even a split second. "Gotta say though, pretty impressive restraint and control for a teenager. Looked like he was trying to learn from you instead of just tossing you around or feeling you up, which he definitely could''ve done, and you didn¡¯t seem to be discouraging."


    A moment stretched silently as Clint continued surveying the scene through his hawk-like gaze. Then suddenly, his voice lost its casual tone, turning serious and urgent. "Heads up Tasha, the kid''s on the move, and I mean really on the move. Heading your way fast, like easily breaking the speed limit fast."


    Natasha''s brows furrowed together, "What, already on his motorcycle?" she inquired, confused how he could have retrieved and mounted his bike so quickly.


    "Negative, he''s on foot," Clint clarified, disbelief at the feat seeping into his tone. "But moving way faster than the cars right now."


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Anticipation flooded Natahsa¡¯s veins. They knew Tyson was extraordinary. First was the Federal Reserve heist, which they still hadn¡¯t determined how he¡¯d pulled. Then there were his feats at the basketball game. The easy set of 405 lb power cleans later that day had further cemented her suspicions, and this impossible speed was yet another confirmation that he was enhanced. She was now almost certain they were dealing with a new Super Soldier, which raised concerning questions. Who had administered the serum to create him, for what purpose, and was he experiencing the rumored side effects? And yet being a super soldier still didn''t explain how he managed to nab the gold from the Federal Reserve Bank.


    Having driven to Chikara Dojo herself on a sleek black motorcycle, Natasha now sprinted toward where she had parked her bike just around the next corner. Mere seconds later, a blur of motion zipped through the intersection ahead of her.


    "Keep eyes on him, do not lose visual," Natasha ordered Clint sharply as she slipped in her nearly invisible earpiece communicator. Donning her helmet, she kickstarted the motorcycle to life, peeling out after her target. Her spy instincts were screaming that this was big, the kind of unusual activity they were trained to identify and investigate, the kind that could potentially cost innocent lives if left unchecked...


    The throaty roar of Natasha''s motorcycle engine filled the air as she gunned it, tires squealing against the pavement as she wove expertly through traffic in pursuit of Tyson. Her mind raced through scenarios and possibilities, wondering what unfolding situation could have prompted him to risk exposing himself like this.


    But amidst the uncertainty, an undeniable thrill surged within her. This was what she lived for. The chase, the unknown, and the danger.


    Keeping a block''s distance, Natasha tailed Tyson as he maintained his impossible pace, clocking nearly 50 mph on foot alone. His trajectory remained unwavering, heading straight for the Brooklyn Bridge just ahead. Natasha''s eyes narrowed in anticipation, wondering what could be drawing him to the bridge at such speed.


    As they approached, Natasha noted the bridge was a snarled mess of honking horns and frustrated commuters caught in near standstill traffic. Without hesitation, she veered her motorcycle up onto the sidewalk, adeptly weaving through the few startled pedestrians who shouted in surprise and indignation. She didn''t slow, her focus laser-sharp on the blur that was her target.


    Her commlink crackled to life in her ear, Clint''s voice cutting through the rush of wind and urban noise. "We''ve got another player. There¡¯s an unknown Enhanced on the bridge."


    Natasha''s grip tightened on the handlebars, a fresh surge of adrenaline kicking her heart rate up a notch. "Got any details, or just surprises today?" she shot back tersely, her tactical mind already racing through potential threat assessments.


    "You''re gonna have to see this one to believe it," was his only cryptic warning.


    Mere seconds later, she glimpsed firsthand what had given Clint pause. Lumbering onto the bridge was a creature so monstrous, so primal and reptilian, that Natasha''s brain took a moment to fully register what she was witnessing.


    A giant Lizard.


    It moved with terrifying speed and coordination on powerful hind legs, shoving aside vehicles as if they were plastic toys. Screams of panic filled the air as commuters abandoned their cars and fled in all directions.


    Fishtailing her bike to a stop, Natasha''s pulse pounded in her ears. This was bad. She was trained for a lot, but dinosaurs come to life? That fell distinctly outside her typical mission prep.


    Natasha''s sharp eyes scanned the chaotic scene before her, searching for any sign of Tyson amidst the pandemonium erupting on the bridge. She deftly dodged panicked civilians scrambling by while keeping a wary eye on the unpredictable, rampaging movements of the gigantic reptilian creature. She didn''t know exactly what she was dealing with here, but, at this moment, she was the only thing standing between this monster and potential civilian casualties.


    Clint''s voice suddenly crackled urgently in her commlink, a tension in his tone she recognized all too well. "Stand down and hold position. Get any closer right now and your cover is blown."


    Natasha''s finely honed instincts screamed at her to move, to do something, anything to intervene. But she was a professional above all else. Maintaining her cover identity mattered. Especially on such a delicate undercover mission where trust could be destroyed in an instant.


    "There are civilians everywhere," she shot back tersely, taking in the terrified faces around her, each one a human being she was duty-bound to protect.


    "Mask is about to engage the target. Get to a higher vantage point to observe only," Clint instructed, his tone brooking no argument this time.


    ¡°Mask?¡± Natasha mumbled to herself. With a fluidity born of countless missions, she sprinted toward the nearest bridge support pillar. An exposed maintenance ladder led upwards along the pillar towards the heights of the bridge''s understructure. Each rung she climbed gave her a broader view of the anarchy unfolding below until she was perched silently high above it all, an eagle-eyed sentinel observing the madness from her lofty vantage point.


    There, amid the screaming crowd and blaring car horns stood Tyson. The muscular teen seemed small and vulnerable compared to the hulking reptilian behemoth lumbering before him. Tyson was still clad in the skintight black spandex from earlier, but now a white mask was strapped over the upper half of his face, concealing his identity. Where had that come from? Natasha filed away that detail for later. The more pressing question was what exactly the teen planned to do against this prehistoric monster.


    It was almost surreal, watching the teenager square off solo against the towering creature straight from mankind''s primordial nightmares. The Lizard dwarfed Tyson, a leviathan of scales, sinew, and raw animal power that seemed like a laughably unfair matchup at first glance. But as Natasha observed from above, she noted Tyson''s stance held no trace of fear or hesitation, only poised confidence. A heightened version of the self-assurance she had witnessed in their earlier spar.


    The very air seemed to thicken with tension as the standoff continued, the panicked screams around them fading into background noise. All of Natasha''s senses zeroed in on the confrontation unfolding below. Every muscle was taut, ready to drop into the fray the instant the need arose.


    But Clint''s words still echoed clearly in her mind...observe only.


    For now, her role was to watch and wait, trusting that whatever extraordinary abilities Tyson possessed. And hope he had some kind of plan for dealing with a threat seemingly ripped from the pages of science fiction.


    The Lizard lunged straight for Tyson, powerful jaws gaping wide, clawed hands outstretched to shred the teen to ribbons. At the last possible second, Tyson moved. One heartbeat, he was directly in the path of certain death, the next he had flowed around the creature''s lethal strike, like water, to land a series of blindingly fast blows that made the Lizard reel back with an enraged, confused roar.


    Natasha''s breath caught in her throat as she observed the battle unfolding far below her perch. Tyson was holding his own for the moment, but it was a dangerous, precarious dance with death that could shift at any second.


    For all his uncanny agility and reflexes, Tyson failed to see the Lizard''s thick, powerful tail whipping around to slam into his side until it was too late. The impact was thunderous in Natasha''s ears even at a distance. The teen was sent flying like a limp ragdoll to crash into a parked car with enough force to leave a Tyson-shaped indentation in the metal chassis.


    Natasha''s heart stuttered in a rare flash of panic that she ruthlessly suppressed behind her impassive spy''s facade. This was it. She had to intervene now to try to save as many lives as possible. She would mourn Tyson¡¯s death later, but now she had work to do. Her muscles tensed, ready to propel her from her perch into the fray. Yet even as she prepared to drop, Tyson astonishingly pulled himself from the mangled wreckage, shaking his head to clear it like an action movie hero. He grimaced, but then defiantly cracked his neck and raised his fists, making a clear "bring it on" gesture to the Lizard.


    The creature roared in frustration, enraged by Tyson''s refusal to stay down. The battle resumed, even more intense than before. The Lizard''s claws raked forward, shredding through Tyson''s clothes and grazing the skin beneath.


    And then before Natasha¡¯s eyes, things somehow managed to get even stranger.


    Scaly patches erupted across the visible portions of Tyson''s skin. His posture changed, back hunching as his body rapidly bulked up. A long tail extended from between his spandex turtleneck and pants, completing his shocking new reptilian form.


    Natasha was no stranger to the bizarre and unexplained in her line of work, but this? This was something new even for her extensive experience. "Barton, are you seeing this?" she hissed sharply into her comm piece, unable to fully trust her own eyes.


    A brief pause, and then Clint''s stunned voice crackled back. "Yeah, I got eyes on it too. I''ll be damned. Looks like our boy just got an express ticket to Jurassic Park down there."


    As the shocking transformation was completed, Tyson refocused his attention on the rampaging Lizard with renewed ferocity. There was a wildness to his movements that hadn''t been present before, animalistic savagery unleashed by whatever traumatic transformation his body had just undergone.


    Natasha knew she should move, intervene, and take control of this rapidly escalating situation. Yet she found herself rooted in place, unable to look away from the spectacle unfolding below. This was uncharted territory now, a scenario that no training could have fully prepared her for. What did this radical transformation mean for Tyson''s future? For the mission? Things had suddenly grown far more complicated, the situation spiraling rapidly outside of expected parameters. Natasha''s hand hovered over her comm, weighing whether to call for backup. This was far beyond any standard assignment now.


    But then she noticed a pattern that gave her pause.


    Tyson, even in this monstrous semi-reptilian form, was using hand-to-hand techniques and maneuvers she recognized from their training session at the dojo earlier. His movements, though now endowed with a feral savagery, still contained echoes of the martial arts skills he had demonstrated before. It was astonishing to see those trained techniques translated through such a primal, bestial lens.


    Tyson''s claws glinted with an unnatural metallic sheen as they sliced through the Lizard''s thick hide as though it were mere paper instead of tough scales. The creature released a bone-chilling, pain-filled howl that ricocheted around the bridge, making even Natasha momentarily wince in sympathy. Driven by animal instinct, the Lizard lashed back with a surge of raw power, its muscular legs launching Tyson through the air. But the transformed teen twisted his bulky body in midair with preternatural grace, executing an acrobatic maneuver that looked jarringly smooth for such a large, hulking creature.


    Natasha''s breath caught in her throat as Tyson re-engaged the Lizard in a blur of motion the instant his clawed feet hit the pavement. The Lizard, acting on pure survival instinct now, gave one final desperate leap up onto the bridge railing. Then the creature hurled itself over the edge, falling into the murky river far below.


    Tyson remained standing rigidly at the railing''s edge, back heaving and claws clenched, staring after the dark waters that had swallowed his foe''s retreating form.


    As the haze of adrenaline from the battle began to recede, the full chaos and destruction left in its wake crashed over Tyson with the force of a frigid wave. The bridge was now a disaster zone. Car alarms blared, but above all else, the screams and cries for help from terrified civilians caught in the wreckage snapped Tyson from his battle-lust.


    With a thought, Tyson reactivated his illusion ability, the power that had always allowed him to blend into a crowd, unseen and unremarkable. It was crucial now, given his tattered, barely-there clothes, semi-reptilian form, and the mask that had concealed his identity was pushed up by his new lizard snout.


    Natasha tensed, ready to drop down into the scene, but Clint''s urgent command in her earpiece made her pause. "Stand down. Maintain cover. Something''s off here. The kid looks normal to the naked eye, but imaging still shows his full transformation."


    Natasha''s gaze snapped back to Tyson, sharply analyzing his every movement as he surveyed the chaotic scene around him. His focus landed on a nearby crisis. There was a car teetering precariously half off the bridge''s edge. A child''s panicked wails were audible from within the vehicle.


    Tyson sprinted into action. To Natasha''s eyes, he appeared as the young man she''d been training at the dojo earlier. But the visual feed from Clint told a very different story. It was the hulking, reptilian beast Tyson had transformed into now lifting the car as if it were a mere toy in his massive clawed hands.


    Gripping the car''s undercarriage with ease, the creature Natasha saw as Tyson, hoisted the vehicle up and back onto solid ground. Inside, the child''s cries shifted to choking sobs of overwhelming relief. Nearby witnesses, frozen in horror just moments before, now rushed to the car to pull the rescued child from the wreckage to safety.


    As the illusion of his human self, Tyson stepped back once the child was safe, ceding the scene to the police and paramedics rushing in. Natasha yearned to approach him, to offer some form of reassurance or guidance. But she held back, remaining an observer high above it all.


    "He''s back to his normal self again on cameras,¡± Clint¡¯s confused voice crackled in her earpiece. ¡°How the hell did he do that switch? What''s going on here?"


    "I''m not entirely sure yet,¡± Natasha admitted, her penetrating gaze never leaving Tyson down below. Then he tilted his head up as if sniffing the air, before turning, and for a split second that seemed to stretch on far longer, his eyes locked directly onto hers. The chaos around them faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in a bubble of unspoken connection. His eyes mirrored so many emotions she had experienced all too often in her shadowy past. She longed to convey that he wasn''t alone in this, that she understood.


    But the fleeting moment broke as Tyson¡¯s gaze slid away, moving past her position as if she were just another fixture of the landscape. He spun around and dashed toward the Manhattan side of the wrecked bridge, weaving smoothly through the maze of totaled cars and dazed civilians.


    ¡°Did he make you?¡± Clint demanded sharply in her ear, skepticism clear in his tone.


    ¡°No. I don¡¯t believe so,¡± Natasha responded on instinct. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie, one she found herself telling as much for her own sake as for Clint¡¯s. Because in that glance, she¡¯d glimpsed definite recognition in the teen¡¯s eyes.


    He had seen her. And perhaps more importantly, she had seen him. She saw the alone young man hidden beneath the extraordinary exterior.


    "He''s heading off the bridge. Should I tail him?" Natasha asked, already climbing down toward the motorcycle.


    "Negative," Clint replied after a pause. "We''ll regroup and debrief with the team first. There¡¯s a lot to unpack here.¡± Procedure dictated the next steps, but it did little to ease the worry gnawing at her gut as she watched Tyson disappear alone into the city.


    Sirens began wailing in the distance signaling the incoming swarm of emergency responders. Emergency vehicles flooded the scene, their red and blue lights cast flickering shadows across the ground. Natasha remained fixed on the route Tyson had fled down, his retreating image imprinted sharply in her mind. She couldn''t seem to shake the sense of kinship she felt with the teenage boy. His situation called to her shadowy past. She recognized the profound isolation of having no one to turn to. She had been there once, lost and adrift in a world that seemed far too vast and cruel, seen only as a weapon to be used or a threat to be neutralized. Natasha had been known solely for the trail of bodies left silently in her wake. It was that bleak darkness that had first drawn SHIELD''s attention, leading Clint to find her with an offer of not an end, but a potential new beginning. A chance at redemption, at purpose. She owed Clint nothing less than her life and humanity for that pivotal second chance. And in Tyson, she glimpsed someone potentially in desperate need of the same lifeline she had once gotten. Natasha took one final lingering look down the path where Tyson had disappeared. At that moment, a silent promise took form within her. She would offer guidance as someone who had walked a similar road.


    "Nat, you need pickup at the scene?" Clint''s voice crackled through her earpiece, a grounding presence as always.


    "Negative, I''ll take the bike back," she responded. The wind whipped wildly through her hair as she navigated the streets, the city fading into background noise compared to the storm churning within her thoughts.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Peter Parker''s feet pounded the pavement as he raced through Queens, buildings and people blurring past. Driven by frustration, he wasn''t sure where he was going until his sprint slowed, leaving him in a small, quiet park. Collapsing onto an empty bench, his churning mind gradually calmed. The world came back into focus and he noticed a crumpled newspaper beside him. Smoothing it out, a bold ad immediately caught his eye.


    WRESTLING EXTRAVAGANZA! Win $3000 for surviving 3 minutes in the ring!


    Thoughts of Flash''s flashy car and Tyson''s motorcycle rolled through Peter''s mind. $3000 could put him on the road to getting a decent set of wheels.


    Without another thought, Peter sprang up, mind whirring with possibilities. He dashed into a thrift store, eyes scanning until landing on a plain red long-sleeved shirt, gloves, and a balaclava. Next, a craft store provided a can of spray paint, and an idea formed as he went.


    In a private alley, Peter''s hands worked feverishly. He laid the shirt flat, using the spray paint with surprising skill. It began to transform, taking on a new identity as he hoped to. A makeshift spider symbol emerged on the fabric, the gloves and balaclava following suit.


    Donning his crafted persona, Peter felt a thrilling surge. He wasn''t just Peter Parker anymore. Stepping into that ring, he would be someone new. Someone capable of amazing feats no one else could achieve.


    With a pounding heart, Peter made his way to the raucous wrestling arena. The deafening crowd noise fueled his anticipation. Hollering, jeering spectators created a cacophony of excitement that echoed through the makeshift arena. The announcer''s larger-than-life voice boomed through loudspeakers, brimming with enthusiasm.


    "Ladies and gents! In this corner, a newcomer, a nobody, a...kid in a red getup! Let''s welcome¡­¡± The announcer whispered, ¡°What''s your name, kid?"


    "It''s ''The Human Spider,''" Peter said. It sounded sillier aloud than in his head.


    "The Human Spider?!" The announcer scoffed. "Too wordy, too boring! You need something catchy, and memorable!¡± He returned to the mic, ¡°Ladies and gents, I give you...The Spider-Man!"


    The crowd reaction was mixed but it didn''t matter. Peter was angry that the announcer improvised his name, but had to admit, ¡®Spider-Man'' had a gravitas to it.


    "And in the other corner," the announcer''s tone darkened, "a man you know, a man you fear¡­ he''s stone cold, he instills the fear of death in his opponents, the indomitable, the terrifying...Tombstone!"


    The crowd erupted, some cheered, and others gasped in fear as a towering ash-skinned figure with maliciously gleaming eyes stepped forth. White flat-top hair completed the ominous presence.


    The cage door clanged shut and Peter''s heart lurched. What was he doing?! Peter exclaimed, ¡°There must be a mistake. I didn¡¯t sign up for a cage match!¡± But there was no backing out now.


    At the bell, Tombstone advanced. Driven by survival, Peter moved unlike ever before. He dodged powerful swings that could crack concrete, somersaulted under crushing grabs, and leaped with newfound grace. Initially dismissive, the crowd came alive.


    "Look at Spider-Man go!" the announcer roared, surprised.


    But Tombstone was relentless, backing Peter into a corner. Trapped, Peter saw the punch coming but froze as fear gripped him. At the last second, reflexes born of his new abilities took over and he twisted away with preternatural speed, the grazing fist still feeling like a Mack truck slamming into his side. Pain exploded through him but he ignored it, desperate to survive this cage match.


    The crowd gasped, astonished at Spider-Man''s uncanny dodge. Emboldened, Peter knew he had to keep moving or he''d be crushed. As Tombstone reared back for another powerful swing, Peter leaped upwards, sticking to the cage wall with his hands and feet like a spider. The crowd roared in shock and excitement at this gravity-defying move. Tombstone''s fist smashed into the cage, deforming the metal where Peter''s head had been a split second ago.


    "What''s this, folks?! The Spider-Man is scaling the walls!" bellowed the disbelieving announcer.


    Peter didn''t have time to revel in the crowd''s excitement. He scrambled higher, using his adhesive grip while Tombstone bellowed and grasped for his ankles. But Peter was too quick, climbing out of reach. Tombstone shook the cage violently, desperately trying to dislodge his arachnid opponent but Peter held on, muscles burning from exertion.


    At the top of the cage, Peter surveyed the situation. He might be a matched for Tombstone in strength, but why would he when his new abilities made him far faster and more agile? He just had to avoid getting grabbed or cornered.


    Taking a breath, Peter leaped, flipping gracefully over the enraged Tombstone to land lightly behind him. The crowd cheered ecstatically at the aerial acrobatics on display. As Tombstone spun around, roaring and throwing a wild haymaker, Peter dropped and rolled away. Quick as a blink, he bounced to his feet, unleashing a flurry of rapid punches to Tombstone''s lower back before dancing away.


    Howls of shock and then rising excitement came from the spectators. This scrawny kid in a makeshift costume was evading the monstrous Tombstone''s grasp and now dishing out damage of his own!


    Enraged, Tombstone whirled with startling speed, huge hands grasping for purchase. Peter barely slipped the grip, feeling the wind of it brush his hair. The chase continued around the ring, brute force versus agility. For a time, Peter managed to stay ahead, peppering Tombstone with minor hits while avoiding the sledgehammer blows aimed at him. But the giant seemed impervious to pain. He couldn''t keep running forever. He had to take Tombstone down somehow before he got careless.


    Peter''s mind raced, analyzing Tombstone''s lumbering gait, seeking weaknesses. Then he saw it. When Tombstone kicked, he put all his weight on one leg for just a moment. Peter hatched a desperate plan, baiting Tombstone into another kick. As the giant''s leg extended, Peter shot out a web, binding that foot to the floor mid-kick! Gasps rang out as Tombstone realized he was stuck. Seizing the split-second opportunity, Peter raced forward, leaping onto the immobilized man''s shoulders. Before Tombstone could react, Peter unleashed a furious barrage of rapid-fire punches squarely into his face.


    The giant staggered, dazed under the onslaught. Pressing his advantage, Peter spun and delivered a desperate, full-force kick to Tombstone''s jaw. A sickening crack echoed through the arena. Tombstone''s eyes rolled back in his head and nearly 500 pounds of muscle crashed to the canvas, out cold. The ring shook violently and the crowd went insane.


    Panting and shaking with adrenaline, Peter could scarcely believe it. The bell rang as the announcer declared Spider-Man the winner. He had done it. He had beaten Tombstone! As the crowd chanted his impromptu moniker, Peter felt reborn.


    The bell rang again, and the announcer roared, "The winner is...Spider-Man! Folks, we have a new champion!"


    In the aftermath, with the crowd still buzzing, Peter made his way to the organizer''s booth, heart racing from the match. He could practically feel the $3,000 prize in his hands.


    Approaching the booth, the sleazy organizer with a crooked smile counted out $200, sliding it over.


    "Hey, the ad said $3,000," Peter protested.


    The man smirked without even glancing up. "Well, the ad also said three minutes. You pinned him in two. You''re lucky to get even a couple hundred."


    Peter was stunned, fist clenching in frustration. "I need that money," he said, struggling to steady his voice.


    "Not my problem," came the dismissive reply. The organizer¡¯s attention was already back on his cash counting.


    Feeling utterly defeated and cheated, Peter stuffed the crumpled bills into his pocket and turned away, the elation of his victory souring into anger and resentment. All he could now afford was a bicycle, not the flashy car or motorcycle he''d dreamed of. Once again, despite doing everything right, his hard work and effort had gotten him nowhere. The story of his life.


    As Peter made his way through the dingy hallway, a sudden commotion erupted behind him. He turned to see a panicked man sprinting his way, security guards in hot pursuit.


    "Stop him!" one of the guards shouted, but the thief was fast, barreling straight toward Peter.


    Peter easily could have tripped the robber or grabbed him, stopping him in his tracks. But the bitter sting of the organizer''s betrayal was still fresh in his mind. So when the moment came, he did nothing, stepping aside and letting the robber pass without a word.


    As the man rushed by, he shot Peter a quick nod. "Thanks, kid," he said breathlessly.


    Moments later, the winded guards ran by, frustration etched on their faces. The organizer caught up to Peter, "Why didn''t you stop him?" he demanded.


    Peter couldn''t help the bitter smile that crossed his lips. "It''s not my problem," he echoed callously, the organizer''s dismissive words still ringing in his ears.


    The organizer looked appalled by this. "Not your problem?!"


    Peter shrugged, his residual anger from the bait-and-switch prize money clouding his judgment. "I''m just here to wrestle."


    The flabbergasted organizer just shook his head before taking off after the thief again, yelling at his guards to call for backup. With the hallway now empty, Peter found his bitterness softening. The brief excitement and satisfaction from his victory had evaporated completely, replaced by frustration and injustice. He started heading home, his hands shoved bitterly into his pockets.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Tyson raced through the city¡¯s streets, the cold night air stinging his face. His mind was a whirlwind, replaying the bridge events. The Lizard fight, the bystanders'' panicked eyes, and Natalie''s piercing gaze cut through it all. He''d held her look a fraction too long, and a silent acknowledgment had passed between them.


    But where were Peter and Uncle Ben? They were the reason he''d rushed to the bridge yet nowhere to be found. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach, worry for his friends eclipsing the fight''s adrenaline.


    As he neared Queens, wailing sirens painted the night sky in flickering red and blue. Tyson followed the sounds, their urgency heightening his anxiety. The streets became a blur as he wove through traffic, focused solely on finding his friends and ensuring their safety. His motorcycle roared beneath him, echoing his turbulent emotions. He was a rider without a destination, guided only by the emergency beacons and an intrinsic need to help, to make things right.


    Tyson''s journey was cut short as he stumbled into a scene that chilled him to the bone. A mass of onlookers had gathered around a small grocery store, patrol cars haphazardly stationed outside. The storefront glass lay shattered while Officers held back the crowd.


    Without a second thought, Tyson abandoned his bike. The world slowed as Tyson pushed through the line of spectators, breath trapped in his throat. There, in the stark, flashing lights, amidst the turmoil, Peter held a lifeless form.


    Uncle Ben.


    Both men¡¯s shirts were stained with blood. The scene was painted with vivid, horrifying clarity that would surely be burned into Tyson''s mind.


    Peter''s face was a mask of desperation, his eyes were wide and shimmering with unshed tears. The crowd around them faded into a blur, their whispers and murmurs an incoherent buzz. Nothing else mattered but the heartbreaking scene.


    "Uncle Ben," Tyson mumbled as he took a knee beside Peter. Peter looked so small, the slowly growing confidence gone, replaced by a lost boy clutching his uncle as if he could anchor the man''s soul to this world by will alone.


    Peter''s gaze found Tyson''s, and the raw anguish there struck like a physical blow. "He...he tried to stop a thief...got shot," Peter stammered, voice ragged. "I-I called 911, they were supposed to come, they. They said they''d help him!"


    Tyson reached out, resting a gloved hand over Peter¡¯s trembling one. "It''s not your fault, Pete," Tyson said, the words ringing hollow even to him. What solace could he possibly provide now?


    The sirens wailed closer as paramedics pushed through the crowd, but Tyson knew¡­ they all knew, it was too late. The vibrant man who''d offered sage advice disguised as casual comments was gone.


    The paramedics arrived, but. Peter clung tighter, refusing to let Uncle Ben go. There was nothing the emergency responders coud do. Tyson had to gently coax Peter to release his hold using a slight application of his enhanced strength.


    "You gotta let them help him, Pete," Tyson urged gently. The plea broke through Peter''s shock, and he finally let go, standing numbly with Tyson''s support. They backed away together yet isolated in grief as the paramedics fulfilled their duty. A duty no longer holding hope.


    The officers began questioning. But the words barely registered to the teens.


    ~~ Rogue Replacement ~~


    Nick Fury, director of SHIELD, sat at the head of the table, his iconic eyepatch and stern expression commanding attention. Clint, Coulson, and Natasha surrounded him. "Status report," came his succinct order that focused everyone in.


    Natasha began. "The target individual, Tyson, appears to be enhanced in some way. My initial judgment categorized him as a potential super soldier given his extraordinary reflexes and strength exhibited during gym class. His talents vastly eclipsed any normal teen, easily bordering Olympians." She paused, ¡°During observation, he never demonstrated any of the abilities to avoid detection, shapeshift, or any other power that would explain his appearance noted by Barton in our previous meetings.¡±


    "However, after the incident on the overpass, it''s evident he possesses more than just enhanced strength and agility. He transformed during his skirmish with another enhanced we¡¯re deeming ¡®The Lizard¡¯. Whether this change was reactive, his previously demonstrated power, a latent capability, or something else entirely, we''re still uncertain.¡± She paused, scanning the faces of her associates sternly. "Despite the mysteries surrounding his talents, his character seems principled. He''s shown a strong sense of loyalty to his friends, respect for authority, though reluctantly at times, and a genuine desire to assist when people are endangered."


    Clint''s lips quirked in a smirk. "It almost sounds like you''re fond of him, Nat. Some of those characteristics are due to your involvement or... influence. You''ve made quite an impression on the kid."


    Her eyes narrowed. "All the more reason to consider bringing him into the fold. If he''s seeking role models, he could do far worse."


    Fury folded his hands, gazing at Natasha pensively. "Do you believe he has the makings of a recruit?"


    "Not right now," Natasha admitted. "He''s unrefined, but he has promise. And currently, he''s alone, which leaves him susceptible to other influences. We have a window to approach. Before he gains someone else¡¯s attention."


    "Or we may be inviting a ticking time bomb into our midst," Coulson interjected practically, ever the voice of reason.


    Fury nodded slowly. "We''ll need to monitor him closely. Natasha, stay with him. Get a better understanding of his nature. Clint, I want you to keep tabs. Coulson, uncover anything you can about this kid''s history, his family, anything that might provide us insight."


    Coulson''s voice cut through the strategizing. "About that, sir." His tone was different, laced with a gravity that immediately seized the attention of every person present. He slid a dossier across the table, the bold, capitalized words "MUTANTS" emblazoned on the cover. "I''ve discovered something disturbing. It seems our memories, possibly the memories of everyone, have been manipulated. We''ve been blinded to a significant threat."


    Clint picked up the file, his brows knitting together skeptically. "Is this some kind of joke? Mutants are a myth, a conspiracy theory. They aren''t real."


    "They are, and they have been here," Coulson responded with uncommon urgency in his voice. "I don''t know how it''s possible, but it''s as if we''ve been living with a blind spot. Just read the file."


    Details were absorbed, pages reviewed, and the information within the file burned into their minds. Images of beings with supernatural talents, classified accounts of unexplainable events, and scientific analyses indicating genetic deviations. All factual, all verifiable.


    Silence hung heavy for a moment before Natasha shattered it, her voice betraying none of the disquiet within. "This changes everything. How could we have missed or forgotten this?"


    Fury''s single eye bored into them, intense and uncompromising. "That''s what we need to uncover. Coulson, you and Hill dig deeper. Determine the scope of this memory manipulation and how it was accomplished."


    Fury stated firmly, unhesitating. "We proceed as planned, but with heightened vigilance. If Tyson is a mutant, our prior assessment may not be accurately accounting for his power. And he may not be the only one."


    Coulson nodded, already compiling the resources required for such an investigation. "We should also look into known associates, see if there are any connections to mutants or related incidents."


    "Agreed," Fury acknowledged with a sharp dip of his chin. He turned his attention to Natasha. "Maintain your cover. Keep observing Tyson. If he is a mutant, he''s our best avenue into understanding what we''re up against."


    "And if he uncovers our motives?" Natasha pressed, aware of her precarious position.


    "We''ll handle that situation as it develops," Fury stated decisively. His eye traced over each of them in turn. "We aren''t in the business of recruiting children, but we are in the business of safeguarding the world. If this kid is what you claim, Natasha, he''ll need allies. It''s better for everyone if those allies are us."


    The meeting adjourned, and the weight of their new mission descended upon them as they set off to their assigned tasks. Drawing an enhanced individual into the fold would be no simple matter. And this was no longer tracking one anomalous, enhanced individual. They were plunging into a mystery capable of redefining their comprehension of the world itself. Mutants were real. A truth they were only beginning to unravel.

 Arc 4 - Ch 5: Menace

    Date: Wednesday, October 13, 2010.


    Location: Oscorp, Manhattan, New York


    The sun was just beginning to set over the Manhattan skyline as Tyson stepped through the glass doors into the headquarters of Oscorp that Wednesday evening. It had been over a week since Uncle Ben''s tragic passing. Tyson knew he couldn''t let himself fall into depressed inaction. So here he was, badge clipped neatly to his belt, walking into his internship as usual, unaware of the chaos that awaited within.


    The moment he entered the lobby, Tyson sensed something was amiss. Security guards paced with stiff urgency, their brows furrowed with evident concern. Scientists chatted in small groups, looking sadder than Tyson felt. The mood was decidedly grim. Everyone seemed to be carrying a heavy weight, their shoulders slumped and their faces drawn.


    Except one scientist who stood out as he headed through the lobby on his way home.


    He walked with an unsettling spring in his step, a smile playing on his lips that seemed utterly disconnected from the palpable atmosphere of distress surrounding him. His attire was impeccable. He wore a tailored black suit, under his lab coat, that hugged his tall, lean frame. His skin was pale, and his meticulously slicked-back hair was jet black with the slightest hint of blue sheen under the artificial lighting.


    Tyson approached this seemingly out-of-place man. The ID badge pinned to the man''s lapel identified him as Dr. Stasis. The name wasn''t familiar, but his scent of electric ozone and dusty velvet with chemical undertones was. It took a moment for Tyson to recall where he''d encountered the smell before he realized it was during the field trip. Dr. Stasis must have been one of the scientists working in the spider lab.


    "Excuse me," Tyson interrupted, his deep voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern. "Do you know what happened today that has got everyone on edge?"


    Dr. Stasis turned towards Tyson, and his smile widened as if he relished the opportunity to recount the day''s events. "One of our scientists was discovered dead this morning," Dr. Stasis said in a tone that almost bordered on joviality. "And that''s not all. Military hardware went missing, as did an experimental serum."


    Throughout his explanation, Dr. Stasis''s eyes sparkled with an odd glee that seemed grotesquely out of place given the nature of his news. The cheerfulness in his voice was disconcerting as he described what would otherwise be considered grave outcomes.


    Tyson furrowed his brow, confusion etching lines across his forehead as he tried to reconcile the man''s demeanor with the information he had just been given.


    "I see," Tyson managed to say after a moment, still perplexed by Dr. Stasis''s unusual happiness about such dire events. "Thank you for letting me know."


    "Oh, it''s quite all right," Dr. Stasis replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if discussing nothing more consequential than a change in the weather. "Such incidents are simply... opportunities for progress, wouldn''t you agree?"


    Before Tyson could respond or inquire further, Dr. Stasis nodded curtly and continued on his way out of Oscorp''s lobby, leaving behind a trail of unsettling energy that seemed to linger in the air.


    Tyson watched him go, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly as he pondered what kind of person found joy in such events. He shook off the unease creeping up his spine and turned to begin his patrol through Oscorp.


    As Tyson ventured deeper into the building, fragments of hushed conversation painted an increasingly dire picture. When Tyson managed to catch a glimpse of the ransacked laboratory itself, the story became clear. Tables were overturned, glass shattered across the floor, and ominous stains smeared on the walls.


    With his meta-knowledge, it was obvious to Tyson what had happened. Norman Osborn was a genius, but also a man driven by dangerous ambition and desperation. He had been on the brink of a breakthrough that promised to push human capabilities further and solidify lucrative military contracts. However, there were rising concerns about the safety and stability of the untested super soldier formula he''d been developing. Now, in the wake of death, destruction, and Osborn''s disappearance, Tyson felt the weight of the dreadful realization settle upon his chest.


    Osborn tested the unstable formula on himself. What had occurred in that lab was born of his reckless transformation, a Jekyll and Hyde scenario that could only spell disaster.


    The Green Goblin was coming.


    Tyson had thought that with the Lizard''s rampage on the bridge, Osborn might not become the Green Goblin, at least not yet. He wondered if he should do something, but he was caught in the grip of uncertainty, his mind churning with indecision. He had no real evidence to turn in to the authorities to substantiate his suspicions about Osborn''s dangerous experimentation. He was sure others had already gone through the security footage, but he would look it over with a fine-toothed comb. Hopefully, there''d be some evidence, he couldn''t just outright accuse Norman Osborn.


    But the thought of doing nothing, of leaving Osborn potentially out there along with the Lizard, was unacceptable. Tyson was no stranger to feeling helpless, and the sting of it now, in the wake of Uncle Ben''s death, was poignant.


    He left Oscorp late that night, the lights of the city blurred as he rode, his mind troubled and restless. He couldn''t approach the authorities, he hadn''t found any hard evidence, but he couldn''t sit idle either while Osborn posed a menacing threat. There had to be a way to mitigate the danger the reckless scientist presented. He mulled over his options as buildings and streetlights slid past in the darkness. Even with the super soldier serum and the military tech he stole, Tyson should be able to stop Osborn before the Green Goblin was unleashed upon the city. Tyson''s brows furrowed in contemplation as he navigated the nighttime streets. Would preemptively taking out Osborn affect Peter''s development as Spider-Man, and was letting a madman run around the city a fair trade-off for Peter''s growth?


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson''s morning routine proceeded as usual, the hotel staff delivering a breakfast spread that he picked at between gathering textbooks and double-checking his backpack. As he jabbed at the power button on the room''s television, ready to catch the morning news, a familiar brash voice blared out, arresting his attention mid-bite.


    There on the screen, in high-definition, was J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, his mustache bristling with indignation. Today Jameson''s tirade seemed to be ratcheted up to a whole new level.


    "They''re criminals, that''s what they are!" Jameson bellowed, slamming a clenched fist onto his cluttered desk and sending papers jumping. "This city''s becoming a playground for vigilantes with no regard for the law, no accountability!"


    A series of images flashed on the screen beside the incensed editor. Blurry shots and shaky video clips showed the chaos on the Brooklyn Bridge, cars crunched and tossed aside like toys, the monstrous form of the Lizard looming large...and then, himself. Tyson swallowed hard at the sight of the dinosaur-like creature he had transformed into.


    Jameson jabbed a finger at the image on the screen, his face contorted in a sneer. "This one appeared out of nowhere, fighting what witnesses describe as a ''dinosaur''!" the editor bellowed, once again slamming a fist onto his desk. "And during this so-called ''heroic'' act, dozens of vehicles were destroyed, traffic disrupted for hours, and lives put at risk! There was a child, for heaven''s sake, trapped in a car that nearly fell off the bridge during the melee!"


    The images on the screen shifted to a shaky clip of Tyson in his reptilian form, engaged in a fierce battle with the Lizard. Debris and crushed cars littered the bridge around them. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, Tyson was gone. It was a trick of the camera as the bystander turned to check on the wailing child just as Tyson sprinted away.


    "And then, poof! Vanishes into thin air!" Jameson continued his bulbous face reddening, voice dripping with disdain. "The locals are calling him ''Mirage.'' Ha! More like a nightmare!"


    Tyson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had known there were cameras, cell phones... But seeing himself broadcast on national television was something else entirely. His scaly visage splayed across the screens like a wanted criminal.


    "Let me make this clear!" Jameson''s eyes were alight with fervor, spittle flying. "This city does not need ''heroes'' hiding behind masks or vanishing acts! We need law and order, accountability, and responsibility! These vigilantes, like this ''Mirage'', they''re a menace!"


    Tyson''s appetite was gone as he stared down at his plate of food. He had tried to help, to do something good, but in the eyes of blowhards like J. Jonah Jameson, he was just another problem plaguing the city. The injustice of it stung, though he supposed he shouldn''t have expected more from such a caricature of a newsman.


    The television screen split, displaying images of himself on one side and the flashy new Spider-Man on the other. "Let''s not forget about our wall-crawling menace, Spider-Man!" J. Jonah Jameson roared, spittle flying as his finger jabbed at the images. "He''s just another vigilante causing chaos in our city, taking the law into his own hands! These masked hooligans are a plague on our society!"


    Tyson''s eyes were fixed on the red and blue figure dominating the other half of the screen. Spider-Man had become the talk of Midtown High recently, with many fascinated by his gravity-defying stunts.


    The news segment transitioned to shaky footage captured by enthralled bystanders, showcasing Spider-Man''s agility as he effortlessly vaulted over rooftops and ricocheted between buildings. But it wasn''t just acrobatics. There was an intensity to his actions, a personal motivation fueling his driven movements.


    The footage cut to a dingy alley, the camera unsteady as Spider-Man had a suspect pinned menacingly against the brick wall. "Where is he?" Spider-Man hissed, his voice a fierce whisper. "The guy with the star tattoo on his wrist!" The thug frantically shook his head, and in an instant, Spider-Man was off again, a red and blue streak vanishing into the darkness.


    "He''s not just patrolling," Tyson muttered under his breath, leaning forward intently as the scenes played out. He recognized that relentless intensity. Spider-Man, Peter, was hunting for the man who had killed his Uncle Ben, seeking to right his wrong or perhaps for revenge.


    The screen cut back to Jameson, the news anchor''s smug expression one of vindication. "See? He''s a menace!" Jameson proclaimed, jabbing an accusatory finger at the screen. "Provoking violence, instilling fear! This Spider-Man is a law unto himself, and it''s only a matter of time before innocent people get caught in his web!"


    Tyson''s fists clenched at his sides, he tried not to let Jameson''s inflammatory words reach him. But the man did have somewhat of a point. It was a reminder of the fine line he and Peter walked. Heroes only to some. Were they really that different from the criminals they fought if they embraced their raw drives? For Peter, right now, it was his rage and vendetta.


    For Tyson, it was the morally questionable ways he used his powers since arriving in New York. This suite, the expensive clothes, the shiny new motorcycle parked in the underground garage, all of it was acquired by manipulating others. The slowly dwindling collection of gold he''d been spreading across the city''s goldmongers had been stolen from the Federal Reserve, a whim at the time, that was proving difficult to justify.


    Tyson slouched in his chair. The more he dwelled on recent events, the heavier the unease grew within him. He thought back to the chaos on the bridge, how he had intervened without hesitation to stop the Lizard''s rampage and rescue that child trapped in the dangling car. That had been the right thing to do. So why did he feel this creeping doubt?


    Tyson moved to the suite''s window and peered out at the sprawling cityscape before him. This was his fresh start, a chance to define himself on his own terms. He didn''t have to be a hero, but he refused to become a villain either, no matter how alluring that path might seem.


    With a frustrated sigh, Tyson grabbed the remote control and switched off the TV, plunging the room into silence. Glancing at the time on his phone, Tyson realized he''d be late for school if he didn''t hurry. Grabbing his backpack, he cast one last conflicted look at the blank TV as he headed for the door, the echoes of Jameson''s accusations haunting his steps. Down in the garage, Tyson swung his leg over his motorcycle, the engine rumbling to life beneath him. As he sped off down the street, doubts and questions swirled within him. Was Jameson right? Was he just a menace?


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The atmosphere in the gym was filled with the chorus of exertion and the unmistakable tang of competition hanging heavy in the air. Thick ropes dangled from the lofty ceiling. Students shuffled into lines, at each rope. Their faces broadcast a spectrum of emotions; determination, apprehension, or outright dread.


    Tyson took his place in line. Beside him stood Felicia Hardy, her distinctive shock of white hair seeming to radiate indifference, her attention apparently miles away from the gymnasium.


    "So," Tyson began, his tone casual to the point of aloofness, "how was your night?"


    Felicia''s eyebrow arched slightly in the first acknowledgment of his presence that morning. "It went well," she replied evenly, her voice low and laced with an air of mystery that clung to her like a second skin. "Much like most of my nights."


    The corner of Tyson''s mouth twitched upward knowingly. He had witnessed Felicia just last week infiltrating Oscorp after dark. He wondered what secrets she pursued, what drove a girl like her to take such risks.


    "Been busy with that paper for class?" he ventured, watching her closely. "The one on cats?"


    The only crack in Felicia''s composure was her eyes narrowing a fraction. "It''s going," she said guardedly, though her tone hinted otherwise. "Lots of late nights spent researching."


    Tyson nodded, "Need any help?" he offered, infusing his words with genuine concern. He was signaling, as subtly as he could, that whatever she was caught up in, he was willing to assist.


    Felicia eyed him appraisingly, her crystalline blue gaze seemingly weighing him. "Maybe," she conceded after a moment, though her voice betrayed her unaccustomedness to accepting help. "I might take you up on that."


    Tyson turned at the sound of Natalie Rushman''s voice echoing through the gym. Their PE instructor stood at the climbing ropes, her lithe yet muscular frame accentuated by her form-fitting outfit. "Next up," she called, gesturing to the ropes.


    Tyson flashed Felicia a grin before striding to take his position. His strong hands gripped the coarse rope, and he began ascending with the strength expected of his large size. Reaching the top in mere moments, he rang the bell overhead, its chime resonating proudly across the gym. As Tyson descended, controlled and confident, he found Felicia''s gaze following his progress. Her eyes held a new glint of interest.


    When Felicia took her turn, she approached the rope with lithe grace. Her slim form exuded athletic poise as she ascended the rope with the effortless skill of a gymnast. At the top, she paused only briefly before beginning a swift and elegant descent.


    "Nearly as fast as Tyson," Natalie remarked approvingly, pitching her voice to carry. "I''d say it would be a close match if you two went head-to-head."


    Tyson met Felicia''s bright eyes, reading the challenge and excitement there. "I''m up for it if you are," he called back, infusing his words with playful taunt.


    Felicia''s answering smile held a glint of wicked charm. "You''re on," she agreed, a competitive edge sharpening her melodic voice.


    Sensing the growing energy in the crowd, Tyson raised his voice to ensure all could hear his proposition. "But let''s make it interesting. If I win, we get together later tonight¡­ to work on some research," he emphasized meaningfully, holding Felicia''s gaze. The crowd whooped at his suggestive tone, though his true intent was clear to Felicia alone.


    "And if I win?" she asked, unfazed by their audience.


    "I''ll carry your books for a week," Tyson offered loudly, playing to the crowd.


    "You''ll carry my books for a month? Deal," Felicia agreed, not allowing Tyson to rescind her changed terms. Excitement buzzed through the gym at this agreement between the two of the school''s most popular but low-key students.


    The energy in the crowded gym was electric as Tyson and Felicia took their positions before the climbing ropes. Natalie, always one to command attention, stood with her whistle in hand. "Ready... Set..." she called out, her voice rising above the chatter. At the piercing shriek of the whistle, Tyson and Felicia launched themselves at the ropes.


    Tyson''s muscular strength propelled him upwards as Felicia''s fitness and agility allowed her to gain ground initially. The two climbers strained against gravity, muscles bulging. But Tyson''s power quickly overtook Felicia''s finesse. The gap between them widened decisively. Tyson''s hand slapped the bell in victory, its clear ringing tone reverberating through the gym.


    Back on solid ground, Felicia''s chest heaved from exertion. She and Tyson faced each other. Felicia extended her hand in concession. "You won, fair and square," she acknowledged between labored breaths. "I''ll see you tonight."


    The crowd erupted in raucous cheers and shouts, the other students reveling in the public spectacle. Many of the boys looked on in jealousy at Tyson easily scoring what they saw as a date with Felicia, while others reveled in his success while wondering what the evening might hold for them. Tyson and Felicia shared a knowing look, a silent understanding passing between them. Tonight was not about a date; it was about unraveling secrets and potentially about finding an ally.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson walked down the polished linoleum hallway of Midtown High, approaching the main office. The office was situated just off the main lobby, with a large counter dividing the public space from the administrative area. Behind the counter were two secretaries stationed at desks equipped with computers, phones, and piles of paperwork.


    Tyson stepped up to the counter and offered a polite smile to the secretary who looked up at his arrival. "Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.


    "Yes, one of my classmates has been absent for several weeks, and I was hoping to find her address so I could drop off the notes she''s missed," Tyson explained.


    The secretary returned his smile, though with an apologetic look in her eyes. "That''s nice of you, but I can''t give out your classmates'' addresses. Sorry."


    Tyson nodded in understanding. He had expected the refusal but thought it was worth a try. "I understand. I just wanted to check since she''s been gone for a while. Her name is Cindy Moon."


    The secretary nodded, recognition flashing across her features. "Cindy, yes. She was out sick, but her parents informed us that Cindy would be transferring. She won''t be coming back to school, so you don''t need to worry about those notes." The secretary then asked kindly, "Was there anything else I can help you with?"


    Tyson locked eyes with the secretary, focusing his thoughts on weaving the illusion. His illusion spread silently, leaving no discernible trace of its existence.


    The door to the office creaked open, and the school nurse entered, her gaze falling on the secretary with whom Tyson was conversing.


    "Excuse me," the nurse began, "my computer is down. Can you write down the contact information for a parent for me, please?" Her tone was urgent and brimming with concern. The secretary turned to Tyson and said, "Excuse us, this is important." The directive hung in the air as Tyson made his exit from the office.


    The urgency in the nurse''s voice was palpable as she requested the student''s contact information. "The student''s name is Cindy Moon," she said, her brows knitted with concern.


    The secretary''s fingers clacked over the keyboard with practiced speed as she pulled up Cindy''s records. Selecting a fluorescent post-it note from the cluttered desk, she scribbled down the address and phone number before handing it to the nurse.


    "Thank you," the nurse replied gratefully, tucking the note into her pocket as she hurried from the office, focused wholly on contacting Cindy''s family.


    Tyson''s lips curled into a sly smirk as he strode from the office, the door clicking shut behind him. His deception with the nurse had yielded the desired results with little effort on his part. Hands shoved casually in his pockets, he meandered through the school halls and out the front entrance to where his motorcycle awaited.


    The engine roared to life beneath him as he twisted the throttle, speeding off down the street. Though he now had Cindy''s address in hand, uncertainty gnawed at his mind. What would he say when he arrived at her doorstep?


    Her modest apartment building came into view, nestled amidst the quiet residential streets of Queens. His boots thudded heavily on the pavement as he crossed the street and climbed the concrete steps leading inside. Consulting the resident directory, Tyson''s eyes scanned the list of names before confirming on the Moon''s 3B.


    The stairwell was stark and utilitarian, his footfalls echoing off the bare walls as he climbed. Coming to a stop outside her door, Tyson hesitated, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts before rapping his knuckles sharply against the faded wood. Silence greeted him initially, so he knocked again, harder this time.


    The second knock at the door startled Cindy''s mother, who had been sitting on the living room couch. She rose slowly, setting aside the framed photo of Cindy she''d been staring at, and shuffled to the door.


    Peering through the peephole, she saw a uniformed police officer standing in the hallway.


    With a slightly trembling hand, she unlocked the door and opened it just a crack.


    "I''m Officer Smith from the NYPD," the officer introduced himself politely. "We''re here to investigate the report of a missing person."


    Cindy''s mother nodded mutely, her dark eyes wide with apprehension. "Show me your badge," she asked, needing the reassurance that he was truly with the police.


    Officer Smith promptly unclipped his badge from his belt and held it up to the crack in the door.


    After scrutinizing it briefly, Cindy''s mother closed the door to unlatch the chain. Taking a steadying breath, she pulled the door open fully to grant the officer entry.


    Cindy''s mother was a petite Asian woman in her late forties, with sleek black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Though she stood at just over five feet tall, her posture was rigidly straight. Her cheekbones were high and elegant, but her face looked gaunt and pale, the dark circles under her eyes speaking to sleepless nights. She wore a simple gray cardigan and black slacks, her outfit neat but muted, much like her demeanor.


    Ushering Officer Smith inside, Cindy''s mother clasped her hands together tightly to still their trembling. "Please, come in," she invited in a soft voice laced with restrained panic.


    Officer Smith stepped inside and was greeted by the faint scent of lavender and jasmine. Cindy''s mother gestured for him to sit and directed him to the sofa. "Thank you," he said, taking a seat. "The reason I''m here is we received an anonymous report that one Cindy Moon has not been attending school for a month," he began. "Normally that''s something the school handles, more so than the police, but a missing person report was also filed with the department and I''m here to follow up."


    Cindy''s mother nodded along as the officer spoke. "I''m sorry officer, but there''s been a mistake," she said. "Cindy isn''t missing. She was removed from school."


    "Removed?" Officer Smith asked, raising an eyebrow. "By whom?"


    "My self and my husband," Cindy''s mother replied softly.


    "I understand," Officer Smith said, making a note on his pad. "Is she registered in a school in New York that we can call to confirm her registration?"


    Cindy''s mother shook her head. "No, my husband took care of that. He lives out of the country. He enrolled her in a school where they live."


    Smith asked, "Would it be possible to speak with Cindy over the phone, just to confirm she''s safe, so I can close this case?"


    Cindy''s mother shifted in her seat, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap as Officer Smith pressed for more information. "I''m afraid that just won''t be possible," she said, her voice strained. "The remote village they are staying in, in China, has no phone service at all."


    Officer Smith''s eyebrows knit together. "I see," he said, making another note. Though his tone remained even, his probing questions betrayed his skepticism.


    Sweat beaded on Cindy''s mother''s brow despite the cool temperature in the apartment. She dabbed at it with a crumpled tissue, buying time to think. "While I understand your position, officer, I simply cannot provide what I do not have," she said carefully. "My husband handled all the arrangements. I''m sure once he returns stateside you can sort this out."


    At the mention of the husband, Officer Smith leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "And when might that be, ma''am?"


    Cindy''s mother averted her gaze. "Well, that''s hard to say exactly..." she trailed off, wringing the damp tissue between her hands. "He travels quite extensively for work."


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Officer Smith''s expression darkened. He tapped his pen on his notepad. "I''m going to need his contact information as well as his last known location," he said firmly. "Otherwise, I cannot close this case until the child''s safety is confirmed."


    Panic flashed in Cindy''s mother''s eyes. "I''m not sure where he is currently," she admitted. "He has always been very secretive about his work. But I assure you, Cindy is perfectly safe." Her voice shook slightly despite her best efforts.


    Cindy''s mother gazed into Officer Smith''s mismatched eyes, one green and one blue. For a moment, her world narrowed just to his entrancing orbs.


    "Where is Cindy?" Officer Smith asked again.


    Under the hypnotic spell of Tyson''s gaze, the truth spilled out. "Cindy''s father took her to get help," she admitted softly.


    Officer Smith''s brows drew together. "Took her where?"


    Cindy''s mother twisted the damp tissue between her fingers. "I''m not sure exactly. One of his business associates said they could help Cindy."


    Leaning back in his chair, Officer Smith clicked his pen thoughtfully. "I see. And you haven''t heard from your husband or Cindy since they left?"


    She shook her head, eyes downcast. "No. He always kept me in the dark about his work. He said it was for my safety."


    "Why did Cindy need help?" Officer Smith prodded gently. "And who was this business associate?"


    Haltingly, Cindy''s mother explained, "Cindy had been acting strangely. She got sick, and when she recovered, it was like she was possessed. She could walk on walls, had abnormal strength, and this odd substance leaked from her fingertips." She took a shaky breath. "My husband called his associate, Edgar Lascombe. He runs a pharmaceutical company. If anyone could help Cindy, it was someone with access to experimental treatments." A tear slipped down her cheek. "My husband took her to him, and I haven''t heard from either of them since."


    Officer Smith studied her face intently. After a weighty pause, he closed his notebook and stood. "Thank you for your time, ma''am," he said coolly. "We''ll be in touch if we require anything further."


    Cindy''s mother nodded, relief washing over her. As Officer Smith turned to leave, she called out "Please let me know if I can provide anything else that would help put this matter to rest."


    He glanced back, face unreadable. "You can count on that," he said before stepping out the door.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson and Natalie circled each other slowly, bamboo swords at the ready. The slender lengths of bamboo were deceptively harmless in appearance, but Tyson knew from experience that a solid strike would deliver a painful sting. The air between them was electric with tension, both physical and conversational.


    As always when they sparred, Natalie wore form-fitting workout clothes that accentuated her lithe figure. "So," she said, breaking the anticipatory silence, "what was that little show in gym class earlier about? Was Felicia the mysterious voice on the phone last week?" Her tone was light, but her gaze was piercing as she searched Tyson''s face.


    Tyson met her probing look with a relaxed yet alert stance, ready to react in an instant. "That wasn''t Felicia on the phone," he responded evenly, "and that still wasn''t my girlfriend." The corner of his mouth quirked in a subtle, teasing smile.


    Their dance continued, bamboo meeting bamboo as they exchanged blows. Each strike was met with a deft parry in a rhythmic sequence that was almost musical. They were evenly matched, neither able to gain an advantage over the other.


    Natalie pressed on as they sparred, her voice casual yet insistent. "Is that your type then? A penchant for mysterious girls in black?"


    At her words, an image flashed unbidden in Tyson''s mind. Natalie, or rather Natasha, her form clad in a dark SHIELD bodysuit. The image, pulled from his meta knowledge, was a vivid reminder of how dangerous she could be, and yet how good she looked in black. Tyson''s smile broadened, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes as he looked pointedly at Natalie. "Maybe I do," he responded, leaving his look and his meaning up to her interpretation.


    Her eyes narrowed, accepting the challenge in his look. In a flurry of motion, she attacked. Her strikes were a tempest that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent. But Tyson was far from normal. He could see the path of each strike, his enhanced senses mapping out a web of evasion and parries.


    Yet he held back, letting one strike slip through his defense, the bamboo connecting with a resounding thwack against his shoulder.


    "Ow!" Tyson yelped, the sound exaggerated more for show than actual pain. He rubbed the spot theatrically, attempting to maintain the facade even as her sharp gaze saw through his act.


    Natalie halted her barrage, relaxing her posture slightly as her face wore her understanding. "You''re holding back," she stated plainly, the accusation hanging in the air between them, heavy with unspoken implications.


    Tyson met her gaze steadily, neither confirming nor denying her claim. They were both hiding in plain sight, that much was clear. And in that unspoken understanding, there was a kind of fragile trust between the two.


    "Notice that, did you?" Tyson''s voice was a cheeky blend of challenge and amusement as he locked eyes with Natalie, the glint in his gaze belying his exaggerated nonchalance. "I admit, I have been holding back. Because I know something you don''t know..." He trailed off, pausing for dramatic effect as a grin spread across his face. "I''m not right-handed."


    With a flourish bordering on theatrical, Tyson switched his bamboo sword to his left hand and struck an exaggerated fencing pose straight from a swashbuckling film. The unexpected move was so comically out of place that Natalie couldn''t help but let out a small huff of laughter despite herself.


    Natalie asked incredulously, "The Princess Bride. Really?"


    Tyson''s grin widened at her reaction. "A woman of culture!" he exclaimed, giving her an exaggerated nod full of playful camaraderie.


    The air around them shifted as the earlier tension morphed into something lighter and more playful, yet still charged with competitive spirit.


    Natalie attacked. Her movements were a series of graceful, calculated arcs and thrusts. She was a storm, her strikes relentless and designed to overwhelm and outmaneuver. But this time, Tyson was different. While his movements were more awkward and less coordinated with his non-dominant hand, they were executed with blinding speed and agility that more than compensated for the lack of finesse. It was a humorous contradiction. His "left-handed" swordplay was clumsy yet performed with superhuman reflexes and dexterity.


    They moved together in a blurring whirlwind of strikes and counters, their bamboo swords meeting in rapid succession. Natalie''s dark hair cascaded around her face, which was set in a look of fierce determination, though her keen eyes sparkled with delight. She was enjoying this battle of wits and skill.


    The dojo was filled with the rapid percussion of their duel, the outside world fading away as a student and his mentor became lost in their dance. Tyson''s movements were a blur of awkward angles and supernatural speed, his enhanced reflexes compensating for the lack of finesse in his left hand. Though he could have pressed the attack, he chose instead to counter and defend, inviting Natalie to match his pace.


    It was the first time he had willingly revealed even this small portion of his power without prompting, and the significance was not lost on Natalie. She wondered at his reasons. Had it been seeing her on the bridge, and knowing she was more than she let on? Was he beginning to trust her? Or was it something else entirely?


    When they at last came to a standstill, it was with their swords locked in a stalemate. And for the span of a heartbeat, Tyson increased the pressure, allowing Natalie to glimpse his immense strength. Her sword groaned under the strain, and she knew if he had pressed a moment longer, the bamboo would have shattered along with her defenses.


    As Natalie disengaged, breathing hard, her eyes were drawn to the creaking swords. But she swore she caught him wink briefly before she backpedaled. The tension dissipated as Natalie remarked, "You''re full of surprises, Tyson," the corners of her lips quirked upward.


    "Just trying to keep up with you, teach," he replied, his casual tone belying his unspoken knowledge.


    Despite his casual attitude, Tyson''s mind churned. He had revealed more of his capabilities to Natasha today. SHIELD already had their eye on him, that much was clear. Natasha''s presence at the school confirmed it. Last week, Natasha saw him on the bridge fighting the Lizard. In his haste to protect Uncle Ben, Tyson had revealed most of his capabilities¡­ and he''d still failed to save Uncle Ben. But SHIELD never came knocking on the door to his suite. So Tyson figured, either their intention wasn''t to arrest him, or Natasha hadn''t revealed what she knew about him. Or, they hadn''t decided and were watching, waiting to see what he would do. And that gave Tyson somewhat of an advantage, for now. Letting Natasha glimpse another portion of his strength today had been calculated. A subtle message to her that he was aware of her, that she hadn''t been overlooked on that bridge. But also, an even subtler message, he knows she''s more than she appears to be, and he could''ve continued to exert his strength, causing serious injury at the end of their spar.


    Tyson and Natalie faced each other, their session paused as they conversed. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows and illuminated the dust motes that danced through the air. "So, you''re going to meet with Felicia tonight?" Natalie asked, keeping her tone light despite the concern that lurked beneath the surface.


    "Yep," Tyson confirmed with a casual nod, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "We''re hitting the Broadway Comedy Club on 53rd Street."


    "Hell''s Kitchen?" Natalie replied, arching an eyebrow slightly. Tyson just nodded, seemingly unperturbed. "Should you be going out so late on a school night?" she prodded further, her dark eyes searching his face.


    Tyson scoffed, his carefree attitude was a stark contrast to Natalie''s composed concern. "I''ll be skipping my internship. No biggie," he replied flippantly, his purposefully aloof reply sidestepping her apprehension.


    "They just let you come and go as you please?" Natalie questioned. Tyson could see the gears turning in her mind as she analyzed the situation.


    "They aren''t paying me, so nobody complains when I don''t show up," Tyson retorted with an indifferent shrug. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes as he turned the inquiry around on her. "Why the sudden interest in me hanging out with Felicia anyway?"


    Natalie''s expression softened, her eyes gentle. "I don''t want to see you falling in with the wrong crowd," she confessed quietly.


    Tyson asked, "What''s wrong with Felicia?" Natasha only shrugged in reply. Tyson chuckled lightly at that. "With my best friend being the biggest nerd in school? There''s no risk of falling in with the bad kids," he assured her with an easy grin.


    Natalie''s face adopted a touch of sadness, her voice softening as she gently broached the subject. "How''s Peter doing these days?"


    The mention of his grieving friend immediately dimmed Tyson''s cheerful demeanor. His easy grin faded, a troubled look clouding his eyes as he hesitated before answering honestly. "He''s having a really hard time," Tyson admitted.


    Tyson''s concern for Peter was evident in the downturned corners of his mouth as he sighed. "The loss of Uncle Ben hit him devastatingly hard. If you weren''t aware, Peter''s parents died years ago," he explained, his voice tinged with sadness for his grieving friend. "Peter is still reeling. The grief is a lot to bear on top of¡­ everything else he was dealing with. With his uncle gone, the family is struggling financially now. The stress of money woes just adds to the weight, compounding Peter''s despair."


    Tyson wished he could do more to help his friend through this incredibly difficult time. Seeing Peter so devastated and lost was heartbreaking. He shook his head slowly. "Peter is too proud. Even if I offered him money to help his family, he wouldn''t accept it," Tyson admitted, trailing off more so in his thoughts than from waiting for Natalie''s response.


    "I''m planning on dragging him out soon, getting him out of that funk," Tyson continued after a pause, "but I want to give him some time first, you know? Time to fully grieve before pushing him."


    Natalie nodded in understanding, her expression growing solemn and sympathetic upon hearing of her classmate''s struggles. "Of course," she said gently. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to help too. Peter seems like a nice kid."


    Tyson gave her a small, grateful smile in return for her kind offer. "I will. Thanks, Nat," he said, shortening her name for the first time.


    Natalie''s lips matched his smile. The use of the nickname caught her off guard. He had never called her anything but Natalie or Miss Rushman until now. "Of course," she replied after a pause.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The night air was cool as Tyson pulled up to the curb in front of the Broadway Comedy Club on 53rd Street. The engine of his bike purred before he killed it, the echo mingling with the sounds of New York nightlife. A figure approached, heels clicking against the pavement in a steady rhythm.


    Felicia Hardy, but he almost didn''t recognize her. Her hair, usually a striking white, was a cascade of glossy black that emphasized the pale hue of her skin. Her eyes, a stunning blue, were accentuated by her new dark hair. She wore a form-fitting red dress that hugged her curves, with a modest neckline that teased more than it revealed. Her lips were colored to match the dress, and they stretched into a sly smile as she regarded him.


    "You like it?" she asked, gesturing to her hair. "I thought I''d try something new."


    "Looks great," Tyson commented, offering his arm. She took it and together they entered the club.


    Inside, laughter and chatter filled the air. They were led to their seats, midway to the stage, and the show kicked off. Comedian after comedian delivered their sets, and Tyson found himself laughing along. Felicia was right there with him, her laughter like music to his ears.


    However, halfway through the show, she leaned in close. "I need to use the restroom," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "Be right back."


    Tyson nodded, watching her as she sashayed through the crowds, the black hair bouncing with each step. But he couldn''t shake off a nagging feeling.


    Felicia''s bathroom detour was strategic. In the privacy of the stall, she swiftly changed, her attire transforming to accommodate her alter ego. The glamorous dress was replaced by a tactical, skin-tight black suit, perfect for agility and stealth. It hugged her figure like a second skin, emphasizing her toned physique. In mere minutes, she became the notorious cat burglar, the Black Cat, and with the ease of practice, she slipped unseen into the club''s office.


    Her movements were fluid, a gymnast''s grace in her silent steps. She knew exactly where the club kept its earnings, her fingers deftly bypassing the safe''s security. The thrill of the heist made her heart race, a smile playing on her lips as she pocketed her prize.


    As swiftly as she had changed earlier, Felicia returned to her previous ensemble, the black wig settling perfectly around her shoulders. She ensured her appearance was immaculate, the red dress once again hugging her curves enticingly, before sauntering back to rejoin Tyson.


    He noticed her return, her presence pulling his attention like a magnet. "Miss much?" she asked, reclaiming her seat.


    "Just a few jokes," Tyson replied with an easy smile.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    When Felicia excused herself, that secretive smile playing on her crimson lips, Tyson waited for a beat, his gaze sweeping the club''s interior before he stood, feigning a casual stretch. He ambled off in the same direction Felicia had disappeared moments before.


    Tyson''s steps were leisurely only in appearance. He maintained his cool facade, nodding at a staff member as he passed by, but his senses were heightened, razor-sharp.


    Upon entering the hallway with the restrooms, he paused, casting an illusion to make himself not noticed by others. The soft click of a door closing reached his ears, and his lips twitched in a half-smile as the Black Cat snuck past him, unaware of his presence. Instead of following immediately, Tyson tracked Felicia''s path. He followed, unseen, as she slipped with feline grace into the club''s office. Tyson observed from the shadows, using his illusions to mask his presence.


    She was efficient, her movements poetry in motion, and Tyson couldn''t help but be captivated even as he memorized every detail of her heist. She passed him, returning to the restroom, unaware he stood in the hallway. The money that Felicia had taken was neatly tucked within her purse, and Tyson snatched it. Such a thing would¡¯ve been impossible without her knowledge, but illusions allowed him to override her senses completely. Tyson''s touch went unaware. Tyson returned to his seat with the cash hidden in his inner pocket.


    Tyson''s laughter mingled with the crowd''s, his applause as enthusiastic as any, but his mind was elsewhere, on the enigma that was Felicia Hardy.


    When she returned, Felicia''s eyes sparkled more than before, and Tyson studied her anew. "Miss much?" she asked, the innocence in her tone belied by the knowing twinkle in her eye.


    "Just a few jokes," Tyson replied with a grin.


    The night was alive, vibrant with the city''s endless energy, as they stepped outside. Tyson¡¯s motorcycle stood waiting, and Felicia asked, "Do you have an extra helmet?" bringing a playful smirk to Tyson''s face.


    "Nope. But you can wear mine. Don''t worry, I''ve got a hard head," he quipped, his joke about his indestructible adamantium skull soaring over her head as he handed over his helmet.


    Tyson straddled the motorcycle, patting the seat behind him as an invitation. Felicia swung a leg over with a grace that spoke of her agility, her body coming to rest against his.


    The moment her arms encircled his waist, warmth began seeping through their clothes, her form a soft, constant pressure against his back. As the bike leaped forward under Tyson''s guidance, Felicia''s hold tightened, her hands not just securing herself but exploring. Her fingers danced over the fabric of his jacket, tracing the contours of his abdomen and chest.


    The city blurred past them, but all Tyson could register was the feel of Felicia behind him, her body moving with his as the motorcycle weaved through the traffic. There was an intimacy in the way she held on, her head occasionally leaning against his shoulder, breaths warm against his neck, igniting a cascade of sensations he hadn¡¯t prepared himself for.


    Her hands were bold, daring in their wanderings, as if she was mapping him, learning the secrets his body held through touch alone. It was distracting and exhilarating all at once, and Tyson found himself caught between focusing on the road and getting lost in the feel of her. Felicia''s closeness during the ride from Hell''s Kitchen to the Four Seasons Downtown made Tyson acutely aware of every second that ticked by with her arms around him.


    As they pulled up, the world seemed to snap back into focus, the city noise flooding back in. Reluctantly, they disentangled, Felicia''s hands sliding away from his body with a lingering touch as if silently saying goodbye to the closeness they''d shared.


    Tyson brought the motorcycle to a stop in front of the gleaming facade of the Four Seasons.


    "That was quite a ride," Felicia murmured as she removed the helmet. As she slid off the bike and removed the helmet, her gaze swept over the luxurious building. Her eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursing into a frown.


    "I''m not sure you got the right impression," she stated plainly, her voice taking on a sharp edge. "You''re cute, but an expensive hotel room isn''t going to get you into my pants." She crossed her arms over her chest, blue eyes flashing. "It doesn''t hurt, but that wasn''t what I had in mind."


    Tyson barked out a laugh at her accusation, the sound rich and unrestrained. He shook his head, lips quirked into an amused grin. "Felicia, this is where I live," he explained, his tone casual and matter-of-fact, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.


    Felicia''s frown dissolved into surprise, her defensive posture relaxing as she stared at him incredulously. "You live in a five-star hotel?" she asked, skepticism heavy in her voice.


    "Yup," Tyson confirmed with a nonchalant shrug. He nodded towards the hotel''s entrance. "Come on, I''ll show you."


    Felicia hesitated, seeming torn between wariness and curiosity. But after a moment she stepped forward, falling into stride beside Tyson as he led the way inside. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floors as her gaze roved over the elegant lobby appreciatively.


    They approached the front desk where the attendant greeted Tyson with familiarity. "Evening Mr. Smith. How can I assist you?"


    "Just heading up to my suite," Tyson replied casually. "Can you have some champagne sent up?"


    The request was made so naturally as if it was the most ordinary thing to have champagne delivered to one''s residence. Felicia watched the exchange silently, taking it all in.


    Moments later they were stepping out of the elevator onto the top floor. Tyson led Felicia down the plushly carpeted hallway to a set of double doors. He unlocked them with a keycard and gestured for Felicia to enter first.


    Felicia''s eyes widened as she stepped into the expansive luxury suite, taking in the sprawling living area that was far larger than most New York apartments. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the space, offering sweeping views of the glittering Manhattan skyline that sparkled into the night. Original artwork adorned the walls while sleek, modern furnishings lent an air of sophisticated elegance to the palatial rooms.


    "Well now, color me impressed," Felicia remarked, unable to keep the awe from seeping into her voice as she turned in a slow circle, absorbing the opulent details.


    A knock at the door heralded the arrival of their champagne. Tyson tipped the server generously after he uncorked the bottle and left two frosted flutes on the coffee table. Tyson lifted the bottle, glancing at Felicia with a roguish twinkle in his eyes as he watched her reaction. Her eyes were wide, taking in the luxurious suite as she stepped further inside. Tyson poured champagne into the glasses as Felicia approached the windows, enthralled by the glittering cityscape.


    "How can you even afford a place like this?" she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and curiosity as she accepted the offered glass.


    Tyson shrugged nonchalantly, a vague expression on his face. "Let''s just say I''ve got my ways," he replied, intentionally ambiguous. He didn''t miss the way her eyes narrowed playfully, clearly not entirely buying his evasion but letting it slide for the moment.


    Felicia reached up and pulled off her wig, revealing lustrous white hair that fell around her shoulders in soft waves. Her magnetism intensified as she began to slowly loosen the top buttons of her blouse. Her unbuttoning was a distraction. With her other hand, she reached into her purse, producing a thick wad of cash, then fanned herself with it slightly as her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Or maybe you acquire things in a similar way to me?" she teased.


    Surprise flashed through Tyson. He hadn''t even noticed her retrieving the cash from his jacket earlier. Had she done that when they were on the motorcycle? His features morphed into mock indignation. "So you weren''t just feeling me up then?" he asked, the words heavy with jest.


    Tyson''s humor-filled eyes locked with Felicia''s, whose gaze held a glint of seriousness underneath the mirth. An impasse formed between them, understanding and curiosity dancing along the edges. Then Tyson chuckled, the warm sound building a bridge between them.


    "Yeah, that''s how I can afford places like this," he admitted, not entirely truthful but not a total lie either. His smile faded as he ventured further. "But what about you, Felicia? Why the club? Why Oscorp?" The questions hung delicately in the air, a shift from their playful banter.


    For a moment, vulnerability flashed across Felicia''s face, her confidence wavered. She sat on the plush velvet couch, patting the space beside her in a wordless invitation. Her eyes spoke volumes.


    Join me. Understand me.


    Tyson moved to sit beside her, intrigued by the glimpse behind her fa?ade. She turned to face him, hesitation in her eyes before she began speaking softly. "It started a few years ago..."


    Felicia''s eyes took on a faraway look as she delved into her memories, her voice conveying a blend of defiance and sorrow. "It was a day like any other," she began, "or so I had thought until I received an ominous message. ''Fisk wants to see you.'' Just that. My heart froze in my chest. One does not get summoned by Wilson Fisk and expect good news."


    Tyson leaned forward, his meta-knowledge allowing him to empathize with the precarious position Felicia had found herself in. "The Kingpin..." he murmured softly, acknowledging the gravity that the name held in New York''s underworld.


    Felicia looked momentarily surprised that he knew of Fisk, but then gave a slight nod, her lustrous white hair swaying gently with the motion. "I was escorted to an office that screamed of wealth and power, of a man who enjoyed the finer things in life while ruling with an iron fist. Everything was lavish yet...ominous." Her slender fingers traced absent patterns on the velvet couch as she spoke. "Fisk was sitting behind a massive desk, like a king holding court from his throne. And then he reminded me..." Her voice hitched almost imperceptibly. "He reminded me about my father."


    "Your father?" Tyson prodded gently, seeing the flash of pain in her eyes at the mention of her father.


    "He was...is... a complicated man," she admitted. Felicia''s gaze grew distant as she recounted the past. "My father was one of the best thieves in the world," she began with a hint of pride in her voice despite the sorrow that lingered at the edges.


    "He could slip in and out of anywhere unseen. His skills were unmatched, his reflexes like a cat. I remember watching him practice as a child, mesmerized by his grace and agility as he leaped and spun. He was surprised that I was interested in what he did but fostered it. I was enrolled in gymnastics, martial arts, climbing, all the activities so that I could be like him." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips at the memory before fading.


    "But then he got caught, doing a job for Fisk. Of course, he didn''t snitch. Loyalty meant everything to my father. He went away for five years." Her voice grew thick with emotion.


    "He missed me growing into a teenager, my first school dance, first boyfriend...so many things. I used to imagine him cheering proudly at my gymnastics meets that he never got to see." She blinked rapidly against the sting of tears.


    "But even though he didn''t snitch, the job for Fisk wasn''t finished. There was still a debt owed that didn''t just disappear because my father was in prison." Anger and resentment simmered beneath her words.


    "And so my family was indebted to the Kingpin. We struggled to get by with my father gone. My mother worked herself to exhaustion trying to make ends meet." Felicia shook her head, old grief and helplessness welling up inside.


    "When my father was finally released, Fisk''s men were waiting. The first thing he had to do was finish that job from five years prior. It didn''t matter that the plan was outdated. His debt had to be repaid."


    Felicia paused, taking a shaky breath. "But my father had gotten into a fight in prison, he was stabbed in the leg and let''s be honest, he was getting old. He couldn''t move like he used to. That''s when I decided. If my father was forced back into a life of crime to settle debts that weren''t even his, then I would take matters into my own hands."


    Her eyes hardened with conviction. "I swore I would pay back every cent through my own skills, free my family from Fisk''s chains. And that''s exactly what I started doing."


    Felicia''s confession weighed heavy in the room. Tyson could see the anguish in her eyes as she recounted her father''s plight. He imagined the crushing revelation of her taking his place, forced into Fisk''s service to repay debts that were not her own.


    "So you took your father''s place, doing jobs for Fisk?" Tyson surmised, his voice gentle.


    Felicia nodded, her eyes flashing with remembered anger. "Exactly. In that first meeting, Fisk slid a dossier across his desk to me. Photos, plans, everything I needed for a job." She spat out the words. "He wanted me to help him acquire some properties in Hell''s Kitchen through less than legal means."


    Tyson frowned, disgust welling up inside him. "That''s low. Blackmailing you with your father¡¯s mistakes."


    She let out a sarcastic chuckle, but her eyes held no humor. "Oh, he didn¡¯t see it as blackmail. He called it ''repaying generosity.''" Her voice dripped with contempt. "I was trapped, Tyson. He made sure I knew it wasn''t a request. It wasn''t just about me. He has a hold over my entire family. I couldn¡¯t refuse, not really."


    A heavy silence fell between them with the weight of her confession. Tyson''s heart ached for the impossible situation she had been forced into. This changed everything he thought he knew about her. Reaching over, he took one of her hands firmly in his gloved ones, meeting her eyes.


    "You''re not alone in this, Felicia," he said resolutely. "Fisk is on another level, but he''s not untouchable. We can find a way to get you out of this...together."


    She searched his eyes with her own, so vulnerable at that moment compared to the confident socialite or sultry thief she portrayed. Felicia''s chuckle was devoid of any real mirth. "I appreciate that, Tyson, I really do," she said, her voice tinged with a gentle yet pitying condescension, as though he were a naive child making promises he couldn''t possibly keep. She gave his hand a brief squeeze before pulling away, tucking a stray lock of platinum hair behind one ear. "You''re sweet for trying to help."


    She sighed, a hint of regret audible in her tone. "I don¡¯t even know why I spilled my guts to you. But you?" She shook her head, an ironic twist to her lips. "What can you do? Fisk is rich, and he''s got a gang and mercenaries at his beck and call. Sure, you''re a tough guy, and you¡¯ve got quick hands." She shot him a wry smirk. "But you¡¯re not on my level of light-fingered. So tell me, what''s your play here? Just trying to sweet-talk me out of my catsuit?"


    Tyson''s smile was slow, confident. He leaned in just a bit closer, his one blue eye, the other green, held her gaze with an intensity that drew her in despite herself.


    "My hands aren¡¯t that good," he confessed, his voice low. "I¡¯m a decent thief, but I cheat."


    Felicia''s brow furrowed, intrigue sparking in her emerald eyes. "Cheat? What do you mean?" She unconsciously mirrored his posture, leaning in.


    In response, Tyson simply placed his hand behind his back. When he brought it back into view, the stack of bills from the comedy club was nestled in his palm.


    "How did you¡ª" she started, shock widening her eyes.


    He cut her off by handing her the money. As she took it, confusion creased her brow. Reaching to tuck the cash back into her designer purse, she paused, startled. The bills were already there. But then... Glancing down at her hand, she found it empty.


    When she snapped her head back up, bafflement fluttered across her striking features. Rechecking her purse revealed the money had vanished completely.


    Tyson held the stack out towards her once more, the hint of a smirk playing about his lips. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bills cascading through the air like a magician¡¯s card trick. They swirled around the pair in a green flurry before disappearing entirely, as if they had never been.


    Felicia blinked in disbelief. Every bill was back in her purse, stacked neatly as if they''d never left. "How?" was all she managed, her voice an awed whisper.


    Tyson posed his question as if he hadn''t just performed an impossible feat. "Do you follow the news? Heard about the city''s new heroes?" he inquired, a playful challenge dancing in his eyes.


    Recognition sparked across Felicia''s striking features, her eyes widening as fragments of news reports and rumors swirled together, coalescing into a stunning realization. "Wait...the vigilante from the bridge? The one who took on the Lizard? That was you?" she breathed out, her voice an awed whisper brimming with disbelief and excitement.


    Embracing the dramatic reveal, Tyson channeled his inner showman and did his best impression of Jubilee. Conjuring a spectacle of illusory fireworks with a flick of his wrist, he sent the vivid sparks bursting over their heads where they crackled and popped, raining down in a confetti of light that reflected off his playful gaze. "Surprise?" he offered, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.


    As the illusion faded, Felicia''s shock shifted into an impish smile. The familiar sultriness returned to her demeanor as she processed the game-changing revelation. Leaning in, her eyes sparkled with newfound respect and a hint of mischief as she purred, "Well, Mirage, I do believe this changes everything."


    Rising fluidly, she closed the distance between them, her hand finding its way to his arm, manicured nails tracing the contours of muscle hidden beneath his long sleeve. "You know, I think we could help each other out," she continued, her voice a throaty whisper, warm breath tickling his ear conspiratorially.


    Tyson met her gaze, his own eyes serious despite the curve of his lips. He knew the stakes, knew the challenge they faced with Fisk, but Felicia''s confidence was infectious. "I''m listening," he responded.


    With a cat-like twinkle in her eye, Felicia stepped back, creating a sliver of space between them. "First, we''ll need intel. Fisk''s resources, his empire, his weaknesses..."


    She paused, a smirk playing at the corner of her ruby lips as a plan took shape. "And for that, we''ll have to pull off a little heist of our own. What do you say to a field trip over to Fisk Tower?"


    Tyson''s laugh was a low rumble, the sound wrapping around them like a shared cloak of camaraderie and anticipation. "It''s your world, Felicia," he replied, ready to take on the city''s underworld. Together.

 Arc 4 - Ch 6: Unity Day

    Date: Monday, October 18, 2010.


    Location: Outside Oscorp, Manhattan, New York


    The Unity Day Festival was a riot of color and sound, pulsing with life. New Yorkers crowded the downtown streets, laughter ringing out to mingle with the sizzle of vendor food and the distant thrum of music. The air was rich with the scents of hot dogs, popcorn, and that unmistakable buzz of excitement that came when the city united in celebration. Macy Gray''s voice soared above it all from the main stage, drawing a sea of spectators with her live performance. Peter Parker threaded his way through the crowd, camera strap around his neck and an eager glint in his eye. He snapped candid shots of smiling faces, kids with painted faces gazing in wonder at floats stretching to the sky, and couples dancing in the street to the rhythm of the city. Peter fiddled with his camera settings, squinting as he aimed for a high shot of a spectacularly tall float modeled after the city''s skyline.


    Among the elite guests enjoying the festival from the Oscorp balcony was Mary Jane Watson. Clad in a cherry-red blouse with softly curling auburn hair, she stood beside her date, Harry Osborn. They watched the parade from their lofty vantage, removed from the press below. Close enough to hear the music, but distant, standing in the shadow of the towering Oscorp building behind them.


    Tyson stood watch on the balcony, security earpiece and crisp suit marking him as one of the personnel assigned to the Oscorp event. His posture was straight, but his eyes scanned the crowd below with a focus that was more than professional. Noticing Peter weaving through the throngs. Tyson''s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile.


    But Tyson turned his attention skyward, aware of what was coming.


    The parade wound its way through the urban canyons, Macy Gray¡¯s performance building to a crescendo. Her voice wrapped the city in a powerful melody, and the crowd swayed, lost in the moment.


    On the balcony, Harry leaned close to Mary Jane, pointing out parade features in an attempt to impress with his float knowledge, each one sponsored by different Oscorp departments. Mary Jane offered polite smiles, her green eyes occasionally drifting to the crowd, unknowingly searching. Peter looked up from his camera. For a split second across the distance, his gaze met Mary Jane¡¯s. Peter offered a shy smile, his heart began pounding. Though he had been getting closer to Gwen recently, he couldn''t deny MJ had his eyes since they were kids.


    The sun beat down on the Unity Day parade, its harsh glare obscuring details in the bright blue sky. On the Oscorp balcony overlooking the festivities, the board members swayed oblivious to anything but their own enjoyment.


    All except for Tyson.


    He stood apart, one mismatched eye the pale blue of a winter stream, the other a stormy grey. His gaze constantly scanned the crowds and skyline, ever alert. The crackle of his earpiece drew his attention, and he listened intently to the garbled warning from air traffic control. Something about an unauthorized drone. His frown deepened, fingers reaching up to adjust the volume.


    There. A flicker of movement where no aircraft should be. Sunlight glinted off something in the distance, approaching fast. Tyson''s unease solidified into certainty. Whatever was coming didn''t belong here.


    "This is Tyson on the Oscorp balcony," he spoke urgently into his mic. "I have a visual on an unidentified object approaching from the east, fast. Notify all units to be on alert."


    The speck grew rapidly larger, its shape still obscured by distance and glare. Adrenaline flooded Tyson''s system, his muscles tensing. Around him, the crowd''s cheerful chaos continued, oblivious.


    With a bone-jarring explosion, their obliviousness ended. The Green Goblin swooped down out of the sun on his glider, nightmarish and cackling. His bizarre costume blended military armor with an appearance designed to strike fear upon those who viewed it, and he lobbed glowing pumpkin bombs indiscriminately into the crowds below.


    Screams and panicked stampedes replaced the festive atmosphere. Debris rained down as the Goblin''s bombs detonated, the sharp tang of smoke and chaos flooding the streets.


    On the balcony, the board members recoiled in horror, their wealth and power meaningless in the face of a supervillain. The Goblin lobbed a bomb straight at them, and time slowed. Tyson saw the bomb coming as if the moment was drawn out. He leaped forward, snatching it out of the air bare-handed. Then he pivoted and hurled it back at the Goblin.


    The bomb detonated with a thunderous boom that rattled the balcony''s floor beneath his feet. The concussive force slammed into the Green Goblin''s chest, knocking him clean off his glider. For an instant, Tyson''s eyes met the goblin''s behind his grotesque mask and Tyson saw the shock and fury swirling within them. Then he was falling, plummeting toward the unforgiving pavement below. His glider, now riderless, zoomed away on its preprogrammed course, abandoning its master to gravity''s harsh judgment.


    The panic on the balcony quieted to a collective gasp as their eyes tracked the Goblin''s descent. Behind Tyson, the Oscorp board members'' expressions were mingling disbelief and gratitude in equal measure. His focus stayed locked on the flailing figure of the Green Goblin as he rapidly neared impact. Duty called, so with quick, decisive commands Tyson herded the shaken board members away from the vulnerable balcony and into the relative safety of the building''s interior.


    Down below, the chaos continued unabated. People ran screaming as debris rained down around them. But in a shadowed alley nearby, Peter Parker''s hands shook with adrenaline as he yanked the familiar red and blue suit from his backpack. The fabric stretched to accommodate his frame as he hurried into it, then pulled the masked cowl down over his face. In an instant, Peter Parker was gone, replaced by the amazing Spider-Man.


    Spider-Man emerged from the alley and shot a web line to haul himself upwards for a better vantage. The scene below was a mosaic of panicked citizens fleeing every which way. But Spider-Man allowed his hyper-alert senses to guide him. He swooped down to snatch a woman from the path of a careening taxi, then webbed up a chunk of falling debris before it could crush a huddle of bystanders.


    A bellow of rage refocused his attention upward. The Green Goblin had recovered, once again astride his glider. His masked face contorted in hatred as he spotted Spider-Man. "Spiderman!" he roared, charging directly toward the web-slinger.


    The Green Goblin swooped down on his glider, hurling a glowing pumpkin bomb straight at Spider-Man. The wall-crawler backflipped out of the way just in time. The bomb''s explosion bloomed orange where he had been perched a split-second before. Spider-Man shot a web line to yank himself upwards, using his momentum to deliver a powerful double-kick to the Goblin''s chest.


    The Goblin grunted at the impact but kept his stance on the glider. Razor-sharp talons protruded from his glove as he swiped at Spider-Man. The hero, now standing horizontally on the side of a building, bent backward, and the claws hissed past his nose, missing by a hairsbreadth. Recovering his balance, Spider-Man twisted and landed a heavy punch to the side of the Goblin''s head.


    The Goblin reeled from the blow, but his glider kept him airborne. With a guttural shout, the Goblin grabbed Spider-Man''s arm and hurled him downwards. Spider-Man slammed into the top of a float, punching through in an explosion of confetti.


    Spider-Man knew the situation was dire. The Green Goblin''s attack had already caused untold damage and hurt far too many innocent people. Spider-Man needed to end this quickly before the destruction and casualties mounted even further. He shot a strand of webbing directly into the Goblin''s eyes, temporarily blinding the villain. The Goblin bellowed in rage, thrashing and swinging his glider wildly in an attempt to rip the webbing away. Spider-Man seized the opportunity and moved in close, unleashing a rapid series of powerful blows to the Goblin''s head and body. But despite the blinding barrage of hits, the Goblin was immensely strong. He fought back savagely, forcefully backhanding Spider-Man and sending him careening into the brick face of a nearby building.


    Spider-Man felt the breath explode from his lungs on impact. The unforgiving bricks dug painfully into his back through the costume. He slid down the wall, landing hard on the pavement below. The Goblin swooped down towards him, still half-blind but laughing maniacally. Spider-Man shook his head, trying to clear it. He pushed himself up on wobbly legs. This fight couldn''t end here. Too much depended on him.


    High above on the Oscorp balcony, Tyson finished securing the terrified board members. He ripped off his Oscorp security uniform revealing the dark, sleek outfit of Mirage underneath. He pulled the white fox half-mask over his face and leaped from the balcony. Mirage landed on the pavement below with one fist dramatically slamming into the ground in the quintessential superhero landing.


    Mirage sprinted towards the ongoing battle without hesitation. "Spider-Man!" he shouted, "Help the civilians escape! I''ll handle Goblin!"


    Spider-Man, while dodging another of the Goblin''s explosives, caught sight of the newcomer. A spark of surprise cut through the haze of pain and exhaustion. But there was no time to wonder about the new hero. Spider-Man nodded gratefully and swung away, heading for the screams of those still trapped by the Goblin''s wake of destruction.


    The chaos below had distracted Spider-Man momentarily from the peril above. Mary Jane was desperately clutching at a balcony''s broken concrete. Her grip was slowly slipping. His spider-sense screamed a warning and Spider-Man whipped his head up to see her terrified face.


    "Hang on, MJ!" he shouted, shooting a web-line towards her. He swung with adrenaline-fueled speed, colors and sounds blurring around him. At the last second, he reached out and snatched her from the air as she fell.


    Relief flooded through him as he held her close, swinging them both to safety. He set her gently down on a fire escape, away from the destruction. Her vivid green eyes were wide with lingering fear, but awe at her rescuer.


    "Are you okay?" Spider-Man asked, concern evident even through the muffling mask.


    Mary Jane nodded, breath coming fast. "Y-yes...thanks to you, Spider-Man."


    For a moment, Peter, behind the mask, got lost in MJ''s eyes. Their gazes locked in a brief but intense connection. But another explosion shattered the moment, reminding them of the ongoing battle. "I have to go," Spider-Man said regretfully. "I''ll come back for you, as soon as it''s safe."


    With great reluctance he fired a web and swung back towards the chaos, leaving Mary Jane''s heart racing as she watched him rejoin the fighting.


    The battle raged on between Mirage and the Green Goblin. Mirage¡¯s illusory clones darted around the villain, taunting and distracting him. The Goblin cackled maniacally from his glider, weaving between the false Mirages. He was cunning enough not to fall for the illusions completely, but staying airborne made it difficult for Mirage to land a solid strike.


    A streak of red and blue announced Spider-Man¡¯s return as he swung back into the fray. ¡°Heads up!¡± he called to Mirage before launching himself feet-first at the Green Goblin. The Goblin jerked his glider out of the way just in time to avoid Spider-Man¡¯s attack.


    What followed was a dizzying aerial dance. Mirage¡¯s illusions swirled through the air, mingling with Spider-Man¡¯s webs and the Green Goblin¡¯s flaming pumpkins. The heroes were starting to gain the upper hand, but the Goblin was nothing if not unpredictable.


    Sensing he was being cornered, the Green Goblin¡¯s grin twisted into a snarl. With a wild, echoing cackle, he began hurling explosives indiscriminately at the crowd below.


    Spider-Man¡¯s heart lurched. ¡°No!¡± He fired web after web, snaring the bombs and flinging them skyward. They detonated harmlessly above, bursts of fiery flowers against the cityscape.


    The Goblin used the attack as a distraction. Cackling triumphantly, he gunned the glider¡¯s engine and rocketed away. Spider-Man whipped his head around just in time to see his foe¡¯s retreating form. As he retreated, the Goblin shouted, "So long, Spider-Man!"


    ¡°Are you going after him?¡± asked Mirage.


    Spider-Man had already swung up to a higher vantage point, his gaze fixed on the fleeing Goblin. But then he saw the aftermath below. Injured civilians, scattered debris, fear, and confusion rampant. They needed him here. He looked back at Mirage and shook his head. ¡°No. The people need us here.¡±


    Spider-Man and Mirage turned their attention to the wounded civilians, assisting the emergency responders where they could. Mirage used his illusions to calm and direct the frightened crowd while Spider-Man put his prodigious strength to work clearing debris and creating paths for the emergency responders.


    Though shaken, the people of the city erupted into cheers and cries of gratitude for their heroes. "Thank you, Spider-Man!" a young woman called out, her eyes bright with relief and admiration. "Mirage, you rock!" shouted a teenager, pumping his fist in the air. Their appreciation washed over the pair in a palpable wave, a mix of desperation, wonder, and gratitude.


    But both Spider-Man and Mirage remained solemn, their thoughts already turning toward the villain who had fled the scene. Spider-Man turned to his new ally, breaking the pensive silence. "Nice moves out there, Mirage," he said, a hint of warmth coloring the usually stoic tone of his voice. "Couldn''t have done it without you."


    Mirage tipped an illusionary hat in response, a spark of humor glinting behind his white mask. "Anytime, Spidey. It was good to see you out and about."


    Spider-Man''s senses prickled, his instincts alerting him to an incongruity. Something about Mirage''s voice, and what he''d said teased at the edge of his awareness with an elusive familiarity he couldn''t quite grasp. Spider-Man kept his thoughts veiled behind the unreadable lenses of his mask, burying his curiosity deep out of long habit.


    "Well, see you around, new guy," Spider-Man said lightly, though an undercurrent of wariness threaded his words.


    Grinning, Mirage gave a jaunty salute. "Count on it, Spidey," he said. Then with a snap of his fingers, smoke billowed around him. When it cleared, Mirage was gone, leaving behind only a lingering scent of mystery in the night air.


    Spider-Man shook his head with a chuckle, the city never failing to surprise him with its characters. Launching himself upward, the cool air rushed past his masked face. He angled his swing toward the fire escape where a familiar figure waited. Mary Jane''s vibrant hair whipped in the wind as she gazed out over the city. Spider-Man touched down on the landing beside her.


    "Hold on tight," he said, holding out a gloved hand. Mary Jane turned, relief flooding her face as she grasped his hand without hesitation, trust shining in her eyes. Spider-Man wrapped an arm around her waist and pushed off, web-shooting from his wrist. They sailed between buildings. Mary Jane''s grip tightened around his neck as the city blurred beneath them.


    Spider-Man aimed for an empty rooftop, releasing a web to slow their momentum before touching down gently. Mary Jane''s cheeks were flushed from the wind and her eyes bright with exhilaration as he gently lowered her to stand on the roof. They were utterly alone up here, the sounds of the city were a distant hum as a cool breeze eddied around them. Ty d


    "Are you okay?" Spider-Man asked, his voice soft with concern beneath the mask.


    Mary Jane nodded causing her auburn strands to dance across her face. "I am now," she said breathlessly, gratitude mingling with curiosity in her searching gaze. "Who are you?"


    Spider-Man stepped closer, the lights of the cityscape flickering behind his silhouette. "You know who I am," he murmured, a quiet confidence resonating in his words.


    Mary Jane studied the familiar contours of his mask, the strength in his shoulders, the timbre of his voice. Recognition stirred within her. "I do?" she whispered hopefully.


    He leaned in a fraction, conspiratorily, raising MJ''s anticipation. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," he said lightly, not revealing the deeper truth between them.


    Mary Jane''s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. But Spider-Man stepped back, hearing the siren''s call of the city. "I should go," he said regretfully.


    Mary Jane nodded, understanding, hope, and sadness warring in her eyes. "Of course."


    With a last lingering look, Spider-Man shot a web and launched himself off the roof, soaring between glittering towers. Mary Jane watched his silhouette fade into the city, knowing somehow that her life had become entwined with someone amazing.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson lounged back in the plush armchair in his spacious hotel suite, the adrenaline that had coursed through his veins during the day''s events had ebbed away. The sudden ringing of his cell phone shattered the quiet tranquility of the room. Glancing at the caller ID, Tyson''s face transformed into a genuine smile as he recognized the number.


    "Hey, Jubes," he greeted warmly as he answered the call.


    Jubilee''s voice crackled with barely contained excitement through the phone. "Ty, don''t you work at Oscorp?"


    He chuckled softly, leaning further back into the armchair and feigning ignorance. "Uh-huh," Tyson responded casually, his voice the picture of nonchalance.


    "And you''re just ''uh-huh'' about this?" Jubilee''s voice climbed an octave in incredulity. "I just saw the replay of the parade. There was a superhero smackdown at your workplace!"


    "Uh-huh," Tyson repeated, the smirk now evident in his amused tone.


    "Tyson!" Jubilee exploded in exasperation. "Are you even listening to me?!"


    "Yup," he retorted playfully. "But Jubes, maybe you should look closer at the video."


    A brief pause stretched between them, filled only with the faint clicking sound of Jubilee accessing the video on her computer and the tinny audio as she played it. Then, a sharp intake of breath broke the silence.


    "Mirage is... you! I should''ve known!" Jubilee''s voice was a mixture of awe and exasperation as she put the pieces together. "Tyson, you sneaky fox!"


    Tyson couldn''t help the rich, full laugh that escaped him. "Guilty as charged," he admitted with a grin.


    Jubilee''s questions came in an excited torrent. "What''s Spider-Man like?" she asked hurriedly, the words tumbling over each other in her haste.


    "A real stand-up guy," Tyson replied thoughtfully, the respect he held for the webslinger evident in his tone. "Quick is an understatement, but kind of nerdy too."


    "How strong was the Green Goblin? He looked so tough and scary!"


    At the memory of their battle, Tyson''s expression sobered. "Stronger than he looks, but weaker than me. He doesn''t hold back though."


    "People can''t stop talking about your illusions, they were all over the news! How do you even come up with that stuff on the fly?" Jubilee asked in awe.


    Tyson rubbed the back of his neck contemplatively. "Instinct, mostly. But I need to practice with them more. After the fight, I thought of a whole bunch of better ways I could''ve used them."


    Tyson rubbed the back of his neck contemplatively as Jubilee''s laughter rang out from the speakerphone. "Okay, spill it superhero. What''s next for Mirage?"


    "Actually, I''m thinking it''s time to turn anti-hero," Tyson declared, a new edge to his voice that Jubilee hadn''t heard before. "Going to take down a villain from the shadows."


    "Really?" Jubilee''s tone was a mix of surprise and intrigue. "Going dark on us?"


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Yeah," Tyson affirmed, a hint of resolve threading through his words. "This crime lord is strong-arming local businesses into selling to him. I''m teaming up with another independent to take them down."


    "That''s so cool, Ty!" Jubilee gushed, the admiration evident in her enthusiastic voice.


    "But this independent I''m working with is kinda hot, like a sexy damsel-in-distress type," Tyson added casually.


    Jubilee''s exclamation was loud enough that Tyson had to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment. "You''re rebounding?!" But her excitement quickly gave way to concern. "Are you sure that''s what you want to do? This isn''t some emo phase because you miss Illyana, right?"


    He chuckled ruefully, the sound hollow and mirthless, betraying the weight of unspoken emotion. "Maybe," he admitted. That single word held a world of meaning that Jubilee could clearly hear.


    ¡°So a new maybe-girlfriend? That¡¯s it? So soon?" Jubilee teased, her tone a perfect blend of mock outrage and curiosity. "I¡¯m a little jealous."


    Tyson leaned back in his chair, unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face as he spoke into the phone. "It''s not that serious...," he defended, though his tone betrayed his delight at this new prospect.


    Tyson leaned back in his chair, phone to his ear, as Jubilee''s excited voice demanded details through the speaker. A grin spread across his face at her enthusiasm. He had known she would react this way to the bombshell he had dropped about his new acquaintance.


    "Alright, alright," he acquiesced with a chuckle. "I''ll tell you the story."


    He recounted the events leading up to his meeting Felicia, being careful not to reveal her name. Tyson described the dangerous situation she had found herself in through no fault of her own, explaining how her father''s substantial debt to the crime lord had forced her into acting as his agent. She helped him seize control of various businesses through coercion and manipulation. But now she wanted out and had turned to Tyson as an unexpected ally in bringing the crimelord''s operation down.


    Jubilee gasped and exclaimed through the phone at each new twist and turn in the tale, demanding ever more details. Tyson obliged, painting a vivid picture of Felicia''s motivations and her dangerous predicament. Jubilee was nearly breathless with excitement as the story concluded. "That''s incredible!" she exclaimed. Tyson grinned, amused by her enthusiasm.


    As he continued recounting his budding romantic prospects, Tyson''s mind drifted to another woman who had recently made his life more... interesting. Natasha. He hesitated, pondering the wisdom of discussing her over the phone. With her ties to SHIELD, who knew if she had ways of listening in? But, throwing caution to the wind, he decided to tease the situation a bit, just in case she was eavesdropping.


    ¡°So, I¡¯ve got this teacher,¡± Tyson began, the mischief apparent in his lowered voice. ¡°Well, she¡¯s not really a teacher, a student-teacher. There was this fight at school, and she singled me out. Gave me detention just so she could check me out alone in the weight room.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re such jailbait,¡± Jubilee cut in, her laughter clear even over the phone.


    ¡°I know, right? But she¡¯s crazy hot. Unfairly so," Tyson continued, picturing Natalie''s flawless features and athletic physique. "And you remember I¡¯ve been taking those classes at the dojo, right? She shows up there too, and she¡¯s incredible. Fights as well as the sensei. We¡¯ve been practicing together. Grappling, making eye contact... the works. I¡¯m pretty sure she¡¯s into me,¡± he concluded, the smirk practically audible in his voice.


    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re projecting. Just like with Professor Ororo,¡± Jubilee shot back without missing a beat, her tone rich with amusement.


    Tyson laughed heartily at that, the sound echoing in his sparse apartment. ¡°Maybe. But I¡¯m sticking to my story. We¡¯ve got a connection; it¡¯s only a matter of time.¡± Even as he said it, he wondered if there was any truth to his bravado.


    ¡°Yeah, sure, Ty. That¡¯ll be the day,¡± Jubilee retorted, though her voice held a hint of genuine amusement beneath the skepticism. Her voice softened then, a serious undertone beneath her playful banter. "Just be careful, okay? This world is full of all sorts of dangers, and I don''t mean just the kind that throws pumpkin bombs."


    "I know, Jubes, don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be careful," Tyson replied, sincerity returning to his voice. However exciting his life had become lately, her concern warmed him. He knew she always had his back.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The dimly lit briefing room was illuminated only by the ghostly blue glow of a large screen displaying footage of the recent parade chaos. Nick Fury stood at the forefront, his one piercing eye scanning the faces of his elite agents as they gathered for the urgent meeting.


    "Alright, listen up," Fury''s commanding baritone voice filled the room, effortlessly capturing the attention of everyone present. "The incident at the parade has put two new players on the board. Spider-Man and Green Goblin. We need to find out who they are, what they want, and what they''re truly capable of."


    On the screen, images of the lithe, red, and blue-clad figure of Spider-Man flashed by as he swung through the concrete canyons of New York, adhering to sheer walls with his fingertips. Other clips showed him lifting vehicles and debris with impossible, superhuman ease and moving with a grace and agility that seemed to defy physics itself.


    "First, Spider-Man," Fury continued, his stern gaze focused on the footage. "He demonstrates extreme agility, superior strength, and produces some kind of bio-cable webbing from his wrists that allows him to swing between buildings and create nets and snares. He appears to be acting on the side of justice...for now." Fury''s eye narrowed, "According to NYPD reports, he also seems to have a vendetta against petty criminals matching a certain profile. We need more information."


    Agent Phil Coulson, ever the stickler for details, spoke up, "What''s the source of his abilities? Genetic mutation? Advanced technology?"


    "Uncertain at this time," Fury replied plainly. "We''ll need to closely monitor and gather more intelligence on Spider-Man before drawing conclusions."


    The screen then flickered to show the menacing figure of the Green Goblin, seen gleefully hurling explosive pumpkin-shaped bombs and cackling maniacally amidst the chaos and destruction.


    "Next, we have this green maniac," Fury''s gravelly voice turned grave. "Enhanced strength, high resilience to damage, and armed with military-grade weaponry. The high-tech glider he flies on? That''s a stolen Oscorp prototype developed for DOD contracts. This is no prankster. He''s equipped for warfare and willing to kill."


    Clint Barton spoke up, "Any leads yet on who''s under the mask?"


    "None so far." Fury replied with a scowl, "Oscorp''s not giving us much to go on either. They claim no knowledge, but something doesn''t smell right. We need to dig deeper into this."


    Natasha Romanoff had been silently analyzing every fragment of data. She finally interjected, "The emergence of these individuals now, so soon after we discover mutants, cannot be a coincidence. There are larger forces in play here. We need to stay ahead of this."


    Her warning hung ominously in the air as the agents exchanged grave glances, aware their world may be on the precipice of change.


    The room was thick with tension as Fury nodded, his single eye fixed in an intense gaze. He appreciated Natasha''s assessment.


    "Agreed," he rumbled. "We keep eyes on both Spider-Man and this Green Goblin. The web-slinger could prove a valuable ally or a serious threat. But the Goblin is a clear and present danger that must be contained."


    Around the room, agents began gathering papers and making moves to leave. But then Clint Barton, the consummate spy, raised a hand. His bearing shifted subtly between utter professionalism and casual joking. "Hold up, people," he said, stilling the room. "There''s something you all need to hear."


    He tapped at a tablet. An audio file sprang to life, filling the space. The voices of Tyson and an unknown girl, identified by Barton as ''Jubes'', echoed off the walls. The team listened intently as Tyson revealed his own secret identity as Mirage and his plans to collaborate with some mysterious independent to take down a major crime lord. As the recording ended, contemplative silence descended. Fury turned to Natasha Romanoff, his gaze intense. "Romanoff. Thoughts on who this independent could be?"


    Natasha''s razor-sharp mind was already sifting possibilities. "Unsure, Director," she reported. "We need more information."


    Sensing the need for additional context, Barton spoke up. "There''s more," he said. Another tap and the conversation continued with Tyson describing the independent as a "kinda hot, sexy damsel-in-distress type."


    Natasha''s eyes glittered knowingly. "Could be Felicia Hardy. She matches Tyson''s vague description. There was an incident during gym class where he publicly scored a date with her. Might be worth looking into her background."


    Fury nodded. "Coulson," he rumbled, "dig into this Felicia Hardy''s history, especially her family. We need to identify who this crime lord is that they''re targeting." Coulson was already tapping rapidly at his tablet, commencing the search. Fury surveyed the room, an island of stoic calm amidst the brewing storm. "We''ll watch, for now, see how Tyson handles this. We need to ascertain if he''s an asset or another potential problem to resolve."


    The room hummed with agreement as the gathered agents absorbed the implications of the recorded conversation. The palpable air of seriousness that had blanketed the utilitarian space began to lift ever so slightly as Clint Barton''s lips curved into a mischievous smile.


    "Hey, Nat, there''s more to the conversation, if you''re interested," he said, not bothering to wait for the infamous Black Widow''s reply before hitting play on the recording device in his hand.


    The confident, youthful voice of Tyson filled the room once more, his words layered with the natural cockiness of an average teenage boy. He wove a tale of being singled out by an attractive student-teacher after a fight at school, then continuing with a tale of suggestive interpretations of his detention in the weight room and private martial arts lessons. His laughing insistence that she was into him and it was only a matter of time until they got together was met with playful skepticism from the female voice identified as Jubes.


    As the recording ended, Natasha rolled her eyes, but a hint of a wry smile pulled at her lips even as she projected annoyance at his antics. "Real mature, Barton."


    Clint just laughed, obviously enjoying himself. Despite the ever-present gravity of their work at SHIELD, little moments like these were precious, humanizing snippets in the often too-serious world the agents operated in. Director Fury, however, was all business, his voice slicing through the amusement like a sharpened blade, the undercurrent of authority ever-present. "Let''s look into this Jubes as well. If she''s close to Tyson, we need to know her role in all this."


    Nods of agreement circled the conference table. The lingering laughs faded away as the agents refocused on the task at hand. In their dangerous line of work, thoroughly gathering information and understanding their assets, including the most personal details of their lives, was not just necessary. It was critical.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The opulent Empire Suite was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun streaming through its expansive windows as Felicia paced its plush carpet. Her emerald eyes darted over the detailed blueprints of Fisk Tower that Tyson poured over where he sat on the suite''s luxurious sofa.


    "So, my contacts came through after all," Felicia said, her voice a mixture of triumph and apprehension. "Fisk''s security is iron-tight. State-of-the-art surveillance, motion detectors, the whole nine yards. And he''s got plenty of trained goons on the payroll." She smirked, "As handy as your illusions are, handsome, your powers only work on the living, not tech. The cameras will be our bigger concern."


    Tyson nodded, conceding her point. "I know, I know. That''s why we can''t give them anything to see. We''ll need a distraction, something big and flashy, to draw security''s attention away from us. Meanwhile," he tapped a spot on the blueprints, "we sneak in through here."


    Felicia leaned in, her curtain of platinum hair falling forward over her shoulders. "Service entrance. Smart move. Lowest surveillance coverage. But it''ll be locked up tight."


    "Not a problem for you, right?" Tyson asked with a teasing grin, well aware of her exceptional skills at bypassing any lock ever devised.


    She flashed him a wink. "Child''s play. Now, the evidence we need is up on the twelfth floor, in Fisk''s personal office suite. That''s the true Fort Knox of the building''s security."


    Tyson''s expression became serious, his easy smile fading. "Then we''ll have to move fast once we''re inside, find the intel, and get out before they even know we''ve breached the perimeter." He tapped his temple. "I can cast a few illusions as we go, keep the guards distracted, make them see and hear things that aren''t there. As long as they''re human it''s no problem."


    "And what about the non-human problems we might run into?" Felicia asked, arching one slender eyebrow.


    Tyson just shrugged in reply, not seeming concerned. Felicia chuckled, the sound soft yet brimming with confidence. "Right. Leave the muscle to me, hero. We''ve got a Kingpin to dethrone."


    The night wrapped around Tyson and Felicia like a cloak as they stood hidden in the shadows. Their eyes were fixed on the imposing edifice of Fisk Tower, its dark silhouette looming against the city skyline. The constant hum of the city seemed distant, muted by anticipation as they focused on the fortress of their enemy. The unspoken challenge of breaching its perimeter hung heavy in the air.


    Without warning, the stillness shattered as a chilling, maniacal cackle sliced through the night. It echoed off the surrounding buildings, the haunting sound sending shivers down even the most courageous spines.


    The guards stationed at the entrance to Fisk Tower stiffened, hands instinctively moving to their weapons. "That''s the Green Goblin!" one exclaimed, voice tinged with equal parts fear and recognition. He recognized the laughter from countless news reports detailing the villain''s reign of terror.


    "Call for backup!" another barked, already reaching for his radio. In seconds, the front of Fisk Tower came alive with activity as more security personnel poured from its doors, eyes scanning the skies for any sign of the laughing menace.


    Unbeknownst to them, Tyson was using the chaos to his advantage. As each guard rushed past their hidden vantage point, he locked eyes with them, allowing his powers to seep into their minds more fully. They saw the Green Goblin all right, but not the true threat. It was an illusion of the Goblin appearing to hover near a building across the street, his demeanor almost playful, curious, but not immediately threatening.


    With the guards distracted, Tyson turned to Felicia, his face set in determined lines. "That should give us enough time," he said.


    Felicia, clad in her black catsuit, simply nodded. "Let''s go play heroes," she quipped, and together they dashed from the concealing shadows, making a beeline for the service entrance.


    Tyson and Felicia moved as one, slipping through the night like silent shadows. Reaching the service entrance, Felicia crouched, her gloved fingers deftly manipulating the set of lockpicks. In seconds, the lock clicked open, proof of her exceptional skills. They slipped inside, the heavy door closing softly behind them with a muted thud.


    Now they were in the lion''s den, surrounded by the imposing state-of-the-art security system. Cameras swiveled menacingly, red lights blinking, but the two intruders moved like ghosts through the sterile corridors. Years of honing her abilities allowed Felicia to dodge and evade the electronic eyes effortlessly. Tyson projected subtle illusions, visible only to Felicia. Phantom arrows indicated safe paths, and ghostly words provided warnings. Meanwhile, Felicia employed her gymnast''s agility to flip, twist, and contort past dangers, bending her lithe body into whatever shape necessary to avoid detection.


    Every inch of the sterile corridors of Fisk Tower was monitored by the latest in cutting-edge surveillance. Cameras swept back and forth ceaselessly, their cyclopean red lights searching for any intruders daring to trespass upon their domain. Motion sensors studded the walls and ceilings, vigilant sentries ready to sound the alarm at the slightest disruption of the empty stillness.


    Felicia glided phantom-like through this forest of electronic eyes, Tyson a wraith at her side. "Cameras left," she murmured, barely a breath yet conveying volumes to her partner. With an almost tender caress, she flicked out a small device that struck the camera with a brief spark. The red light sputtered and died, blinded for the moment. Tyson focused his talents, crafting illusions that slid into the guards'' minds, showing only empty hallways where moments before the two intruders had been.


    Together, they slipped through the technological snares, Felicia''s lithe gymnast body twisting through laser grids, her quick fingers dancing over security panels to disarm them. Tyson wove his illusions, painting a vivid alternate reality over the guards'' senses. Like ghosts they moved through the tower, their skills complementing each other perfectly in this intricate dance of deception and infiltration.


    Felicia stood before the imposing vault door, keenly aware that the clock was ticking. She and Tyson had made it this far through Fisk Tower undetected, but their luck wouldn''t hold forever. Beyond this final barrier lay the evidence they needed to take down the Kingpin''s empire.


    The thick metal door loomed, daring any to attempt to breach its defenses. An intricate dial sat centered at Felicia''s eye level, requiring the proper combination to unlock its secrets. She cracked her knuckles, then set to work, long tapered fingers dancing nimbly over the dial as she relied on her exceptional senses to feel out the tumblers within.


    Left, right, left again, pausing briefly between each delicate turn of the wrist. The silence was deafening save for the soft clicks sounding with each fractional rotation. Felicia''s brow furrowed in concentration, her body stilling as she focused all her attention on the task at hand.


    A louder click suddenly rang out as the final tumbler fell into place. Felicia''s red lips curled into a triumphant smile. "We''re in," she whispered.


    Felicia stepped through the vault door, her emerald eyes scanning the dim interior. Rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves stretched out before them, packed tight with boxes, folders, and strange artifacts. This vault held the most sensitive secrets of his criminal enterprises.


    Tyson followed, treading softly, senses alert. He knew the clock was ticking. Their window of opportunity was brief, just minutes to find what they needed before the guards realized they''d been duped.


    "Start searching," Felicia instructed tersely, already moving between the rows, scanning labels, pulling down likely boxes. Tyson joined her hunt, rifling through financial records, contracts, and shipping manifests.


    The vault''s dim interior stretched before Felicia and Tyson, the rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves packed tight with boxes, folders, and strange artifacts. This hoard held the most sensitive secrets of Wilson Fisk''s criminal empire. Tyson''s senses remained alert as he followed Felicia''s lead, treading softly across the concrete floor. He knew their window was brief. They would have just minutes to find what they needed before the guards realized they''d been duped.


    After several tense minutes of searching, Tyson let out a low, sharp cry. "Got something!" In his hands, he held a file folder, an emblem of a hand emblazoned on the front. Felicia''s fingers flew across the keyboard of the vault''s lone computer, her emerald eyes scanning lines of code. Then she too struck gold. Financial records, and a web of illegal transactions, all leading back to the Kingpin himself.


    "This is it," Tyson said, his voice tight with excitement. "Everything we need to take Fisk down." Felicia nodded, her gaze steely. In quick, precise motions she plugged in an external drive and set the download in motion. The clock was still ticking but with this evidence, finally, their pursuit of justice could begin.


    Tyson and Felicia turned to leave, prized evidence in hand, when a broad silhouette appeared, blocking their exit. Stepping forward, the light revealed the formidable figure. He stood well over six feet tall, his physique bulky with slabs of muscle. But his most striking feature was his head. It was flat on top, jutting forward over his collar in a blocky ridge. It resembled a hammer or anvil, hard-edged with no curvature. He glared at the intruders with small, deep-set eyes under a heavy brow. His nose was smashed flat and his thin lips twisted in a scowl.


    "Well, well," he rumbled, "What do we have here?"


    Tyson shifted subtly, angling himself between the man and Felicia. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action. Felicia''s catlike gaze narrowed.


    Hammerhead chuckled darkly. "Looks like a couple of rats done snuck into the boss''s private stash." He cracked his neck, the motion accentuating his massive, sledgehammer-like head. "Can''t have that now, can we?"


    He took a menacing step forward. Tyson countered his advance, rising to his full height, an imposing figure even compared to Hammerhead''s bulk.


    "We were just leaving," Tyson stated evenly.


    Hammerhead sneered. "Ain''t happenin'', punk."


    With startling speed belying his size, he lashed out. A meaty fist rocketed toward Tyson''s head. Tyson ducked under the blow, the rush of air from its passing ruffling his hair. He countered with a fist of his own, striking Hammerhead''s forehead. The thug didn''t even flinch from being struck full force by Tyson''s adamantium knuckles.


    "My turn," Hammerhead growled. He grabbed for Tyson, but even as the flat-headed man''s fingers entwined in Tyson''s tight black top, he glanced at Felicia, a silent communication passing between them. She nodded once, sharply, and stepped back, giving Tyson the room he needed.


    The air shimmered and Mirage vanished from Hammerhead''s grasp. Tyson whirled around to see not one, but four identical versions of the illusionist grinning cheekily back at him. "Over here, Hammerhead!" one duplicate called out with a wave.


    Hammerhead let loose a roar of pure frustration and charged straight at the illusion, which dissolved the moment he made contact. The thug continued forward, smashing head-first through the drywall.


    Mirage nimbly danced aside as another copy of himself appeared on Hammerhead''s left. "Nope, try again!" the newest illusion taunted.


    Felicia watched the proceedings tensely as Tyson led Hammerhead on a merry chase, the big man''s indestructible head smashing holes in the walls and floor everywhere but their actual target. Seamless and enticing, the illusions kept Hammerhead charging like an enraged bull.


    Felicia caught Tyson''s eye and jerked her head meaningfully. There, in the wall just behind where Hammerhead was currently taking out his frustration on another illusion, was an electrical panel, wires spilling out like the guts of some futuristic creature. Understanding flashed in Tyson''s eyes.


    He crafted one last illusion to stand right in front of the exposed wires, goading the angry villain. "Come on, is that all you''ve got?" it jeered.


    With a bellow of pure rage, Hammerhead charged. The illusion popped like a soap bubble a mere two seconds before Hammerhead''s steel-plated head slammed into the electrical wires. A brilliant flash of light and a crack like thunder accompanied the impact, and then Hammerhead was flying backward, thrown by the current several feet until he crashed to the floor. Smoke rose from his charred clothes but he did not rise.


    Felicia moved to the fallen goon and checked for a pulse. "He''s alive," she confirmed, "but he''s going to have one heck of a headache when he wakes up¡­ No pun intended." The laughter burst from Tyson before he could stop it.


    Tyson approached Hammerhead''s downed form. The man''s bulky body was sprawled limply across the floor, residual smoke still rising faintly from his charred clothes. Tyson crouched down next to him, eyes narrowed in concentration. Carefully, he forced open one of Hammerhead''s eyelids, exposing the eyeball underneath.


    Tyson focused, willing his power of illusion to take root in Hammerhead''s mind. "You will only remember fighting the Green Goblin, and losing," Tyson murmured, his voice low but layered with persuasive command. He fed the images directly into Hammerhead''s brain; visions of the maniacal, green-masked villain swooping down from the skies, cackling gleefully. Hammerhead recalled futilely trying to fight back, only to be overpowered by the Goblin''s insane strength. The false memories took hold, cementing themselves over the truth.


    Satisfied, Tyson released his mental hold on Hammerhead, allowing the man''s eyelid to slide closed once more. When Hammerhead awoke, Tyson hoped he would have no recollection of their infiltration or obtaining the incriminating evidence. As far as he knew, the Green Goblin was to blame for the destruction in the vault. Tyson and Felicia''s involvement would remain secret.


    "Let''s move," Tyson said tersely, keenly aware their window of opportunity was shrinking by the second. Felicia turned without another word, gracefully navigating her way back through the maze of shelves. Tyson followed close behind, senses alert for any other threats. In his mind, he was already plotting their escape route, crafting illusions and diversions to ensure their clean getaway.


    They moved swiftly through the sterile corridors, guided by Tyson''s phantom arrows and ghostly warnings visible only to Felicia. He wove illusions in the minds of the guards they passed, concealing their presence. Together, their skills complemented each other flawlessly, Tyson''s illusions and Felicia''s agility allowing them to slip through Fisk Tower like ghosts.


    The shadows of the murky alleyway enveloped Tyson and Felicia in damp coolness, a brief respite after their narrow escape into the city''s darkness. Adrenaline still thrummed through their veins from their getaway.


    "That was...intense," Tyson exhaled, his breath pluming in the chill night air. He leaned against the alley wall, broad shoulders sagging as the tension began to bleed from his muscular frame.


    "Welcome to my world," Felicia quipped, though her pale eyes were serious beneath the fall of platinum hair across her forehead. She stood poised on the balls of her feet, lithe body coiled and ready for action despite her apparent ease. The thrill of their success put a spark in her icy gaze. "But we did it. We actually did it."


    "We make a good team," Tyson said with a nod, the dim light catching on the sheen of sweat across his dark brow. Felicia nodded back, the barest hint of a smile touching her full lips.

 Arc 4 - Ch 7: Thanksgiving

    Date: Thursday, November 25, 2010.


    Location: Four Season Hotel Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson had just finished ordering food for later when his phone began to ring. Checking the caller ID, he saw it was his friend Jubilee and answered.


    "Hey Jubes, what''s up?" he said into the phone.


    Jubilee''s voice came through the speakers, crackling with excitement. "Dude, please tell me you saw it!" she exclaimed. "The interview! Iron Man! It''s all over the news."


    Tyson paused, genuinely confused. He had been so focused on making meal plans that he had no idea what she was talking about. "Saw what?" he asked.


    He could practically hear Jubilee rolling her eyes in exasperation through the phone. "The interview, Tyson!" she repeated, her tone a mixture of frustration and disbelief at his ignorance. "Iron Man! It''s everywhere."


    "Hang on, let me check," Tyson replied, quickly scrolling through the news on his phone. There it was, the shocking headline glaring from every media outlet: "Tony Stark Reveals He Is Iron Man."


    Intrigued, he clicked on a video of the interview. Tony Stark stood confidently before a crowd of clamoring reporters, his charismatic presence dominating the room. The air was tense with anticipation as he prepared to speak.


    "As many of you know, I¡¯ve got a great relationship with the press. We¡¯ve had some good times, and we¡¯ve had some tough times," Tony began, his voice oozing the familiar nonchalance and bravado that the world had come to associate with the billionaire.


    "When I came back from Afghanistan, I said we were going to do things differently, run this company differently," Tony continued, a hint of seriousness piercing through his casual demeanor. "I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen the papers. Am I right?"


    The press murmured, cameras flashing. They all knew the controversy he was referring to.


    "There''s been speculation that I was involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop..." Tony Stark added, pausing as if considering his words carefully.


    "I''m sorry, Mr. Stark, but do you honestly expect us to believe that you''re... Iron Man?" one of the reporters challenged, skepticism heavy in his voice.


    Tony''s gaze swept across the sea of faces, a smirk tugging at his lips. There was a beat of silence, a moment of pure theatrical suspense. And then, with the effortless confidence that only Tony Stark possessed, he delivered the line that would forever change the course of superhero history.


    "The truth is... I am Iron Man."


    The press erupted, a cacophony of shock, disbelief, and the rapid-fire clicking of cameras documenting the historic confession.


    Tyson paused the video, letting out a low whistle as he took in the image of Tony Stark on the screen. That was the Tony Stark he remembered. Utterly cool.


    "Okay, yeah, I just saw it. Crazy!" Tyson exclaimed, turning to Jubilee who sat beside him on the couch.


    "I know, right?!" Jubilee responded, her voice bubbly with excitement. "Who just does that? Admits to being a superhero on live TV?"


    "Tony Stark, apparently," Tyson laughed, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "Guy''s got more guts than a fish market."


    Jubilee was practically buzzing, her eyes alight. "So, if Iron Man asked you to team up, would you? What if he asked you to be his sidekick?"


    Tyson leaned back against the couch cushions, considering her questions thoughtfully. "I don''t know about being anyone''s sidekick, Jubes. But team up? Sure. Worked pretty well with Spidey and Black Cat."


    "Black Cat?" Jubilee''s tone spiked with curiosity at the mention of the name. "Who''s that?"


    "That independent I mentioned working with," Tyson explained, "She''s amazing, smart, skilled. But she doesn¡¯t have powers like us."


    Jubilee''s voice carried a sly edge. "So, are you two an item yet?"


    "Nah," Tyson responded, feeling a shy smile creep onto his face, one Jubilee couldn''t see with his back to her. "Not yet. Maybe soon, though."


    "And what about the hot teacher you keep going on about?" Jubilee continued to tease. "Have you asked her out yet?"


    "Like I said, all in time, Jubes," Tyson chuckled, shaking his head in amusement at her persistence.


    Tyson listened as a sly edge crept into Jubilee''s tone as she shifted the conversation. "Got any big plans for Thanksgiving?"


    "Yeah, hosting a little get-together," Tyson started to explain, "Invited a few people and their families over, got some food catered. Should be fun."


    Jubilee huffed in annoyance, her frustrated breath hissing over the phone. "And where''s my invite?"


    "Look, Jubes, I''d have you over in a heartbeat, you know that," Tyson said earnestly, his tone apologetic as he pictured her in his mind''s eye, full lips pursed in frustration, dark hair wisping around her face. "But after fighting with the Lizard and Green Goblin, I don''t want to drag you into anything dangerous."


    Jubilee sighed, the sound tinny and resigned through the phone. "Fine. But you¡¯re making it up to me, Tyson. After graduation, it¡¯s you and me. No more excuses, no more supervillains. Just us hanging out."


    "Deal," Tyson agreed readily, his tone firm and resolute. "No more excuses. It''s a promise." He meant it with every fiber of his being. No matter what craziness the future held, he would carve out time for his friend.


    Satisfied, Jubilee let him go, ending the call after a final demand for a future get-together. Tyson tucked the phone back in his pocket, already anticipating making good on his word. He fully intended to keep his promise, no matter what trials might lie ahead.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The wail of sirens guided Spider-Man as he swung between the towering skyscrapers of the city. Below him, a fierce blaze consumed an apartment building, orange tongues of flame licking up the brick sides as thick black smoke billowed into the morning sky. Firefighters battled the raging inferno with powerful hoses while panicked people on the sidewalk cried out in alarm. Amidst the shouting and turmoil, one anguished mother''s screams rose above the rest, begging for someone to save her child still trapped inside the burning building.


    Without hesitation, Spider-Man sprinted towards the entrance of the blazing apartment structure. He fought through the wall of heat and flames that tried to force him back, pressing forward into the building. Then, over the roar and crackle of the fire, he heard a soft, frightened sob coming from somewhere above him. Quickly scaling the crumbling walls and stairwells, Spider-Man followed the cries to a smoke-filled hallway on the fourth floor. There, crouched beneath a window, he found a young girl no more than six years old, her eyes wide with terror.


    Scooping the child into his arms, Spider-Man said in a calm, steady voice, "I''ve got you." Holding her close to his chest, he bounded through the building, dodging falling debris and leaping through flame-filled rooms.


    The flames roared like a beast alive as Spider-Man emerged from the burning building, the child safe in his arms. The crowd erupted into cheers, their joy a stark contrast to the searing heat and chaos. However, amidst the celebration, a stern voice cut through the commotion.


    A police officer demanded, "Hold it right there!" He stepped forward, hand closing on the grip of his service weapon. He drew it from its holster with practiced ease. "You''re wanted in connection with..."


    Spider-Man gently transferred the child into the waiting arms of the paramedics before turning to face the officer. Though his body language conveyed a mixture of readiness and reluctance, his masked face was unreadable.


    A scream pierced through the roar of the flames, echoing from within the burning building. Spider-Man tilted his head slightly at the sound. "There''s someone else still inside," he said, his voice edged with steely determination. "I have to go back."


    The officer''s gaze hardened, though his gun remained aimed at the ground. He was well aware of protocols and regulations. But before he could respond, another desperate scream rang out, a life hanging precariously in the balance. Spider-Man tensed, coiled tight as a spring, ready to leap back into the inferno.


    The officer wrestled with himself, torn between upholding the letter of the law and acknowledging the hero who stood before him. "Go," he said finally, holstering his weapon and stepping aside. "I''ll be here waiting when you get back."


    Spider-Man edged toward the building, the flames reflecting off his glossy lenses. "I won''t be coming back, Chief," he said simply, and then he was gone, launching himself back into the searing heat without hesitation.


    The officer watched him disappear into the smoke and fire. He hoped that Spider-Man was wrong, but feared that he was right. Gripping his radio, he called for backup and ambulances. Now it was a waiting game, the clock ticking down on the hope of any more survivors.


    Floor by floor, the costumed hero ascended through the flames and smoke, following the desperate cries of a woman in need. When Spider-Man reached her, the woman turned around, dropping the thick purple shawl she had wrapped herself in. But it was not another victim that stood before the hero. Instead, Spider-Man found himself face-to-face with the menacing figure of the Green Goblin, a cruel smirk played on the villain''s lips. An ominous, sinister chuckle rang out over the crackling roar of the fire surrounding them. Spider-Man barely managed to dodge the first razor bat that the Goblin hurled his way.


    "You''re pathetically predictable! Like a moth to the flame," the Green Goblin sneered, his voice a guttural, inhuman growl from behind his mask. The villain''s glider swooped around the confined, fiery space, poised for another attack. "What about my generous proposal, Spider-Man? Are you in or are you out?"


    "You already know my answer," Spider-Man shouted back. "I don''t do deals with psychos."


    The Green Goblin''s laughter was like shards of ice, cold and sharp. "Wrong answer!" he retorted, unleashing more of his deadly razor bats at the hero. The sound of his continued cackles was grating and chilling. "Pity. We could have accomplished such great things together."


    The fight was intense, a flurry of motion amidst flickering shadows and flames. Spider-Man leaped and somersaulted, webs shooting from his wrists to deflect projectiles. But the Goblin was relentless, and his arsenal vast. One of his razor bats grazed Spider-Man''s arm, the sharp pain almost immediate, his suit torn and blood beginning to seep out. The young hero clenched his teeth, stifling any sound of pain. He couldn''t afford distraction, not when so much was at stake. He turned back to engage the Green Goblin, but the villain was gone. Vanished into the smoke and flames.


    Spider-Man peered into the haze, senses straining. Where did he go? A creaking noise overhead was his only warning before a heavy beam came crashing down. Spider-Man dove and rolled out of the way just in time. The building was coming down around him. He had to get out, now. Sprinting for the window, the hero crashed through in a shower of glass. Outside, he fired a webline and swung away, gliding over the street below.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The afternoon sun was past its highest point in the sky, angling its rays through the expansive windows of the Empire Suite, casting long shadows across the elegant interior. Inside, the warm and inviting smells of a Thanksgiving feast wafted through the rooms. May Parker checked on the plump turkey roasting in the oven, its savory aroma a promise of the homey comfort food to come.


    Soon after, Gwen Stacy arrived with her family members, each carrying foil-covered dishes in hand. "The Stacys come bearing gifts!" Gwen announced cheerfully, her sea-green eyes alight with the excitement that family gatherings often kindled within her.


    "Ah, this must be the Branzino you wouldn''t stop talking about," said Tyson smoothly, helping them store their coats and grabbing the food they brought to relieve them of their burdens.


    "You know it!" Gwen confirmed, exchanging a look of easy camaraderie with her friend Tyson. Their friendship had grown in the months since they were first paired together in chemistry class.


    Earlier, Felicia Hardy had been the first to arrive, clad in a sleek black dress that subtly hinted at her secret alter ego. Mary Jane Watson and Harry Osborn arrived together next, walking hand in hand, wearing smiles and with interlaced fingers. "Happy Thanksgiving, big guy," Mary Jane greeted Tyson warmly.


    Tyson ushered Mary Jane and Harry Osborn into the warmly lit apartment, the savory smells of Thanksgiving dinner already perfuming the air. "Welcome, guys!" he said. "MJ, everyone''s inside. You know Aunt May, right?"


    Mary Jane''s face lit up with recognition as she caught sight of Peter Parker''s kindly aunt. "Of course, who could forget the best cooking in New York?" she said, moving to give Aunt May an affectionate hug. Aunt May flushed with pleasure at the compliment, her weathered face creasing into a smile.


    Tyson had extended an invitation to Peter and Aunt May for Thanksgiving dinner though only a mere three weeks had passed since the tragic death of Uncle Ben. The wounds were still fresh, but he had hoped the warmth of the holiday gathering would lift their spirits. Peter had asked if Tyson could also invite Gwen Stacy. In the weeks since Ben''s death, Gwen''s companionship had become a lifeline for Peter. Her passion for science resonated with his brilliant mind in a way that Tyson simply could not replicate, and that connection had helped Peter through his grieving. Then, of course, Peter also wished for his best friend Harry Osborn to attend as well. Harry was eager to bring his new girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson, to introduce her to the group, especially his father so they could meet for the first time. As the guest list ballooned far past Tyson''s initial vision, he fretted over the complicated dynamics that would converge under his roof. Unbeknownst to the others, both the Spider-Man and the Green Goblin would be in attendance, their secret identities still hidden from one another.


    Tyson busied himself in the kitchen. May had prepared the plump turkey and the Stacy''s had brought fish. Tyson finished plating all the other side dishes he''d ordered from the Four Seasons kitchen. The savory aromas of sage and roasted garlic spread through the apartment. A knock at the door drew him from his culinary focus.


    Then, with impeccable timing, Norman Osborn made his entrance, as if summoned by Tyson''s thoughts. There was always an air of tightly coiled intensity around Osborn, his charisma was almost a palpable force. His sharp, assessing eyes took in the room and its occupants, calculating even in this relaxed social setting.


    "Mr. Osborn, welcome!" Tyson moved to greet him, hand extended in welcome, a practiced smile on his face.


    "Thank you for the invitation, Tyson," Osborn replied smoothly, yet with an edge in his voice that compelled attention. "Sorry I''m late¡­ Work was murder¡­ I picked up a fruitcake." His gaze flickered around the room. "I see you''ve gathered quite the crowd."


    Tyson raised his voice to carry over the murmur of conversation. "Everyone, this is Norman Osborn. Norman, that''s Gwen, she''s an intern under Dr. Connors and that''s her family." He indicated Felicia Hardy with a tilt of his head. "That''s Felicia Hardy, and here is Peter Parker''s Aunt May."


    Aunt May offered a kind, crinkly smile. "A pleasure, ma''am," Norman greeted her, taking her hand with a courtly charm that wasn''t reflected in his intent eyes.


    "And that''s MJ," Tyson finished, motioning to where Mary Jane stood arm-in-arm with Harry.


    Norman''s gaze sharpened just a fraction as he regarded his son and the girl he''d brought. "So, you''re the young lady my son''s been¡ª"


    "Mad about? Yeah, guilty," MJ interjected with a playful grin, extending her hand. "Mary Jane Watson, Mr. Osborn, but you can call me MJ."


    Outside, Peter Parker arrived late to Tyson''s Thanksgiving dinner, having climbed up the exterior of the high-rise building to reach the penthouse balcony. His brown hair was windswept and his cheeks flushed from the exertion as he knocked softly on the glass to get Gwen Stacy''s attention. Gwen, who''d been closest to the tall windows, slid open the balcony door, her smile widening at the sight of him.


    "Hi. How did you get out there?" Gwen asked in a light, teasing tone.


    "Fire escape," Peter admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "The opulence of the lobby was a bit too intimidating for me."


    Gwen raised a slim, blonde eyebrow. "It''s twenty stories, Peter." Her expression was a mix of amusement and concern for his safety.


    "Yeah, it''s alright," he shrugged, trying to play it cool despite what would be a dizzying climb up the side of the building for anyone else.


    Peter''s expression then shifted to enthusiasm as he remembered the flowers tucked away in his bag. "Oh, I got your mom these..." He trailed off as he pulled out the bouquet of pink roses, now broken and disheveled. "They were nice," he mumbled, disappointment written on his boyish face.


    "They''re lovely," Gwen insisted warmly, her green eyes radiating reassurance. "Really, they held together remarkably well all things considered."


    Heartened by her response, Peter smiled, his brown eyes regaining their spark. "You know what, I''m going to keep these," he decided, carefully tucking the roses back into his bag.


    "Do you have your suit in there?" When Gwen asked about his suit, Peter''s eyes went wide with the panic of someone caught in an obvious lie.


    Before he could stammer out an explanation, Tyson entered the room and greeted Peter warmly despite his awkward arrival. Noticing Peter hastily shoving the broken bouquet back into his bag, Tyson disappeared briefly and returned with a fresh bouquet of roses that he handed to the younger man. Wanting to inconspicuously shift focus away from Peter''s unusual arrival, Tyson had also grabbed half a dozen white roses from the bedroom for Felicia. In the main area, he presented them to the platinum-haired beauty. She accepted them and a pleased surprise lit up her delicate features.


    Seeing the flowers, Mary Jane playfully looked to Harry, who flushed under her gaze but was saved when Tyson slyly pressed a bouquet of red roses into his hand. Harry presented them to Mary Jane with an awkward flourish that only made the gesture more endearing. Light laughter filled the room, lifting the mood. It was then that Peter made his entrance.


    "Hey everyone, sorry I''m late," Peter announced as he entered the room. "It''s a jungle out there. I had to beat an old lady with a stick to get these cranberries." He held up a can of cranberry sauce with exaggerated drama.


    More laughter greeted his humor. Aunt May accepted the cranberries with a gentle smile and planted a kiss on Peter''s cheek in wordless gratitude. "Now then, everyone sit down and we can say grace," she said, her voice warm and maternal.


    The guests settled into the cushioned dining chairs around the long mahogany table, the soft clinks of fine china and rustles of clothing underscoring the movements. Tyson assisted Aunt May in bringing out the remaining dishes of the lavish Thanksgiving spread.


    Norman Osborn''s hand snaked out to grab a pinch of the toasted marshmallow topping the sweet potatoes, but Aunt May''s age-spotted hand intercepted his with a swift slap. "Norman, would you do us the honors?" she asked, a grandmotherly twinkle in her pale blue eyes.


    Norman''s icy gaze sharpened for a split second, his eyes went as frigid before he schooled his features into a semblance of cordiality. He slowly licked the sticky marshmallow from his fingers, his tongue languid, while maintaining piercing eye contact with Aunt May. Reaching for the carving knife, Norman tested its blade with deliberate strokes, the razor-sharp edge gleaming ominously beneath the golden light of the chandelier.


    Tyson had anticipated the coming interaction with Norman. He positioned himself within arm''s reach of Aunt May, prepared to intervene if the murderous glint that had flashed in Norman''s eyes became more than a threat. Tyson''s meta-knowledge warned him that Norman shouldn''t attack, but he remained wary. Things had already changed from what he''d remembered. Plus someone as unhinged as Norman was, with a knife, would always be a cause for concern.


    The cheerful din that had filled Tyson''s apartment moments before vanished at Aunt May''s alarmed exclamation. "Peter... You''re bleeding!"


    All eyes snapped to Peter, zeroing in on the expanding crimson stain on his sleeve. Tyson muttered a quiet curse under his breath. "Fuck." It was too late for Tyson to even believably cover the bleeding with his illusions. How had he overlooked the blood on Peter''s arm?


    "Ah, it''s nothing," Peter said, trying to sound casual. "Just got clipped by a bike messenger when I stepped off the curb earlier."


    Aunt May was having none of it. "Let me see that," she insisted, her tone gentle but firm. Peter knew better than to argue when she used that voice. With a reluctant sigh, Peter extended his arm to show her the ragged tear in his sleeve, the fabric dark and wet with blood. Aunt May''s brows drew together in worry as she examined the nasty-looking gash beneath. "It looks terrible," she fretted. "We need to get this cleaned and bandaged right away."


    Across the table, Norman''s motions of sharpening the carving knife had slowed, then stopped altogether as his focus shifted to Peter and the injury that had captured everyone''s attention. His pale eyes were intent, calculating, as he stared at the torn flesh.


    "You said a bicycle messenger did this?" Norman asked, his tone deceptively mild even as his gaze remained razor sharp, missing nothing.


    "Yeah, came out of nowhere and knocked me down," Peter said with a casual shrug that didn''t quite reach his eyes. He held Norman''s scrutinizing stare evenly.


    Abruptly, Norman stood, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "My apologies, but I''m afraid I must be going," he announced curtly.


    Harry looked up at his father in confusion. "What? Why?"


    "Something urgent has come to my attention," Norman replied vaguely. He grabbed his suit jacket and strode purposefully to the door without another word.


    Tyson considered intervening but held himself back. The Green Goblin stood right in front of him, devoid of his armor and tech. Tyson was confident that with his illusions, he could enthrall everyone present and take Norman out on the spot. It would be so easy. But there were too many risks. Revealing himself now could expose his abilities and identity. His friends and their families could become targets for retaliation. And even without any of his goblin equipment, Norman was still basically a super soldier, still dangerous.


    So Tyson remained still, giving no indication of his churning thoughts. There would be another time to deal with the Green Goblin. For now, discretion was the better part of valor. Patience was needed. He let out a slow, steady breath as Norman departed without incident.


    "Dad?" Harry half-stood, worry creeping into his voice as he stared after his father''s rapidly departing figure. But Norman was already out the door, his abrupt exit leaving an uneasy silence hanging over the interrupted dinner party. The abrupt departure of Norman Osborn cast a pall over the previously festive dinner party. Uneasy glances were exchanged around the table as the guests sat in stunned silence. The cozy warmth of celebration had been cooled by the tension now filling the room. Harry Osborn¡¯s face was etched with frustration as he hurried after his father. Catching up to him in the entryway, Harry demanded, ¡°What are you doing? The whole point of coming to this dinner was so you could meet MJ, and now you have to leave?¡± Disappointment was clear in his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go,¡± Norman replied curtly, his mind clearly elsewhere.


    ¡°But this girl is really important to me,¡± Harry tried again, but his father¡¯s response was sharp and dismissive.


    ¡°Harry, please,¡± Norman scoffed, his voice carrying despite the hushed tone. ¡°You think a woman like that is sniffing around because she actually likes your personality?¡±


    Inside, Mary Jane Watson¡¯s face fell, her heart sinking. Norman¡¯s words were a dagger, and the fact that they were spoken so plainly, so publicly, only twisted the blade. Stunned, Harry could only stutter in reply, ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    Norman¡¯s voice was cold, almost venomous. ¡°Your mother was beautiful too. They¡¯re all beautiful until they¡¯re snarling after your trust fund like a pack of ravening wolves.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong about her, Dad,¡± Harry defended, but his words seemed to bounce off Norman.


    Raising his voice, Norman declared, ¡°A word to the not-so-wise about your little girlfriend. Do what you need to with her, then broom her fast.¡±


    The slam of the door punctuated his harsh words, leaving behind a heavy silence.


    The living room which was warm and welcoming just minutes earlier was now steeped in an uncomfortable silence. Mary Jane Watson stood abruptly from the table, her face flushed with emotion and her voice dripping with wounded sarcasm as she addressed Harry when he re-entered. ¡°Thanks for sticking up for me, Harry.¡±


    Harry winced, realizing the full extent of the damage his father''s harsh words had caused. ¡°You heard?¡± he asked weakly, knowing there was no way she could have missed the cruel remarks Norman had hurled towards her.


    ¡°Everyone heard that creep,¡± Mary Jane retorted angrily as she grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair, her jerky movements revealing her intention to leave.


    ¡°That creep is my father,¡± Harry defended, though his words seemed to bounce off her, failing to land. His own pain spilled out unchecked as he continued, ¡°If I¡¯m lucky, I¡¯ll be half of what he is. So just keep your mouth shut about things you don¡¯t understand!¡±


    Aunt May, who had been sitting quietly near the fireplace attempting to avoid the confrontation, was scandalized by Harry''s disrespectful tone. She interjected sharply, ¡°Harry Osborn!¡± Her usually gentle face was pinched with distress over the ugly tension that now saturated the cozy room.


    Mary Jane was deeply hurt but maintained her dignity. She turned back to face the room, her eyes bright. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Aunt May. Everyone,¡± she apologized, her voice quivering slightly before she walked briskly out the front door, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.


    Felicia sensed the need for someone to diffuse the volatile situation and comfort MJ. She stood gracefully, brushing imaginary lint from her stylish black pants. ¡°I¡¯ll go talk to her,¡± she announced softly. As she passed Tyson, she briefly touched his shoulder and whispered reassuringly, ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± With an icy glare at Harry, she slipped out the door after Mary Jane.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Felicia returned shortly thereafter, her expression somber. "I''m afraid Mary Jane wasn''t up for coming back," she relayed as she reclaimed her seat next to Tyson. "She wanted me to tell you all that it was a pleasure meeting you."


    Harry excused himself, quickly slipping out the door, likely going after either his father or girlfriend who had both just left the tense situation. Felicia let out a quiet sigh, brushing a strand of platinum hair behind her ear before turning her attention back to the others and reclaiming her seat next to Tyson.


    Tyson''s broad shoulders were slumped forward, his muscular arms crossed over his barrel chest. Felicia reached out and gave his forearm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The tension in the room remained palpable. Aunt May moved to say grace, and soon everyone began filling their plates, trying to rekindle the spirit from earlier in the evening.


    The conversation was tentative at first until one of Gwen''s younger brothers, curiosity lighting up his face, piped up. "Hey Dad, did you catch that Spider-Guy yet?"


    Mr. Stacy''s tone hardened. "No, we haven''t caught him yet, but we will. He''s an amateur who''s assaulting civilians. He''s clumsy and leaves clues behind, but he''s still dangerous." Gwen''s face tightened in a silent plea for her brother to change the subject.


    Unable to stop himself, Peter chimed in. "He''s assaulting people? I don''t know, I saw that video of him with the car thief. I think most people would say he was providing a public service."


    "Most people would be wrong," Mr. Stacy retorted, his steely gaze fixed on Peter. "If I wanted that car thief off the street, he''d already be off the street."


    Peter''s brow furrowed in confusion. "So why wasn''t he then?" he asked, genuinely curious.


    Gwen released a humorless laugh, tension radiating off of her in waves. Mr. Stacy leaned in, undeterred. "Let me enlighten you," he said condescendingly. "That car thief was leading us to the people running the entire operation. It''s been a six-month-long sting operation. It''s this thing called strategy. I''m sure they''ve taught you about it in school."


    The air grew thick with tension as Peter''s face clouded, the perceived injustice of Mr. Stacy''s statement striking a chord. His brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, offense rising in his chest. Just as the conversation teetered on the brink of a more heated turn,


    Mr. Stacy grumbled under his breath, his disdain for the costumed vigilante evident. "On the internet, he''s made out to look like some kind of masked hero or something."


    Peter shook his head earnestly, his dark hair falling across his forehead. "No, I''m not saying he''s a hero," he countered. "I don''t think he''s a hero at all."


    The tension in the Stacy''s dining room was palpable as George Stacy fixed Peter with an intense stare. "What are you trying to say?" he pressed, his voice tight.


    Peter met the police captain''s gaze unflinchingly. "I''m saying it looks like Spider-Man is trying to help, and do something the police can''t," he replied evenly.


    Stacy''s face flushed with anger and he slammed his hand on the table, rattling the dishes. "Something the police can''t? What do you think we do all day? Sit around eating doughnuts while twiddling our thumbs?" he thundered.


    "Daddy!" Gwen admonished, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment at her father''s outburst.


    "George," his wife chastised sharply, her disapproval evident.


    Leaning back in his chair, all eyes in the room turned to focus on Tyson as he cleared his throat, "The young lady who left earlier, Mary Jane," he began, "she was at the Unity Day parade, the one where the madman with the glider started throwing bombs all over the place. The police were there, yes, but they were unable to stop him." Tyson paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. "It was Spider-Man who saved MJ as she fell from the balcony of Oscorp Tower." Tyson''s eyes swept the room meaningfully as he continued. "I was there, interning with Oscorp security, and saw it myself. If not for Spider-Man, MJ and a bunch of other people would''ve died that day." A weighty silence fell over the room as the undeniable truth of his words hung in the air. Even Mr. Stacy seemed to consider this, his expression thoughtful as he processed the first-hand account of Spider-Man''s heroism.


    After a long moment, Peter broke the silence, his offense still evident. "He obviously didn''t know you had a plan in place," he pointed out, unable to let Mr. Stacy''s criticism of Spider-Man stand unchallenged. Tyson shook his head, wishing Peter had just let the matter rest.


    Mr. Stacy''s eyes narrowed, his face clouding with suspicion. "You seem to know an awful lot about this case," he accused, pointing his fork at Peter. "You know something we don''t. Whose side are you on here?"


    Peter raised his hands slightly, palms out in a placating gesture. "I''m not on anyone''s side," he reasoned, keeping his voice even. "It looks like Spider-Man is trying to help, that''s all."


    Peter held up a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "I think Spider-Man stands for what you stand for, sir. Protecting innocent people from criminals," he explained earnestly.


    Stacy''s scowl only deepened. "I stand for law and order, son. That''s what I stand for. I wear a badge. This Spider guy wears a mask like some kind of outlaw. He''s hunting people down like he''s got some personal vendetta. He''s no protector of the innocent, Mr. Parker," he retorted bitterly.


    The clash hung over the table like a thundercloud. Sensing the need for a respite, Gwen pushed back her chair and stood up. "Let''s get some air, Peter," she suggested, her voice strained.


    As Peter rose to join Gwen, Aunt May''s soft but insistent voice reached his ears. "Peter, apologize."


    He turned back, his expression regretful. "I''m sorry if I insulted you sir, that wasn''t my intention," he offered sincerely, before following Gwen out onto the balcony.


    Peter and Gwen had stepped out, leaving the charged atmosphere of the dining room behind, but the mood at the table remained. The residue of the earlier confrontation between Peter and Mr. Stacy still hung heavy over the remaining diners. Tyson sensed an opportunity to provide some clarity on Peter''s perspective he decided to address the still visibly upset police captain. He began respectfully, nodding towards Aunt May as he spoke. "Forgive me for bringing this up, Aunt May," Tyson''s voice was calm and steady, seeking no conflict but only greater understanding between them. He then turned his full attention to the stern officer, meeting the man''s gaze with his own steady and sincere one. "You''re likely not aware of this, sir, but Peter lost his parents when he was very young. And just this month, his uncle Ben was killed in a brutal car-jacking." Tyson paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Being a police officer, this is likely a common story you hear. It''s a big city. People die all the time. But to someone where the wounds are still so fresh..." He trailed off, holding Mr. Stacy''s gaze. "Seeing a masked hero out there, saving lives and stopping criminals like the one who killed Peter''s uncle¡­ Understandably, such a person could become a powerful symbol of hope for him."


    A heavy silence fell over the table as Mr. Stacy processed this new perspective, his stern facade faltering. The clinking of cutlery on plates seemed loud in the ensuing quiet. Aunt May''s eyes glistened, but she held a graceful, composed expression.


    Gwen''s mother, Helen, reached over and placed a comforting hand over Aunt May''s weathered one. "I''m so sorry, May. We had no idea," she said, genuine sympathy filling her voice.


    Mr. Stacy cleared his throat gruffly, the earlier defensiveness seeping out of his posture, replaced now by a glint of regret in his eyes. "I didn''t have a complete picture of the boy''s circumstances," he admitted. His voice was gruff, but his tone had lost its hard edge. "It''s easy to forget that everyone has their own story, their reasons for their passions."


    Aunt May nodded gently, her voice steady though it carried a tremor of restrained emotion. "Thank you, Tyson, for shedding light on it. Peter is a good boy. He''s been through more than most his age."


    The cool night air was a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere they had just left. Outside, the city lights twinkled like stars, the noise from the streets below served as a gentle reminder of life moving on, unpaused by their personal dramas. Gwen leaned against the railing, her eyes on the cityscape as she exhaled a heavy breath, the earlier tension still visible in the set of her shoulders.


    Gwen turned to face Peter, the city lights casting a soft glow on her features. "Well, that was something," she said.


    "I''m sorry. You know, I thought he was going to arrest me at one point," Peter remarked. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood.


    "Yeah, I wouldn''t have let him arrest you," Gwen responded, her tone playful yet with an underlying seriousness that said she meant every word. There was a pause, the air between them charged with more than just the remnants of the awkward dinner. Gwen''s eyes narrowed slightly, concern etching her features. "What happened to your face?" she asked, indicating the light bruising around his eyes.


    But Peter spoke at the same time, his words tumbling out in a rush, "I''m gonna tell you something."


    "Oh? Okay," Gwen replied. His sudden declaration piqued her curiosity.


    "I''ve been bitten," Peter said, his voice barely more than a whisper.


    "Me too," Gwen responded, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his cheek.


    They moved as if magnetized, on the brink of a kiss, but then Peter froze, uncertainty etched on his face. ¡°Okay okay. I¡¯ve gotta tell you this one thing. I¡¯ve gotta say this one thing and it¡¯s...it¡¯s about the vigilante and the car thief. All right?¡± Gwen stepped back, disappointment clouding her expression. Peter hurried to correct himself. "No, no, not that." He gestured helplessly, grasping for the right words. "I''m not gonna talk about that. I''m gonna talk about me, okay?"


    Gwen searched his eyes. "What about you?"


    "I wish I could just..." Peter trailed off with a frustrated shake of his head. "I can''t. It''s hard to say."


    Gwen''s voice was a whisper in the night. "Just say it."


    Peter released a heavy breath and leaned on the balcony railing, chest heaving. He shook his head again, every line of his body taut with frustration. With a frustration mirroring his, Gwen turned on her heel to walk away. She had barely taken three steps when Peter''s web shot out and snagged her gently around the waist. Gwen had spun gracefully as Peter pulled her back toward him with a web line. She landed in his arms with a gasp.


    "You..." she breathed, the word half-lost as their lips met in a sudden, passionate kiss.


    Peter''s frustrations seemed to melt away as he held Gwen close, one hand tangling in her blonde hair while the other pressed against the small of her back. The cool night air brushed over them as they stood embraced on the balcony, but neither noticed, too caught up in the warmth of each other.


    Gwen''s hands curled into fists, bunching the fabric of Peter''s shirt as she returned the kiss eagerly. The awkwardness of their earlier interaction dissipated, replaced by dizzy exhilaration. For that fleeting moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them under the watchful eye of the crescent moon.


    When they finally parted for air, both were reluctant to fully let go. Peter kept his arms around Gwen''s waist while her hands slid down to rest against his chest. Their accelerated breathing mingled between them as they gazed into each other''s eyes. The frustrations that had seemed so insoluble just minutes before now seemed insignificant compared to this blossoming love between them.


    Peter''s head jerked up at the sound of someone clearing their throat. He and Gwen sprang apart as if an electric current had passed between them. His gaze darted guiltily toward the cityscape, unable to meet the eyes of the intruder. Gwen''s head snapped toward the balcony doorway, cheeks flushing pink.


    Tyson stood in the entrance, an apologetic half-smile tugging at his lips. "Sorry for interrupting," he said. "Gwen, your father wanted to speak with you. He was hoping you''d come back inside."


    Peter shifted his weight uncomfortably as Gwen turned to face Tyson fully. Her blush had spread to the tips of her ears.


    "Oh, uh, thanks Tyson," Gwen stammered. She smoothed her hands over her dress nervously. "I''ll head in right away."


    Tyson nodded, his smile turning wry. "No rush. I''ll let him know you''ll be there in a few minutes." His gaze flickered between the two of them knowingly before he slipped back inside.


    An awkward silence descended. Peter scuffed his shoe against the balcony floor, keenly aware of Gwen''s presence next to him. The cold night air raised goosebumps on his arms now that the warmth of her touch was gone. He finally worked up the nerve to glance at her.


    Gwen was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She let out a shaky exhale and offered him a tentative smile. "So...that was something, huh?"


    Peter let out a soft huff of laughter, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Yeah. Something." He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We''ll talk later?"


    Her smile widened and she squeezed his hand in return. "Definitely." With obvious reluctance, she pulled away and headed for the balcony door. At the entrance she paused and looked back, eyes bright.


    Gwen''s name echoed from the interior of the apartment, pulling her attention away from Peter. "Yeah, I''m coming," she called over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on the man before her as she backed toward the balcony door. Soft laughter bubbled up from her chest and spilled past her lips, still tingling from the passionate kiss they had shared only moments before. She left the door open behind her as she disappeared inside.


    Peter let out a slow breath, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he turned back to take in the sprawling cityscape. The click of the balcony door announced the arrival of Tyson. Peter''s friend ambled over casually to lean against the railing, assuming a spot next to Peter.


    "Some party, huh?" Tyson remarked, his eyes scanning the glittering towers that surrounded them.


    Peter huffed out a quiet laugh. "You could say that again." His mind replayed the heated encounter with Gwen, still fresh and vivid. He could almost feel the soft caress of her lips against his, the warmth of her body pressed close. It seemed tonight had brought far more than he had anticipated. "How much of that did you see?" Peter asked, though he already knew the answer.


    "Enough," Tyson replied, a knowing smile spreading across his face. The single word hung heavily in the air between them, ripe with unspoken implications. His grin stretched wide as he remarked, "I would have preferred you told me yourself, but this is fine."


    Peter''s heart stuttered in his chest, his palms growing clammy where they gripped the railing. "You don''t understand," he began, the familiar weight of his secret pressing down upon his chest.


    Tyson''s understanding reply caught Peter off guard. "You''re wrong, Pete. I might be the person in the world closest to understanding." Peter''s eyes locked onto Tyson''s, a silent question in his stare.


    The night air on the rooftop terrace seemed to shimmer for the briefest of moments as if reality itself wavered. Peter watched in awe as the image of the costumed figure in a black spandex suit and white fox mask, known to the city as Mirage, transposed itself over Tyson.


    Then the illusion fractured and fell away as quickly as it had come, leaving only Tyson once more, casually leaning against the terrace railing.


    "It''s you," Peter said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers tightened on the cool metal of the railing, knuckles whitening.


    Tyson offered a slight nod, his eyes never leaving Peter''s. "I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out."


    Peter''s mind reeled, thoughts spinning as he struggled to process this revelation. Tyson, one of his closest friends, was secretly the costumed hero. How had he never realized it before? Peter found his voice again, though it cracked with emotion. "All this time, you were right there in front of me. Every news story, every sighting, it was you." He shook his head in disbelief. Realization crashed over Peter in waves as the pieces of a puzzle he hadn''t even realized he''d been solving clicked into place. The familiar voice, the size, the hair¡­ How could he have missed it? "I knew your voice sounded familiar," Peter said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin to match the excitement and relief flooding through him.


    Tyson chuckled, the sound rich with unspoken acknowledgment of shared burdens and secrets unveiled. "Yeah, I was wondering if you''d figure it out," he quipped lightly.


    The distant wail of police sirens sliced through the night air, shattering the moment between Peter and Tyson. The city''s cry for help was impossible for Peter to ignore, his body tensing as the call to action ignited every fiber of his being. Tyson caught the subtle shift in Peter''s stance, his eyes filled with understanding. "Guess that''s your cue to leave?" he asked lightly, though it was less a question and more an acknowledgment of the inevitable pull of responsibility¡­ and maybe revenge.


    Peter nodded, the mantle of Spider-Man settling around his shoulders once more. "Yeah," he replied simply.


    "Before you go, there''s something I want you to see," Tyson said with seriousness edging his words. The dingy rooftop and the sounds of the restless city around them melted away as Tyson cast his illusion.


    In their place appeared a scene so familiar it tore at Peter''s heart. He was back in the warmly lit dining room of his home, the aroma of one of Aunt May''s home-cooked meals hanging temptingly in the air. Seated around the table were Tyson, Aunt May, and, impossibly, his late Uncle Ben.


    Peter''s heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of his lost uncle.


    They appeared to be casually discussing Tyson''s new internship, his voice light as he carefully skirted around the more extraordinary aspects. Aunt May, ever the caring guardian, admonished them both with love sparkling in her eyes. "You boys, always trying to do so much," she chided gently, her tone colored by affection.


    Then Uncle Ben, ever the source of grounded wisdom, turned his kind eyes on Tyson. "We appreciate you taking care of Peter," he said, his voice as warm and comforting as a summer breeze. "Keep taking care of those around you. We lift each other up - that''s how we all succeed. And remember, success isn''t just about what you accomplish in your life, Tyson; it''s about what you inspire others to do."


    As the edges began to blur and the illusion faded, Peter drank in every last detail, imprinting the scene on his heart.


    "That was the last thing your uncle said to me before he died," Tyson confessed. Though his words were steady, they carried a heavy undertone of emotion. His dark eyes locked onto Peter''s. "Spider-Man isn''t just some vigilante. He''s a beacon. A symbol of hope. It''s not all about your power. And it''s not even about any responsibility you have to use it selflessly. What''s important is that you''re uplifting people through your actions. You inspire hope in this city, hope that it sorely needs. Don''t forget that, especially when you inevitably face the one who took your uncle."


    Tyson''s words resonated within Peter, striking a chord deep in his chest. In the distance, sirens wailed, an insistent clarion call. Tyson smiled slightly. "Now go do your thing, Spider-Man. I''ll cover for you inside."


    Peter nodded. Gratitude fueled his limbs, and without another word, he vaulted over the balcony railing, welcoming the tug of gravity as he plunged toward the lights below. With a flick of his wrist, a strand of webbing shot out, anchoring itself to a nearby building. Peter swung upward, reveling in the familiar embrace of the night air. The city spread before him, its lights beckoning him onward. Somewhere out there, a siren called.


    Spider-Man had work to do.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The Empire suite fell silent as the last of the guests took their leave, leaving Tyson and Felicia in the privacy of each other''s company. Felicia sashayed toward Tyson, a smoldering question burning in her eyes. "So, now that we''re alone," she purred, allowing the words to linger temptingly in the air between them, "what did you want to do?"


    Tyson exhaled, the sound heavy with unspoken meaning. Gently taking her hand, he led Felicia to the plush velvet couch. He answered, "We need to talk."


    One eyebrow quirked upward, a playful lilt coloring her voice, she said, "You know, when I say things like that, most guys don''t suggest a heart-to-heart. But hey, I¡¯m all ears if that''s what you had in mind."


    A quiet laugh escaped Tyson, warm but tinged with a hint of nervousness. "I need to be honest with you," he started, his eyes earnest, "before things go any further between us."


    Felicia''s demeanor shifted to one of genuine attention as she nodded. "Alright, I¡¯m listening. You''re so serious... you¡¯re not about to confess you''re a serial killer or something, are you?" she teased lightly, trying to dispel the somber mood that had settled over them.


    Tyson''s face scrunched as if he had just bitten into a lemon, and he released a weary sigh, steeling himself for the confession to come. "I guess I¡¯ll start at the beginning," he conceded.


    Felicia patiently listened for his explanation, though she noted with a hint of concern that he hadn''t outwardly refuted what she asked.


    Meanwhile, across the street in a nondescript office building, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were hunched over a console, headphones clamped over their ears. The space had been commandeered by SHIELD and transformed into a temporary surveillance hub. A sophisticated audio device captured every word spoken in Tyson''s suite with crystal clarity.


    Initially, they had been caught off guard when a teen unexpectedly climbed up to the side of the Four Seasons to the same floor as the suite they observed. Their shock deepened as they inadvertently discovered his secret identity as Peter Parker. Witnessing the reveal of his secret identity to Gwen and Tyson during their meal was yet another surprise. As the evening wore on, their interest had waned. The mundane conversation seemed irrelevant to their mission. But now, Tyson''s somber tone grabbed their attention once more.


    Natasha and Clint exchanged a silent look, communicating their shared intrigue. Around them lay the remnants of their hastily-ordered Boston Market turkey dinners, forgotten in the gravity of the moment. Tyson''s voice, laden with solemn portent, filled their ears.


    "Here we go," Clint murmured, his customary quips absent.


    Natasha merely nodded, her expression unreadable. They settled in to listen intently. Whatever Tyson was about to disclose carried potentially profound implications. Not just for him and Felicia, but for everyone ensnared in the intricate web they were all unknowingly part of.


    The atmosphere in the room thickened palpably as Tyson began his revelation, his voice steady despite the gravitas of his words. "There are people in this world, like myself, who are born different. We possess natural abilities, abilities some might call superpowers. You''ve witnessed what I can do with illusions, so that part may not shock you over much. But you don''t know about my true superpower, which is far more dangerous than my illusions."


    In their makeshift headquarters, Natasha''s and Clint''s expressions tightened. Every word from Tyson''s lips was a vital piece of a puzzle.


    Felicia leaned forward, curiosity and concern mingled in her voice. "Is Spider-Man like you? What is your real power, then?"


    "Let''s leave Spider-Man out of this for now. He''s not like me. Not exactly. He wasn''t born with his powers, he got his from a radioactive¡­ err, I mean¡­ genetically engineered spider''s bite." Tyson inhaled deeply as if the next words weighed heavy upon his tongue. "Whenever my skin comes into contact with another, I begin leeching away their life force. Mere seconds of touch with an ordinary person could leave them comatose," he confessed, the burden of his reality almost palpable amidst the room''s thickened atmosphere. "That''s why I wear gloves and long sleeves at all times."


    From her seat, Natasha could not restrain a soft gasp as the pieces fell into place regarding Tyson''s consistent attire and supposed ''skin condition'' during their training sessions.


    Felicia''s confusion was plain on her face as she tried to reconcile his words with her memories of their interactions. "But you''re not wearing gloves. We held hands when we sat down," she protested.


    "That wasn''t my real hand," Tyson said sadly, his eyes downcast. "It was an illusion." His shoulders slumped under the burden of this admission. The room grew still, the atmosphere thick with shared tension. "There''s more to it. With those who have any kind of special powers, I temporarily gain their abilities, sometimes even taking on physical changes," he went on.


    Felicia''s green eyes went wide. "So when you fought the Lizard on the bridge, that wasn''t an illusion?"


    Tyson shook his head gravely. "Nope. That was caught on camera. It was my first public appearance, but everyone dismissed the change, seemingly forgetting that my illusions couldn''t be recorded. During the fight, when the Lizard slashed me, we made contact. I absorbed its traits and strength." His expression was somber. "None of that was an illusion."


    The temporary SHIELD base was quiet as Clint and Natasha reviewed the bridge footage, exchanging knowing looks. Tyson''s story shed light on the discrepancies in his appearance. With each new revelation about his strange gift, more questions arose in their minds. For now, their meal sat untouched as they analyzed this rare glimpse into the complexities of Tyson''s abilities.


    Across the street, Tyson continued his explanation to Felicia. "As I said, my power is unique," he went on, his eyes darkening with memories. "There''s another powerful man obsessed with harnessing what I have. At the beginning of the summer, he sent someone after me, someone with powers of their own. Deadly claws and an almost instantaneous healing ability." From their vantage point across the street, Clint and Natasha leaned in, intrigued. "But he couldn''t heal from my life absorption," Tyson said, his voice faltering as it was tinged with sorrow. "We fought, and I...I absorbed him completely. I got his strength, his healing, his instincts, his enhanced senses. But I also got his memories. The entirety of his long life, spanning nearly two centuries. Permanently."


    Felicia''s eyes went wide at this admission, and she drew in a sharp breath, holding it. "You...you killed him? And now you have his healing...and claws?" she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper in the face of the staggering implications.


    Without a word, Tyson slowly removed his glove. Metal claws slid out from his fingertips with a sharp snikt sound that seemed to echo in the ensuing silence. "Not an illusion," he said solemnly. "This is all me."


    "Why are they metal?" Felicia asked after a moment, her curiosity beginning to battle with the shock.


    Tyson sighed heavily. The sound was laden with memories he clearly wished he could forget. "My last school was for kids like me, kids with...abilities," he confessed quietly. "I had hoped to learn to control my power there, but it never happened." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, and Felicia sensed the roiling emotions within him. His next words were likely to reveal even more of his inner turmoil.


    "The school was attacked by a military force," he recounted, pain evident in his voice. "You have to realize, there were kids there, some just little ones...barely school-aged." He paused, old anguish etched on his face. "A few of the stronger students let me ''borrow'' their powers. They ran, and I...I stayed. I fought." In their listening post across the street, Natasha''s and Clint''s expressions were grave as the tragic story unfolded before them, more complex than they could have anticipated. Tyson wasn''t just an individual with abilities; he was a survivor, a warrior forced to make choices no one his age should face. Natasha understood such impossible decisions all too well. Tyson''s voice held both pain and pride as he recounted the battle. "I held them back. Imagine. An army came to invade my school, and I fought them by myself. I don¡¯t even know how many I killed during the fight. I just knew I had to stave them off as long as I could. To give everyone time to escape. And I did...until the powers I borrowed faded." His grin didn''t reach his haunted eyes, shadows of memories best left unsaid lurking within. "I could handle the soldiers, but when they brought in their own supers...it was too much."


    Across the street, Clint and Natasha exchanged glances speaking volumes. They both knew where the story was likely going.


    Tyson''s voice grew darker as he recounted his tale. "I was captured and experimented on by my enemies. They laced my bones with a rare metal called adamantium that is only moldable when kept at extremely high temperatures. It was boiling when they started the procedure that melded it with my skeleton. It was the most excruciating pain I''ve ever felt." His hand clenched into a fist, "Once it hardens, adamantium becomes the strongest known material, making me nearly indestructible. But they didn''t stop there with their cruel experiments on me," he continued through gritted teeth. "They used a serum to control my mind, turning me into a tool, a weapon to serve their purposes."


    Across the street, Clint and Natasha exchanged somber glances, their faces etched with concern. Though he left the details unsaid, the shadows haunting his eyes made it clear he had suffered unimaginable trauma and abuse when captured and transformed into an indestructible living weapon.


    "But my friends, the ones I''d bought time for, they came back for me. Led by my...ex-girlfriend," Tyson''s voice softened for just a moment, the barest hint of vulnerability peeking through.


    When Tyson mentioned an ex-girlfriend, Felicia and Natasha''s reactions mirrored each other. "Ex-girlfriend?" Felicia remarked in disbelief, mouth agape, while Natasha silently mouthed the same words, curiosity spiking at this new personal detail. Disbelief and playful teasing colored Felicia''s voice as she now asked for clarification, "So, your superhero ex led the cavalry to break you out of a military lab? That''s...a lot to take in." She exhaled sharply, half-joking, "Those are some big shoes to fill."


    Tyson''s smirk was rueful, "You could say that," he replied simply. His expression was somber as he continued. "During the escape, there was this psychic...they were using his powers for the brainwashing and harvesting the mind control serum from his body. I didn''t mean to, but when I touched him, he...he was too weak. I absorbed him. That''s where the illusions come from."


    Natasha pursed her lips thoughtfully. Tyson''s tale stirred memories of her own past, things best left unsaid. She studied him with new eyes, seeing the shared pain lurking beneath the surface. Clint shifted his weight, expression neutral but his jaw tight. Some wounds went deeper than words could reach. Tyson''s confession of his harrowing past had left Clint and Natasha silent as they processed the full extent of what he had endured.


    Tyson''s gaze drifted across the interior of the Empire suite, a space he''d ''acquired'' through less-than-conventional means. "After the breakout, I came back here to New York. This suite, Midtown High... it''s all part of starting over," he confessed, the city lights casting long shadows over his thoughtful face.


    Felicia''s curiosity was evident as she tilted her head, eyes glinting. "And your ex? What happened with her?" she inquired, seeking more details about the woman who had apparently led the effort to free Tyson from his captors.


    "She''s in Asia now, studying," Tyson replied simply, old pain briefly shadowing his features at the mention of his former love.


    Felicia''s lips curved into an empathetic half-smile, her expression a mix of understanding and compassion. Given all that he had endured, she could grasp why he was driven to stand against a crime lord like Fisk. "I get it now. After what you''ve faced, going up against a crime lord, it''s...it''s nothing," she said softly.


    The weight of his past was visible in the slump of Tyson''s broad shoulders as he shrugged. "I needed you to know, Felicia. Before we... if we... continue this relationship." He struggled to find the right words, then finally blurted out, "To answer your question, I''m no serial killer, but sometimes it feels like I''m not far off." His muscular hands clenched into fists, the ghost of countless lives he had taken during the battle at the institute haunting his eyes.


    Realization dawned on Felicia''s delicate features. She whispered, "You absorbed some of their memories and can remember parts of their lives."


    "Yeah," Tyson admitted heavily, his deep voice laden with regret. "And it''s messed up. They weren''t all bad people, just following orders... caught up in the situation, same as me."


    Felicia''s slender hand found Tyson''s. "You were just trying to survive. You did what you had to do."


    Tyson looked down at their intertwined fingers, an ironic smile touching his full lips. "This isn''t really my hand, you know."


    "It feels real to me," Felicia murmured softly, her bright eyes locked onto their hands resting on the polished mahogany table.


    "It does to me too," Tyson admitted, meeting her earnest gaze. "But I''m actually over there." He nodded toward where he was seated in an armchair.


    From their surveillance post, Natasha and Clint exchanged looks as the camera feed confirmed Tyson''s true location across the room. "That''s...trippy," Clint decided, shaking his head in disbelief and making his sandy hair flutter.


    Natasha was already focused on the implications, "Fury needs to hear about this. All of it," she stated decisively, her voice low and husky.


    As the two experienced agents prepared their detailed report, in the penthouse suite not too far away, the two young people sat together in companionable silence, finding solace in shared truths. But the peaceful moment was shattered when Felicia suddenly screamed in alarm.


    "What!"


    After Tyson casually mentioned as an afterthought, "Oh yeah, and I stole a bunch of gold from the Federal Reserve."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tony Stark''s seaside mansion clung to the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean like a futuristic acropolis, all smooth lines and expansive windows that gave the impression the structure had been carved itself. The interior matched the sleek exterior, full of high ceilings, minimalist decor, and advanced technology. Dim track lighting flickered on as Tony Stark entered, throwing irregular pools of light across the polished surfaces.


    "Jarvis?" Tony called out, pocketing his sunglasses. The familiar artificial intelligence responded. Its crisp accent emanated from unseen speakers.


    "Welcome home, sir..."


    But the sentence trailed off uncharacteristically. The sudden silence raised the hairs on the back of Tony''s neck.


    A lone figure stood silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the endless expanse of the Pacific spreading out behind him. He held himself with a relaxed yet commanding posture, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The last fiery rays of the setting sun cast him in dramatic silhouette, throwing his features into shadowed relief. Whoever he was, he clearly wasn''t supposed to be here.


    The moment was interrupted by the intruder''s deep, resonant voice. "I. Am. Iron Man." the figure said, punctuating every word, echoing Tony''s iconic declaration to the world. Tony felt a sense of apprehension stir within him. The man continued without turning around, "You think you''re the only superhero in the world?" His tone was matter-of-fact yet carried an underlying weight that gave Tony pause. "Mr. Stark, you''ve become part of a bigger universe. You just don''t know it yet."


    Slowly, the figure turned to face Tony, the movement somehow ominous. As the shadows receded from the man''s face, Tony took in the eye patch, the stern demeanor, and the dark dramatic coat that added to his formidable presence. His steady gaze was fixed on Tony, sizing him up. "As if Gamma accidents, radioactive bug bites, and assorted mutants weren''t enough," the man continued, his voice sharp, "I have to deal with a spoiled brat who doesn''t play well with others and wants to keep all his toys to himself." The words were a clear challenge to Tony''s independent style of operating.


    Tony''s initial surprise shifted to his characteristic bravado in the face of confrontation. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, taking a step forward, eyes narrowing as he analyzed this unexpected intruder in his personal space.


    "Nick Fury," the man replied, unfazed by Tony''s posturing. "Director of SHIELD." His voice held the unmistakable authority of someone expecting to be listened to and obeyed. This Nick Fury had clearly come with a purpose. His next words would reveal the reason for this clandestine visit.


    "I''m here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative."

 Arc 4 - Ch 8: Unexpected Date(s)

    Date: Wednesday, December 15, 2010.


    Location: Chikara Dojo, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson shifted fluidly into another fighting stance, the long wooden shaft of the spear gliding smoothly through the air with a swoosh as he moved. With no beginner class today, he had been thrust into intense training under the watchful eye of Sensei Colleen who was assisted by the relentless drilling of Natalie.


    When he''d started practicing with the spear, the weapon felt foreign in his hands. Its length and balance dictated a different rhythm of movement than what Tyson was accustomed to. Yet he could not deny the advantage it granted with its extended reach and long shaft, allowing both defense and attack simultaneously.


    "And...relax," Colleen finally announced, signaling the conclusion of that day''s training session. Tyson exhaled deeply as he returned the spear to the rack on the wall.


    "You''re getting the hang of it," Natalie noted approvingly. Her tone was friendly but with an undertone of challenge that perpetually lingered between them.


    "Thanks," Tyson replied appreciatively, wiping the sweat from his face. "Not sure when I''d ever use a spear, but it''s good to learn."


    As they walked out of the training area, Natalie casually threw a slender arm around his shoulder. "So, hungry? We could grab a bite together. Unless," she added teasingly with a grin, "your phone-girlfriend might have objections? Or maybe you''re saving your appetite for another ''research session'' with Felicia?"


    He chuckled while shaking his head in amusement. "First, the girl on the phone still isn''t my girlfriend. Second, even if we did go on a date, Felicia and I aren''t exactly exclusive. She''s more of a free spirit, it''s not really her style."


    "Ah, lucky you," Natalie joked, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "So, want to get some food then?"


    "Yeah, food sounds great," Tyson agreed readily.


    Rather than walking to a nearby restaurant as he had anticipated, she led him instead to his own motorcycle, coming to a stop beside the sleek black bike. Tyson''s eyebrow arched upwards as a grin spread across his face, realizing Natalie''s true intention. This was an unexpected turn of events. She stood confidently next to the motorcycle, one hand extended demandingly for the keys, an excited gleam in her emerald eyes. Her lips curved into a daring smile as she asked, "Do you mind if we go back to your place first to freshen up?"


    Amusement colored Tyson''s tone as he dropped the keys into her waiting palm, the metal warm from being in his pocket. "Alright, I''m staying at the Four Seasons Downtown."


    With athletic grace that spoke of familiarity, Natalie swung her leg over the motorcycle, the movement fluid and practiced. She settled onto the leather seat, posture shifting as she leaned forward enticingly, back arching in a subtle but alluring display of confidence that did not go unnoticed by Tyson.


    Taking a steadying breath, he moved to join her on the bike, the machine rumbling idly beneath them. As he swung his leg over the seat, he became acutely aware of their close proximity, of how he had to lean into her slender frame. His chest pressed gently against her back, his arms coming around her waist in an intimate embrace. The engine roared to life with a low, thrilling rumble. Natalie revved it eagerly, the throaty growl a clear signal she had no intentions of taking it slow. Her hair, just inches from Tyson''s face, held that same sweet scent of exotic spices from when they had first met, though the traces of gunpowder had faded slightly. And as the motorcycle lurched forward, he had no choice but to hold on even tighter.


    The city lights streaked past in a blur as Natalie expertly navigated the motorcycle through the streets. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from Tyson''s chest pressed against her back. Every tilt and turn of the bike pushed their bodies closer together, the position far more intimate than what would normally occur between a "teacher" and "student".


    Tyson could feel the steady beat of her heart against his chest over the throaty rumble of the engine. The thrill of the ride and the allure of the woman in control of the motorcycle, coupled with the lingering sweet scent of exotic spices in her hair, left him intoxicated. As they rode, the rest of the world faded away until it was reduced to just the space between their forms.


    The rumbling engine died down as Natalie turned the key and brought them to a stop. Tyson felt a mix of exhilaration from the ride warring with a growing sense of apprehension now that they had arrived at his apartment building. Natalie''s confident strides as she led them unerringly through the opulent lobby and straight to the elevator did nothing to ease his caution. Her casual comment about the extravagance of the place only heightened his concern. They ascended in the elevator, and Tyson mentally noted that he hadn''t told Natalie which floor he lived on, yet she had pressed the button for the top floor without hesitation. The sleek doors slid open to reveal the familiar hallway leading to the Empire suite where he was staying. Natalie''s casual ease and familiarity with the building did little to calm the worry brewing in Tyson''s chest.


    "Top floor, fancy," Natalie remarked as she sauntered into the expansive Empire suite, her gaze sweeping appreciatively over the luxurious furnishings. A small smile played on her lips. "This has to be one of the nicest rooms in Manhattan. It''s bigger than most of the apartments I''ve seen...at least double the size of mine."


    Though her words were innocuous, Tyson knew better than to let down his guard. Natalie''s true motives were obscured beneath layers of casual charm. When she leaned in, her breath a whisper against his skin as she boldly took in his scent, Tyson felt the temperature in the room rise several degrees. Her proximity invaded his personal space, but her approach was nonchalant as she observed, "All that work with the spear and you didn¡¯t seem to sweat much... Now that I think about it, I¡¯ve never seen you work up a sweat in the dojo or during class." A playful challenge crossed her eyes. "But still, it''s your place, you should shower first."


    "If you insist," Tyson replied evenly, betraying none of the whirlwind of suspicions swirling through his mind. "Do you have a clean set of clothes? If not you can call the concierge and ask for some from the boutique downstairs. Just charge it to the room, it''s fine."


    Tyson conjured an illusion of himself heading to the bathroom, but remained invisible himself, as he watched Natalie, waiting for her next move. But to his surprise, she simply picked up the phone and dialed the hotel concierge. She made dinner reservations and gave her measurements for a dress... so normal, yet nothing about this situation was normal.


    His illusion continued in the shower, but Tyson''s real focus was on Natalie. He half-expected her to start a thorough search of his place or plant hidden bugs to gain intel the moment his ''shower'' began. Yet, she didn¡¯t. She simply waited on the couch with a relaxed but alert posture.


    Curious but reassured by her lack of overt snooping, Tyson under the veil of illusion, went to the bathroom and let his illusion fade as he genuinely started to rinse off in the shower. The warm water was a welcome sensation, grounding him as he tried to figure out Natalie¡¯s angle.


    Why was she here? What was the purpose? Tyson mulled over the possibilities as the water cascaded over his muscular frame. Nat was an enigma, her motivations unclear despite their growing rapport over the past weeks.


    Tyson emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, wisps of steam curling out behind him. His muscles still glistened from the shower as he stepped into the living room. Natasha was perched on the sofa, a box containing a black dress had already arrived and was sitting beside her. She looked up at him with a sly smile playing on her full lips.


    "My turn," she purred, rising gracefully from the couch and sauntering past Tyson towards the bathroom. Her hips swayed enticingly as she walked. Tyson watched her disappear into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.


    Alone again, Tyson''s mind raced as he quickly dressed. What game was the Black Widow playing? Her motivations were as inscrutable as ever despite their growing rapport over the past few weeks. He found himself inexplicably drawn to the enigmatic spy, wondering if this was some kind of test. The rules of whatever game she was playing were unclear, but Tyson knew better than to underestimate Natasha. She was as dangerous as she was alluring. He would have to stay alert if he wanted to keep up with the unpredictable woman currently using his shower. Tyson straightened his shirt, steeling his nerves for whatever curveball Natasha would throw at him next.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Natasha was an undeniable presence as she and Tyson entered the restaurant. The elegantly understated interior was an enclave nestled in the lower level of the five-star hotel, its sophisticated ambiance whispered between those seated at shadowed booths and intimately lit corners. Low conversation and the occasional chime of utensils orchestrated the mood.


    Fresh from her shower, Natasha''s hair cascaded in soft waves that caught the ambient light, framing her face in a gentle halo. The black dress she wore traced her form with subtle allure, promising everything and nothing all at once. It was the embodiment of elegance. Tantalizing yet tasteful. Her only adornment was a pair of glinting silver earrings that played peek-a-boo amidst the tresses at her neck.


    Tyson''s world narrowed to the vision before him. "You look...incredible," he breathed, the truth of it laid bare in each word.


    "And you, Tyson, clean up very nicely," Natasha returned. There was an unspoken mystery in her words that Tyson found himself aching to unravel.


    Their table was a secluded alcove, a world unto itself. As they were seated, the outside world seemed to blur at the edges, the murmurs of other diners fading into meaningless background noise.


    The waitress glided up to their table, her movements smooth and practiced. "May I see some identification?" she asked pleasantly, though her eyes were sharp as they flicked between Tyson and Natasha.


    With a slight flexing of his will, Tyson exerted his power, his ID shifted, the numbers rearranging themselves to an age appropriate for the wine list. He handed it over with a polite smile.


    The waitress glanced it over briefly before nodding and heading for the cellar. Natasha''s eyebrows ticked up as she caught sight of the altered ID. "Is that a fake?" she murmured under the pretense of adjusting her napkin.


    "Yeah, of course," Tyson muttered back.


    The waitress returned hefting a bottle in a bucket of ice. Deft fingers freed the cork with a soft pop, releasing the rich, earthy scent of an aged red. She poured them each a generous glass, the wine as dark and vibrant as living blood.


    Natasha lifted her glass, closing her eyes as she inhaled the wine''s complexity. She took an appreciative sip, holding it on her tongue before swallowing slowly.


    Tyson followed suit. Hints of dark cherry and oak mingled with notes of spice and chocolate. "Wow," he managed after a moment, unable to find more eloquent words.


    Natasha''s voice was low and thrilling. "It tells a story, doesn''t it?"


    Tyson and Natasha waded through the preamble of their meal, trading words in a delicate verbal dance of feints and parries. An electric undercurrent of anticipation hummed beneath their mundane small talk, building with each smile and shared glance. Natasha''s eyes sparkled with curiosity, "So, spill the beans," she urged. "Your date with Felicia. I basically played matchmaker between you two. You owe me all the juicy details!"


    Tyson raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a crooked grin. "Usually talking about other girls isn''t my go-to move on a...well, on an outing like this one."


    Natasha waved a hand dismissively, her grin unwavering. "Oh, please. This is an exception to the rule, remember? I''m dying to know what happened."


    A full grin spread across Tyson''s face as he leaned back in his chair. "Well, it''s not the blockbuster you''re probably hoping for. We hit up a comedy club, shared some laughs over drinks, then just hung out at my place afterwards to talk."


    Natasha blinked, leaning back in surprise with a playful roll of her eyes. "Talked?" she echoed, her tone rich with skepticism. "That''s it?!"


    Tyson nodded affirmatively, an innocent expression painted across his features. "Yep, just talked. Got to know each other better."


    Natasha let out an exaggerated sigh. "Ugh, you''re no fun. Here I was hoping for some juicy details." She winked at him, taking a sip of her wine.


    Tyson chuckled, shaking his head. "Sorry to disappoint."


    The waitress returned to the edge of their isolated table, a discreet presence hovering just outside the sphere of their charged focus. "Are you ready to order?" she inquired, momentarily tugging their attention back to reality.


    Natasha''s emerald eyes remained locked on Tyson''s as she responded, "The seared scallops to start, please. And the filet mignon, medium-rare, for the main course."


    Tyson found himself placing his order without thought, his attention firmly snared by woman seated before him. "I''ll have the wild mushroom risotto," he heard himself say distantly.


    As the waitress retreated, Natasha''s smile widened, deepening the alluring dimples in her cheeks. Tyson was surprised to find himself feeling completely at ease despite the charged energy arcing between them. Laughter bubbled up unbidden between the two of them, as natural as if they had known each other for years instead of mere weeks. Her smile was infectious, her vivacious energy captivating in a way he found difficult to define.


    As they chatted, the waitress refilled their glasses with the rich, red wine Natasha had been praising since the first sip. "Isn''t it fantastic?" she exclaimed, taking a generous sip. "Full-bodied, perfect finish...It''s rich, complex... like a good man."


    Tyson snorted at her comment but wondered if it had a deeper meaning. Though the alcohol had no effect thanks to his supernatural metabolism, Tyson played along, sipping his wine and complimenting its flavor. He noticed, however, the subtle shift in Natasha''s demeanor as she drank. Her laughter came more frequently, her movements more fluid and relaxed, and her casual touches lingered a heartbeat longer than before.


    The conversation drifted from light teasing to shared stories, with Natasha artfully guiding their verbal dance. She leaned in closer, her voice a touch softer as she asked, "So, Tyson, ever done something utterly wild?"


    He laughed heartily at that, the sound rumbling up from his broad chest. "Does riding through the city while holding onto a beautiful woman on a motorcycle count?"


    "Maybe for the opening scene," she retorted with a tipsy giggle, her eyes bright with mirth.


    Tyson felt himself getting pulled deeper into Natasha''s irresistible orbit. She, in turn, seemed genuinely interested in learning more about him. Her insightful questions pushed him to reveal more than he usually would.


    As the evening progressed, an unexpected connection grew between them. Tyson found an ease in her company that surprised him. The charged energy arcing between them was undeniable, and Tyson wondered what the rest of the night might bring.


    Tyson watched as the waitress cleared the dinner plates from their table. As they stood, Natasha laughed again, the sound was light yet tinged with tipsiness. "We can''t end this lovely evening just yet," she declared, hooking her arm through his with casual intimacy. "In fact, I have an idea for some after-dinner entertainment."


    Intrigued, Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."


    Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Let''s take this party back to your suite. But I have one request." She turned to the waitress, her voice steady and clear despite the wine flowing through her veins. "Could you please have another bottle of this excellent vintage sent up to the Empire suite?"


    "Of course, ma''am," the waitress responded professionally, scribbling down the order on her pad as Tyson left a generous tip on the table.


    Natasha sauntered into the lavish hotel suite, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. In her hands, she carried a bottle of wine and two glasses, the deep red liquid swirling gently as she walked. She paused in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a silhouette against the dazzling lights of the city sprawled out beneath them. With a graceful twist, she turned to face Tyson.


    "Ever played ''Truth or Strip,'' Tyson?" she asked, her tone light, but her eyes held a challenge that sent a thrill through him.


    He laughed, the sound coming out more nervous than he had intended. "Can''t say I have. How does it, uh, work?"


    "It''s simple," she purred, her grin spreading. "I ask you a question. If you refuse to answer, you remove an article of clothing. Then it''s your turn to ask me one." She took a few steps closer, her hips swaying. "But beware. I''ve never lost."


    Tyson swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I believe it," he said. The game was a minefield, and they both knew it. Every question was a potential trap, each answer a tantalizing clue. But the thrill was irresistible. "Deal," he heard himself say.


    Natasha''s smile widened as she poured the wine with sure, deliberate motions, as if performing on a stage. She handed Tyson a glass and raised her own in a silent toast before taking a sip. The rich flavor was a familiar anchor in the unpredictable tide of the night ahead.


    "So, Tyson. First question," she purred, leaning back casually in her chair. "Can you speak any other languages?" Though her tone was light, there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity in it.


    He tilted his head, considering his response. "Russian, French, and German," he replied after a moment, trying to sound nonchalant.


    Natasha''s eyebrows arched appreciatively, a hint of intrigue seeping into her voice. "Interesting choices. And quite impressive for someone your age."


    He accepted the compliment with a nod. "Your turn then. Same question."


    "I''m fluent in several," she answered, giving him a playful wink. "French, Italian, Russian, and Latin."


    Tyson raised his eyebrows, impressed despite himself.


    The game was on.


    Natasha''s gaze was unwavering as she continued the game, "Have you ever traveled outside of the United States?" Though her tone was light, there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity in it.


    Tyson met her eyes, finding something there he couldn''t quite read. Instead of answering, he untied his tie and set it on the arm of the sofa. Natasha smiled triumphantly. Tyson raised an eyebrow and said, "Same question."


    "Yes, many times. I''ve visited almost every continent," she confessed, an array of unspoken adventures dancing in her eyes.


    She leaned in closer, the scent of her perfume mingling with the rich aroma of wine. "Ever skipped school, Tyson?" she asked with a playful lilt in her voice.


    He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, at my last school. Took a little jaunt off campus during PE. Caused a...lot of problems."


    "Tsk, tsk," Natasha scolded playfully, wagging her finger. "Good thing you didn''t try that in my class."


    He grinned, "Wouldn''t have dreamed of it. Now, do you have any siblings?"


    "I''m an only child," she answered softly, "But I had a girl that was like a sister to me," a shadow flickering across her face. "You seem to get the gist of the game," she said, shifting the mood with a challenging smile. "Ready to really dive in?"


    Tyson straightened, energized by her competitiveness. "Bring it on."


    Natasha leaned forward on the plush leather couch, her green eyes glinting with curiosity as she looked across the polished mahogany coffee table at Tyson. Gesturing around at the luxurious penthouse suite with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city lights below, she asked, "How can you afford a place like this?"


    Tyson''s mouth quirked into a half-smile, the corner tilted up in amusement. Instead of answering her question directly, he removed his tailored Armani suit jacket, the dark material sliding smoothly off his broad shoulders. He draped it carefully over the curved back of a nearby armchair.


    "Why did you suggest this ''date'' tonight rather than previously?" he inquired, deflecting her question with one of his own.


    "The college semester is over," Natasha explained, tucking a strand of her long auburn hair behind one ear. "I''m officially not your student-teacher anymore."


    Realization dawned on Tyson, her timing and rationale making perfect sense. Quickly regaining her composure, she fired back, "Why did you transfer to Midtown?"


    "I had a... disagreement with the headmaster at my previous boarding school," Tyson admitted after a brief pause, his jaw tightening. "Did you choose Midtown for your student teaching assignment or were you assigned it?" He emphasized the word ''assigned'', his sharp eyes studying her intently as he asked.


    "It was assigned to me," Natasha replied with a casual shrug, her fingers playing idly with a strand of hair. "Why are you so invested in learning martial arts skills at the dojo?" she continued, deftly redirecting the conversation.


    "I lost several fights before moving to the city," he confessed plainly, a hard edge creeping into his voice at the memory. "I don''t want to have to rely solely on my strength anymore. I need to be skilled too." Her understanding nod urged him to continue. His next unexpected question, however, caught her off guard.


    "Where did you learn to fight?" Tyson asked.


    Rather than answer, Natasha reached up and delicately unhooked the earrings from her ears, placing them on the polished end table with a soft clink. Tyson raised an eyebrow at her evasion.


    She smirked in response, pointing to his silk tie. "Accessories count in this game. You started it!"


    Natasha leaned forward, an evil smirk playing on her full lips. "Okay, Tyson, let''s spice things up. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Your choices are me, Felicia, and the mystery girl on the phone."


    Tyson took a sharp breath, his hazel eyes widening for a moment before he let out a laugh, his broad shoulders relaxing. "Going right for it, huh? Alright," he said, accepting the challenge. "Marry the girl on the phone because she¡¯s sweet, cool, fun, and beautiful. Fuck Felicia because... well, she¡¯s sexy and flexible." He pointed a finger at Natasha. "And kill you because you asked a question like that."


    Natasha threw her head back, her long red hair cascading down her back as she laughed genuinely, the sound light and musical. "That''s a good answer," she admitted, taking a sip of the deep red wine in her glass, the tension from their earlier conversation dissipating as the game took a lighter turn.


    "Okay, you wanna play like that?" Tyson retorted, a satisfied grin spreading across his rugged face. "Fuck, Marry, Kill. Your choices are our resident supers. Green Goblin, Mirage, and Spider-Man."


    "Well, kill Green Goblin, that one¡¯s easy," Natasha said with a dismissive wave of her manicured hand. She paused, her expression thoughtful as she bit her lower lip. "The other two are kind of tough," she mused, then decided, "Fuck Spider-Man, and marry Mirage." Her emerald eyes met Tyson''s, a daring glint in them. "Who knows what Mirage could do with his power over illusions? It¡¯d probably make a life together more interesting. And bedding Spider-Man might be fun with those webs of his."


    Tyson chuckled, intrigued by her choices. "Kinky," he commented, referring to her Spider-Man reasoning.


    Tyson leaned back in his chair, regarding the red-haired woman across from him with amusement. Natasha''s emerald eyes sparkled with mischief as she smirked, clearly enjoying their game of questions.


    "Have you ever committed a crime?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.


    "Yup," Tyson admitted without hesitation, taking a sip of his drink.


    Natasha''s sculpted eyebrows rose delicately. "Oooh, a rule-breaker. What''d you do? Steal?"


    Tyson set his glass down with a thunk, his expression wry. "That''s another question. It''s my turn now."


    Seeing her genuine curiosity, he relented with a chuckle. "Okay, yeah, I stole some stuff."


    Natasha leaned forward, her lithe body coiled with anticipation. "What''d you steal?"


    "A bunch of gold," Tyson confessed. He held up a hand before she could pepper him with more questions. "Alright, that''s a three-part question. I get to ask three now."


    "Fair is fair," Natasha agreed, settling back into her seat.


    "Where were you born?" Tyson asked first, watching her intently.


    "Stalingrad, Soviet Union," she answered evenly, her accent coloring the words.


    Tyson squinted, murmuring under his breath, "Soviet Union, not Russia." He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together. "What is your date of birth?"


    "December 3rd, 1984," came the prompt reply, accompanied by a small, secretive smile.


    "Happy 26th birthday," Tyson said after some quick mental calculation, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "I didn''t realize it was so recent."


    Natasha inclined her head in thanks, raising her glass. "Must have been a late-life career change," he commented.


    Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Late-life?" She pointed at him in a warning.


    Tyson held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I take it back, I take it back." He paused, considering his last question carefully. "What''s your full name?"


    Natasha hesitated, conflict played across her delicate features. Tyson could see her weighing whether to answer or to strip and obscure her identity. At last, she seemed to come to a decision. "Natalia Alianovna Romanoff," she confessed quietly. "But I usually go by Natasha."


    Tyson''s eyebrows rose. "Well, it''s nice to make your acquaintance, Natasha."


    He could sense the subtle shift between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of trust. Their lighthearted banter continued, but beneath it lay new depths of intrigue and connection.


    The warmth from the wine spread through Natasha, seemingly loosening her tongue and untying inhibitions. "So," she started, her voice low, eyes gleaming with a challenge, "you''ve stolen a lot of gold, and you''ve lost fights. Ever killed anyone?"


    A dark echo of his past reverberated through Tyson. He didn¡¯t want to say it, not outright. Instead, he leaned down, slid off his shoes, and set them aside. "Just trying to maintain a bad boy aura of mystery," Tyson jested in an attempt to lighten the heaviness that settled in his chest.


    She snorted into her glass, amusement lighting her features. "Yeah, sure," she drawled, not entirely buying it but letting it slide.


    Grasping at control, Tyson fired back, "Since you seemed hesitant to say your real name...exactly how many aliases have you used?"


    In response, Natasha reached down and slipped off her heels, placing them neatly beside her chair. She shrugged gracefully, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. "I¡¯ve lost count," she confessed.


    Her gaze locked with his, the challenge reinstated. "When we were in the weight room, you easily lifted near-Olympic level weight. How strong are you exactly?" she asked, her eyes dissecting him over the rim of her glass.


    The question hit a little closer to home than Tyson expected. He paused, his hands finding the edge of his shirt. With a calculated nonchalance, he unbuttoned it, revealing the form-fitting undershirt beneath, muscles outlined against the fabric. "I don¡¯t know the exact answer, I could only guess," he replied truthfully.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Their eyes met and a silent understanding passed between them. They both had secrets, only some that they were willing to disclose. Tyson''s next question was unexpected in its simplicity yet profound in its implication. "Do you trust me?"


    It was a direct hit. Natasha felt the query like a physical blow. Trust wasn''t a commodity she traded in freely. The room felt warmer, the walls a tad closer. She reached back, unclasping the necklace she wore, and placed it gently on the end table next to her.


    "Not ready to answer that," she said, her voice steady but softer, betraying a hint of vulnerability she hadn''t intended to show.


    Their game, veiled in jest and playful banter, had delved into an intricate dance around their defenses, each question and avoided answer revealing more than just the facts of their lives. It was a chess match of wits and resilience, where each piece removed shed light on who they were beneath the facades they presented to the world.


    The game had changed, shedding the skin of casual playfulness to reveal a core of raw, unspoken truths. Each question was a probe, delicately pushing boundaries, and each item of clothing removed symbolized a layer of defense melting away.


    "Do you actually have a contagious skin condition?" Natasha asked, an echo of humor in her voice, referencing an earlier jest.


    "Skin condition¡­ yes. Contagious, no," Tyson responded with a half-smile.


    Tyson leaned forward, the glint in his eyes betraying a mix of mischief and curiosity that was poorly concealed. "Sorry, but I''m going to step it up a little bit," he said. "I really like your dress, and it looks great on you, but I think it''d look better on the floor." A slight pause, and he asked, ¡°How much of this is an act?"


    Natasha rose gracefully from her seat, the motion fluid like water flowing over smooth stones. She pulled up the hem of her dress just enough to grasp the lacy top of her stockings, her fingers skimming across her own skin as she slowly rolled one stocking down the length of her leg. She repeated the sensual action with the other leg, her eyes locked on Tyson the entire time to ensure he didn''t miss a single moment of the show. "I''m good at blending roles and reality," she practically purred, her voice a sultry hum. "But sometimes separating them isn¡¯t so easy."


    Having discarded her stockings, Natasha went on the offensive. "How did you steal all that gold?" she asked casually as if inquiring about weekend plans rather than interrogating him about a heist. Tyson just shrugged, seeing where this line of questioning was headed. No words were spoken as he simply bent down to remove his socks, adding them to the growing pile of shed defenses between them.


    Tyson watched Natasha intently as she continued sipping her wine, her gaze steady upon him. "Are you aware of what I can do?" he asked, his question hanging in the air between them, charged with unspoken implications.


    "Yes," Natasha replied simply, her voice smooth and confident.


    Tyson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Ambiguous answer," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing.


    Natasha''s mouth ticked up in a half-smirk, the firelight catching her eyes and turning them molten gold. "Ambiguous question," she retorted, her tone coy yet challenging.


    Tyson nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Fine. Redo?" he offered, a glint of excitement in his gaze at the thrill of this verbal sparring.


    Natasha inclined her head in assent, knowing that further specification would only aid her objectives. Tyson squared his shoulders, his expression growing more serious. "Are you aware of my superpowers?" he asked plainly.


    Meeting his intense stare, Natasha lifted her wine glass and downed the remaining ruby liquid in one smooth motion. She set the empty glass on the table between them with a soft clink, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Raising her hand, she began counting off on her fingers as she listed in an even tone, "Life Absorbing Touch, Superhuman attributes, Adamantium skeleton, Regeneration, Illusions."


    Each point seemed to punctuate the air between them with finality. Tyson shifted slightly, a shiver of vulnerability running through him as he realized they knew everything. It wasn¡¯t completely unexpected, but it was still slightly unwelcome, making him feel exposed.


    "Why doesn''t anyone remember mutants?" she asked, her voice sharp.


    Tyson shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Natasha''s question hung in the air between them. The weight of forgotten histories and erased truths pressed down on him. He reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off in one smooth motion, the defined muscles of his chest and abs rippling in the dim light. Tyson saw Natasha''s eyes flick down briefly, a hint of appreciation in her gaze before she quirked one sculpted eyebrow upward.


    "Really?" she said, a note of dry amusement in her tone.


    "It''s a long story," Tyson rumbled, his deep voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "Maybe another time."


    Their eyes locked, green on green and blue. An unspoken understanding passed between the two spies; this was more than just a game. Their verbal sparring, the give and take of revelations and evasions, was an intricate dance. Each step brought them closer to...something. What, exactly, Tyson wasn''t sure, but the potential thrilled and unnerved him.


    Tyson shifted again under Natasha''s steady gaze, feeling exposed in more ways than one. "I''ve been careful about the life absorption," he said slowly. "But the adamantium skeleton is pretty specific info. Either you got your hands on some classified documents, or..." He let the sentence trail off meaningfully. Natasha''s smile widened fractionally, though the expression didn''t reach her eyes. Tyson pressed on, "Since Alkali Lake is underwater¡­ Yeah, that''s a freebie for you¡­ I''m guessing you''ve been monitoring me somehow. I want to know how you''re tracking me and what your setup is."


    Natasha said nothing, merely rising from her seat with a sinuous grace. Tyson''s eyes widened slightly in anticipation, but she did not remove her dress as expected. Instead, her fingers deftly unclasped her bra, the motion smooth with practice. She slid the straps down one at a time, holding Tyson''s gaze all the while, challenging him, teasing him. With agonizing slowness, she pulled the bra up through the front of her dress and let it fall forgotten to the floor.


    The temperature of the room seemed to climb several degrees. Natasha''s allure was not just in what she had revealed, but in what remained hidden. The outline of her nipples was visible through the thin fabric of her dress, and Tyson could not tear his eyes away.


    Natasha fixed Tyson with an intense gaze, her voice steady but probing as she asked, "You coordinated with Spider-Man to fight Green Goblin and save civilians during the Parade incident. Are you willing to work with others to stop threats beyond what the normal authorities can handle?"


    Tyson did not hesitate. His conviction was clear as he answered simply, "Yes, within reason." The response was straightforward, but it conveyed the depth of his commitment, a willingness to stand for more than just himself.


    Tyson quirked an eyebrow, his tone playful yet underlaid with seriousness as he questioned, "Is this your recruitment pitch? Or is this?" He gestured at her alluring appearance, the thin fabric of her dress outlining her nipples, barely concealing her assets. Tyson found it hard to tear his eyes away.


    "Yes," Natasha replied lightly, not indicating which of Tyson''s questions she referred to. "Is it working?"


    Tyson looked beyond the teacher, the spy, the seductress, and saw a woman who understood the weight of the world, the shades of gray in their roles.


    "Yes," Tyson said. It was more than just accepting a pitch. It was acknowledging the connection they forged in a game that started as pretense but ended with the promise of something greater.


    The husky timbre of Natasha''s voice pulled Tyson abruptly from the depths of their intense connection. Her sudden shift back into her pseudo-drunken facade was jarring, and Tyson realized with some disappointment that the intriguing game between them had come to an end. Though he couldn''t recall exactly when she had dropped the act, now that it was back in place, the difference was obvious. An unexpected pang of longing caught him off guard, an urge for their dance of pretense and promise to continue.


    "Wow, it''s starting to get late, and I''m a bit tired. I think I might have had too much to drink; I should head home," Natasha announced breezily, her words not quite lining up with the sharp intellect Tyson glimpsed behind her smoky gaze.


    Concern creased Tyson''s brow as he played along, masking his reluctance to end their evening. "Hey, you don''t have to leave right away. You can stay the night. I''ll take the couch, or I could drive you back if you prefer?" he offered politely.


    Natasha shook her head, the motion setting her silken locks swaying gently across her shoulders. A small, distant smile curved her full lips as she declined his offer. "Don''t worry about me. The hotel has security, and I''ll just catch a cab."


    She turned toward the door, hips swaying with casual grace, her movement showing no signs of the intoxication she claimed. But halfway across the room, she paused, gaze caught by the terrarium in the corner. A puzzled expression flickered across her fine features.


    "Okay, one more before I go," she declared, manicured finger pointing at the glass enclosure. "Why do you have an empty terrarium?"


    Tyson''s lips curved into a sly grin, unable to resist the opportunity to intrigue her further. "It isn''t empty."


    Curiosity piqued, Natasha stepped closer, keen eyes peering into the glass. Amidst the artfully arranged terrain was a web, and upon it resided a single vivid spider. Its colors flashed like jewels against the stark background, bright splashes of sapphire and ruby, in what first appeared a desolate container.


    "Huh," she murmured, more to herself than Tyson, a small furrow of concentration denting her smooth brow as she studied the arachnid.


    Natasha halted in her tracks toward the door when Tyson called out, "Wait, it''s only fair that I get one back." Considering her last question had been innocuous, he mirrored her lightness, though his voice still held remnants of their earlier playful banter. "Was this just work for you, or did you enjoy the date?"


    She stood motionless for a heartbeat, two, the tension in the room rising. Then, in one fluid, seductive movement that spoke volumes of her confidence and control, Natasha reached under her dress and shimmied out of her panties, letting the lacy garment drop and pool around her heels. She stepped out of them with the grace of a dancer. Tyson swore the outline of her nipples pressed even more evidently against the silky fabric of her dress. He couldn''t deny the deliberate sensuality in her actions. Her movements weren''t just sexy; they were a statement, a challenge, and an invitation all at once.


    Turning to face Tyson, her emerald eyes locked with his. His gaze smoldered with desire as it raked over her body. The air between them grew thick and charged with the weight of the unspoken words and shared experiences of their evening together.


    Without breaking eye contact, Natasha reached for Tyson''s suit jacket draped over a chair and slipped it over her bare shoulders. She held his gaze a moment longer, the lingering look full of promise that this was not the end. Then she turned and left the suite, the door closing softly behind her.


    Tyson stood alone in the quiet hotel suite, his thoughts swirling as the lingering scent of Natasha''s perfume teased his senses. Her lacy undergarments lying discarded on the floor were evidence of the passion that had ignited between them and still smoldered within him, but the sharp trill of his cell phone shattered those thoughts. Glancing at the caller ID, Tyson arched an eyebrow in mild surprise to see Peter''s name. Considering the late hour, he knew it had to be important.


    "Hey, Peter. What''s up?" Tyson aimed for a casual tone, but the residual energy from the evening tinged his words.


    "Tyson! Oh man, it''s bad. Real bad," Peter''s panicked words tumbled out in a frantic rush. Even through the phone, the fear in his voice was palpable.


    "Whoa, breathe Pete. Slow down and tell me what happened," Tyson said steadily, hoping to calm Peter''s frenzied state.


    "It''s the Green Goblin! He attacked Aunt May at home, then took MJ, took Mary Jane!" Peter''s words seemed to cause him physical pain, his voice cracking with emotion.


    A cold dread pierced through the lingering heat of Tyson''s earlier passions. "Where are they now? Do you know?"


    "The Queensboro Bridge. He took her to the Queensboro Bridge," desperation tinged Peter''s words, the location spilling out like a plea.


    Tyson considered it for a moment. The Queensboro Bridge sat halfway up Manhattan''s East Side. Even speeding, it would take a good twenty minutes to get there from the hotel.


    But Tyson also knew the broader context from his meta-knowledge. This was the battle where Spider-Man tried to save both Mary Jane and the civilians on the bridge, nearly losing both in the process. With Tyson''s help, the outcome could be different.


    "I''m on my way. Meet me in the park by the Queens side of the bridge in half an hour," Tyson said decisively. "And Pete?" he added before his friend could hang up.


    "Yeah?" Peter''s faint response was nearly lost in a strangled breath.


    "We''ll get her back and stop the Goblin once and for all. Trust me." Tyson''s words were more than just a promise. They were a declaration.


    The call ended and Tyson sprang into action. There was no time for doubt or hesitation now. His friend needed him and innocent lives were at stake. As he donned his gear, his mind raced, strategizing, calculating every possibility they might face against the Green Goblin. The villain was unpredictable and dangerous and now he''d made it personal for Peter. Tyson''s heart pounded in his chest, no longer from the lingering excitement of his encounter with Natasha, but from the rush of the impending confrontation...


    Natasha.


    She was probably just leaving the building now. But he could use her help. This was more than just a call to action; it was a call to protect, to right a wrong, to be a hero. He rushed to the balcony to see her standing on the sidewalk below...


    The icy air nipped at Natasha''s skin as she stepped outside, the New York winter showing no mercy. The impulsive decision back in the suite, leaving her undergarments behind, now manifested as a shiver that danced down her spine. Tyson''s jacket barely served as a barrier against the cold. Yet the thought of Tyson, possibly pondering the meaning behind her bold move, sparked a warm smile on her lips.


    However, her amusement was short-lived, as she heard her name being called. Turning, she saw Tyson emerging from the building, urgency had replaced the playfulness on his face.


    "Miss me already?" she asked lightly, though her teasing tone did not fully mask the surprise in her voice.


    Tyson''s smile was brief, not reaching his eyes. "You know it," he replied, "I don''t mean to ruin the appeal of your exit, but I''ve got an important question for you."


    Natasha arched an eyebrow. "You asked the last one. If you want another, it''s going to cost you." Their banter flowed easily between them, though she sensed the gravity behind his mood.


    He chuckled, "You can have my pants, but this is serious."


    Reading the tension in his stance, Natasha nodded. "Go ahead then," she prompted, steel entering her voice in response to his urgency.


    "Hypothetically," he began, his words piercing the frosty winter air, "if I could capture the Green Goblin, would you have access to a cell that could hold him?"


    Natasha''s mind raced, considering the problem. The Green Goblin was no ordinary criminal. With his strength and technology, holding him would require more than just a reinforced cell. It would need to be an off-the-grid facility, secure and impenetrable.


    "We have places designed for enhanced individuals," she replied carefully, "Not public, but as secure as they come."


    Tyson''s taut jaw softened slightly as he nodded. "Good. I need to know he won''t just end up back on the streets."


    Understanding lit Natasha''s eyes. This was not hypothetical. "He won''t," she stated firmly, steel sheathed in velvet. "We''ll make sure of it."


    The briefest moment of relief washed over Tyson''s features before the mask of determination resettled across his face. With a grateful nod to Natasha, he removed his pants and casually tossed them in her direction. Natasha reflexively raised her hands to catch the garment, but instead of fabric her fingers closed around a bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Looking up in surprise, she saw no sign of Tyson.


    Natasha heard the sounds of a motorcycle behind the hotel roaring to life before fading into the distance.


    She gazed down at the flowers cupped gently in her hands. She brushed her fingertips across the soft petals, noting their vibrant colors and inhaling their sweet scent.


    But even as she admired their beauty, the bouquet began to fade, petals withering and stems dissolving into sparkling motes of light. Soon nothing remained except the memory of their fragrance and Tyson''s retreating motorcycle, carrying him off into the night.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The distant lights of the city cast long shadows across Queensbridge Park, mingling with the oscillating reds and blues of the police closing the bridge. Tyson glanced at the missed call from Jubilee on his phone before pocketing it, his focus solely on the crisis unfolding before him. The news of the Green Goblin''s latest antics had clearly spread, but talking to Jubes would have to wait. Right now, lives hung precariously in the balance.


    A sudden whoosh announced the arrival of another as Spider-Man descended from the darkness above, landing with feline grace beside Tyson. "Mirage, thanks for coming," he said, his voice taut but steady.


    "Spider-Man," Tyson replied solemnly, his gaze intent. "Good to see you. What''s the situation?"


    Spider-Man took a deep breath before gesturing toward the apex of the bridge. "Green Goblin''s got MJ up there. He''s holding a cable car loaded with people in one hand and Mary Jane in the other," he explained, frustration seeping into his words. Tyson could see the tension in Spider-Man''s posture, and could hear the carefully controlled anger simmering beneath the surface. This was personal for the webslinger.


    Before he could continue briefing Tyson on the situation, Spider-Man''s head suddenly snapped to the side, preternaturally quick reflexes propelling his body away from the path of an oncoming spear. Caught off guard by the abrupt motion, Tyson did not have time to react. The spear sliced through the air, narrowly missing Spider-Man and burying itself into Tyson''s torso with a meaty thunk instead. Tyson grunted more in surprise than pain as the spear failed to penetrate his adamantium skeleton, clattering uselessly to the pavement.


    As Tyson''s skin knit itself back together, healing the superficial wound in seconds, Spider-Man turned to him, concern evident in his voice despite the concealing mask. "Are you okay?"


    Tyson laughed, "A goddamned spear... what are the odds?"


    His laughter died as his eyes locked onto the figure emerging from the shadows. He was well over six feet tall, his body carved from slabs of muscle that rippled and flexed with each movement. His very presence radiated danger, primal and unchecked. His garish outfit was a chaotic blend of animal prints and bones that clinked softly as he moved. A mane of lion fur billowed around his shoulders despite the stillness of the night air. Skin-tight leopard print pants clung to his powerful legs. He twirled the spear casually in one hand, a twin to the one that had nearly skewered Tyson. Dark eyes, black as night, watched them with the steady focus of a predator gauging its prey.


    Tyson''s meta-knowledge identified their assailant. But it provided no insight as to why he was here. What did he want with them? The man looked at them with the smug arrogance of a hunter who had never known defeat. His lips twisted into a cruel smirk. Tyson tensed, ready to face whatever came next. Beside him, Spider-Man''s hands slowly curled into fists.


    "Ahh, Spider-Man, always a pleasure to disrupt your little heroics," Kraven sneered, his thick Slavic accent adding a sinister melody to his words that spoke of distant lands and untamed wilderness. "And you brought a friend," the hunter''s contemptuous gaze slid over Tyson, taking in the hero''s costume and stance. "Mirage, yes? I''ve heard tales of you. I admit, I''m intrigued to see if you live up to the stories."


    Spider-Man shifted into a defensive stance, his muscles coiled and ready for action. "Kraven. To what do we owe the displeasure?" he bit out tersely.


    "I''m here for the ultimate hunt, of course," Kraven replied, his smirk widening with anticipation. "You''ve proven a worthy prey before, Spider-Man, but now, I''m interested in your friend." He gestured with his spear towards Mirage. "To see you heal from such a wound so quickly, makes me wonder if you''ll be the greater challenge. A man who cannot die is a prize any hunter would covet."


    Tyson bristled, irritation flashing through him. He couldn''t believe Spider-Man had failed to mention he''d crossed paths with Kraven the Hunter. Keeping his voice low and dangerous, Mirage focused on Kraven. "You think you can hunt me?"


    "Oh, I don''t think, my friend," Kraven purred in response, clearly relishing the confrontation. "I know. The hunt," he paused, savoring the word, "is everything."


    Behind his mask, Tyson rolled his eyes. He said to Spider-Man, "We don''t have time for this."


    With startling speed, the hunter lunged forward, his spear leading the way in a deadly arc toward Mirage. Mirage reached down, snatching up the discarded spear from the ground, in an action that was almost instinctual, and batted away the hunter''s first stab.


    Kraven rose to his full imposing height, a wild grin stretching his features as he too gripped his spear in anticipation. "The thrill of the hunt is time itself, my friend!" he declared. Like that, the two spears met with a resounding crack, and the duel began in earnest.


    The spears collided with a ringing clash of metal that echoed through the empty park. Kraven attacked first, lunging forward in a stabbing thrust, but Tyson parried it with ease and countered with a swipe that forced the hunter to jerk back out of the way. The spears wove patterns through the air as the two fighters circled and struck. Kraven was good. His movements had the oiled smoothness of long practice. He had honed his skills hunting prey far more dangerous than the average human. But Tyson was something else entirely. His motions spoke of intense training under masters like Colleen and Natasha. Tyson was a whirlwind, his attacks coming from unexpected angles, his defense as solid and unyielding as the adamantium lacing his bones.


    Kraven panted, giving ground before Tyson''s onslaught. "You fight well," he conceded. "But I have brought down far mightier prey than you, my friend!"


    "I''m not your prey," Tyson growled, voice low and deadly. He feinted left, then struck right like a thunderbolt.


    Kraven laughed, but the sound died in his throat as Tyson''s spear suddenly slashed toward him. Kraven tried to dodge, but the weapon still grazed his side, tearing his tunic and eliciting a pained grunt. The hunter did not falter, however. If anything, the wound only widened Kraven''s grin, putting a mad light in his eyes. He attacked with renewed vigor, his movements a blur of motion that Tyson matched perfectly.


    But then Tyson stopped holding back.


    His speed increased drastically, driven by the need to end this fight quickly. He deflected an overhead strike from Kraven and pivoted faster than the eye could follow, driving his foot into the hunter''s chest. Kraven flew backward, the air exploding from his lungs as he crashed heavily to the ground.


    In the space of a heartbeat, Tyson stood over the downed hunter, Kraven''s own spear now in his hand. Without hesitation, he plunged it downward. The spear tip split Kraven''s leg bone with a nauseating crunch. Kraven howled in agony, his body spasming, but Tyson held him pinned with preternatural strength, meeting Kraven''s pain-filled gaze with pitiless eyes.


    "Enough of this," Tyson growled. "We''re done here."


    Kraven laughed, a grating, pain-laced sound. "You''ve bested me, Mirage. Not many can claim that feat."


    Tyson crouched beside his fallen foe, the exposed half of his face set in hard lines. "End your hunt, Kraven. Or I''ll stuff you and mount you on my wall as a trophy."


    The threat only made Kraven laugh again, defiance blazing in his eyes despite the agony wracking his body. "I''ll hunt you, Mirage. I''ll hunt the Spider-Man. I''ll hunt you all," he gasped.


    Jaw tightening, Tyson hefted the second spear, testing its weight. With a fluid motion, he plunged it through Kraven''s other leg, pinning him fully to the earth. Kraven''s scream echoed through the silent park. His body thrashed in agony, effectively crucified.


    Leaning in close, Tyson''s whisper was dangerous. "Come after me again, and I''ll kill you. Go after Spider-Man, and I''ll end you for that too. The Lizard..." He smirked cruelly. "I don''t really care about him. Knock yourself out there. But if you''ve got a death wish, I''ll see you in four to six months, after you finish physical therapy."


    Leaving Kraven pinned and howling, Tyson strode back to where Spider-Man stood tense, concern, and wariness etched in every line of his body.


    "Was that necessary?" Peter asked. His voice was tinged with worry for the brutalized hunter and Tyson''s ruthlessness.


    Tyson met Spider-Man''s gaze unflinchingly. "Kraven aimed to kill. If I was normal, I''d be dead. He''s lucky I didn''t do the same." The air between them was charged, a moment of understanding passed between them, yet a subtle divide formed. They were on the same side in this fight, but their methods were worlds apart. "We''ve got bigger problems," Tyson finally said, breaking the tension as he nodded towards the top of the bridge where the Green Goblin''s maniacal laughter could still be heard, a haunting reminder of the madness they were up against.


    "Yeah," Spider-Man agreed, the word heavy with unspoken emotion as they both set their sights on the chaos above.


    Turning to Spider-Man, Mirage quickly outlined a strategy. "Okay, Spidey, here''s the plan. I''ll distract the Green Goblin. Once I have his attention, wait for my signal. Then you swing up and grab the people from the cable car. After that, we take the bad guy down."


    Peter''s posture radiated disbelief. "Wait. That''s it? That''s the whole plan?"


    Tyson met his skepticism with a level gaze, his face set with determination. "We already know my illusions work on him. So assuming nothing has changed, yeah, no problem. The fight''s over before it begins. But," he continued, the gravity of the situation settling around them like a heavy cloak, "if that''s not the case, you''ll have to save the cable car, and I''ll have to save MJ. We can''t do it the other way around. I don''t have your aerial skills, and if my guess is right, you''re probably stronger than me, which makes you better suited to handle the weight of the cable car. This is our best play, either way."


    Spider-Man seemed to mull this over, the fabric around his eyes crinkling in thought. Tyson reassured, "Just give me a few minutes to draw him into an illusion. Watch for the signal, then head for the cable car," he said, injecting more assurance into his voice than he actually felt.


    Spider-Man nodded. "Got it, Mirage. Just...be careful, okay?"


    Tyson couldn''t help but smile slightly, despite the dire circumstances. "You too, bud." With no more time for discussion, they sprang into action.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The mad, twisted figure of the Green Goblin stood atop the Queensboro Bridge, his crazed laughter ringing out across the night like a discordant melody. Below him, Mary Jane Watson squirmed helplessly in his iron grip, her face a mask of pure terror. In his other hand, the Goblin held the suspending cable of a passenger-filled cable car, leaving it to sway perilously over the dark waters below.


    "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout," the Goblin sang out in his haunting, deranged voice. "Down came the goblin and wiped the spider out!" His chilling cackle sliced through the air, a testament to his fractured mind.


    Unseen by the Goblin, Tyson had scaled the bridge''s metal skeleton, weaving an illusion to shield himself from detection. He moved in utter silence, no sound betraying his presence. No scent drifted on the wind, no image revealed his form to any watching eyes. Tyson was a ghost, stealthily climbing with purpose toward the supervillain above.


    Reaching a position just behind Mary Jane and the Green Goblin, Tyson sparked a brilliant firework high in the night sky with his powers, a blooming flower of radiant light. His illusion ensured its flare remained hidden from the Goblin''s view, the flashing colors serving as a silent signal through the darkness to Spider-Man.


    With the precision and grace that had captured New York''s heart, Spider-Man swung into action. His lithe form was a red and blue blur against the city lights as he darted toward the dangling cable car. One by one, with reassuring whispers and steady hands, he ferried the passengers from their aerial prison to the safety of the bridge below. All the while, Tyson''s illusions were meticulous, ensuring the Goblin perceived no change, no flicker of movement, no lightening of his load. The passengers could only stare in stunned relief as the masked hero deposited them gently onto solid ground before disappearing once more into the night sky.


    As soon as the last of the cable car''s occupants were safe, Spider-Man catapulted himself upwards, a thin line of silk trailing behind him. He ascended the bridge with effortless agility to face the cackling menace waiting atop the towers.


    The moment he began his approach, Tyson let a portion of the veil of illusion fall away. The Green Goblin''s maniacal grin twisted further as he bellowed, "Spider-Man! This is why only fools are heroes. Because you never know when some lunatic will come along with a sadistic choice!" Spider-Man''s stance was resolute, even as the Goblin''s madness swirled around them like a malevolent storm. "The woman you love." The Green Goblin lifted Mary Jane higher and she screamed and kicked, causing her slippers to fall off her feet in an eerie preview of her fate. "Or suffer the little children."


    The Green Goblin looked at the cable car and could see the struggling citizens inside. Their screams of "Spider-Man, help us!" and "Save us!" were music to his ears. The maniac continued, "Make your choice, Spider-Man, and see how a hero is rewarded."


    Still invisible, Tyson crept forward until he was immediately behind the Green Goblin.


    "Don''t do it, Goblin," Spider-Man retorted, the determination in his voice a stark contrast to the villain''s insanity.


    The Green Goblin stood triumphantly, the madness in his eyes blazing like wildfire. "We are who we choose to be," he proclaimed, his voice a twisted symphony of chaos and delight. And then, he did the unthinkable. He released both the cable and Mary Jane, his maniacal laughter booming, "Now, choose!"


    Time seemed to stand still as Mary Jane and the cable car, one a symbol of Peter''s life and the other representing his responsibilities, plummeted towards the river below. The Goblin, consumed by his insanity, rushed to the edge, his eyes gleaming with anticipation of Spider-Man''s despair. He watched as Spider-Man''s figure dove with incredible speed, snatching Mary Jane from the air in a heroic rescue before swinging in a heart-stopping arc toward the free-falling cable car. The Goblin''s laughter echoed into the night, certain of his victory and Spider-Man''s impending loss.


    The wind whipped past Spider-Man''s ears as he pushed his body to its limits, desperate to save both Mary Jane and the innocent people in the cable car. He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her tightly against him as he swung them around the underside of the bridge. With split-second timing, he shot a web and changed direction, arcing towards the plummeting cable car. Screams echoed up from below as it rapidly approached the unforgiving river. Calling on every ounce of strength, Spider-Man shot a web and snagged the car, using all his strength to hold it. The sudden stop wrenched his shoulders, but he held on, dangling with one arm on a webline attached to the bridge, the other holding the cable car, and MJ clinging to his neck.


    The Goblin watched in disbelief as Spider-Man somehow managed to save them both.


    But it was all an illusion, a trick conjured by Mirage. Spider-Man had woven the car in spider silk before the Goblin ever released the line. The car hung suspended and safe.


    With the Goblin''s attention on the illusion of the plummeting car, the real Spider-Man moved. He burst into motion, swinging toward the Goblin, Mirage, and Mary Jane high on the bridge. At the same moment, Mirage reached out, snatching Mary Jane around the waist and pulling her from gravity''s grasp just as the Goblin released her.


    Instead of falling to her death, Tyson held Mary Jane securely in his arms.


    Spider-Man reached them just as the Green Goblin cackled triumphantly over the edge, watching as the illusion of the hero tried to save the girl. Spider-Man ignored the villain, rushing instead to Tyson''s side. Tyson passed the shaken Mary Jane into Spider-Man''s arms. The costumed Peter gathered her close and leaped, firing a webline that whisked them away from the bridge and the Green Goblin.


    Tyson turned his focus back to the Goblin, who was still engrossed in the illusory scene playing out below the bridge. Tyson studied him closely, taking in every detail of the villain''s bizarre, armored suit and the insane delight on his grotesque features. This was Norman Osborn, twisted by science into something dark and unhinged.


    Tyson knew he had to act fast, before the Goblin realized his ploy. The sinister whine of the Goblin''s glider cut through the air as it rose to its master''s command. Spider-Man swung on, Mary Jane secure in his arms. He aimed for the police barricade at the end of the bridge, carrying her to safety far from the coming battle. Her wide eyes were fixed on Spider-Man''s masked face, filled with breathless gratitude.


    The Green Goblin, still riding high on the delusions of his imagined triumph, prepared to mount his glider once more. "Ahhhh! Look out, Spider-Man!" he cackled into the wind, oblivious to the fact that his true adversary lurked not precariously below, but directly behind.


    Like a vengeful ghost, Tyson dropped his illusion and materialized in the Green Goblin''s shadow. Without warning, his adamantium claws plunged deep into the Goblin''s leg. The indestructible metal met no resistance as it sliced through armor, muscle, and bone as easily as if they were made of paper. The Goblin''s triumphant laughter morphed into screams of pure agony as he collapsed, his leg now completely useless.


    "You little insect!" the Goblin shrieked, blaming Spider-Man for his pain as his face contorting in agony. But Tyson remained unfazed, repeating the crippling action on the villain''s other leg. Now hamstrung, the Goblin''s glider was useless with both legs destroyed. The once fearsome villain now pitifully writhed upon the ground, his crazed eyes meeting Tyson''s calm, mismatched gaze. Those heterochromatic eyes were the last thing the Goblin saw before darkness consumed his vision entirely.


    "My eyes! I can''t see!" the Goblin bellowed. "You''ll pay for this, you... you monster!" But his threats were empty. Tyson removed the Goblin''s helmet, revealing the unmasked face of Norman Osborn, contorted in insane fury. Raising his adamantium-reinforced fist, Tyson struck. The Goblin''s curses faded to mumbles, and then to silence, his consciousness slipping away under the mutant''s merciless blows.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The night air was still and silent around the police barricade where Natasha stood with uniformed officers flanking her and backup nearby. All eyes were fixed on the bridge overhead, where Spider-Man had vanished minutes earlier after rescuing the last civilian, a red-haired woman that Natasha recognized as having attended Tyson''s Thanksgiving dinner. The redhead teen now sat off to the side, wrapped in a shock blanket, sipping from a water bottle as EMTs fussed over her.


    Coming from the bridge, there was nothing. No sounds of battle, no maniacal cackling from the Green Goblin, no screams of terror. Only tense anticipation hung in the air.


    Then the familiar whir of a jet engine cut through the uneasy quiet as the Green Goblin''s signature glider descended from the bridge. Its appearance stirred a wave of dread among the onlookers below. Had the maniacal Green Goblin emerged victorious after all?


    But confusion quickly replaced the spike of panic. Instead of swooping down for a menacing attack, the glider approached at a leisurely, almost casual pace, no faster than a jog. As it drew nearer, the figure perched atop it came into focus through the dark night.


    It wasn''t the Green Goblin at all, but rather Mirage, clad in the Goblin''s helmet. A cocooned figure was slung over his shoulder, bound tightly in webbing. Relief flooded through the crowd as they recognized the captive as the Green Goblin himself, his signature helmet gone to reveal the unmasked face of Norman Osborn twisted in unconscious fury. The onlookers erupted into cheers at the realization that Spider-Man and Mirage had triumphed, with Mirage bringing the defeated villain in for justice.


    As he drew near, Mirage''s voice rang out, muffled somewhat by the helmet''s faceplate. "The controls on this thing are not intuitive at all," he commented wryly. "I''ll bet Iron Man''s suit is much more user-friendly."


    Before Natasha could respond, a uniformed officer stepped forward, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Where''s Spider-Man?" he demanded brusquely.


    Mirage''s amusement was evident even through the helmet as he replied nonchalantly, "He had a previous engagement, but he sends his regards."


    The officer''s face tightened, his jaw clenching. "Mirage, you''re under arrest," he declared, his words quieting the buzz of the crowd.


    But Natasha quickly intervened, her voice clear and authoritative. "You don''t have the jurisdiction to arrest him," she stated firmly, standing tall.


    The officer squared his shoulders, "Isn''t this New York City? NYPD has jurisdiction."


    Natasha stepped closer, her badge glinting under the city lights. "This man is working as a contracted agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said, gesturing toward Mirage.


    Bewilderment clouded the officer''s face. "What in the hell is S.H.I.E.L.D.?"


    "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," Natasha responded crisply, straightening with pride.


    Before the argument could escalate further, Mirage waved his fingers in a mystical pass and called out, "No need to argue ladies and gentlemen. I''m not actually here anyway." With a wink and a puff of smoke, his form dissipated, leaving behind only the bound Norman Osborn.

 Arc 4 - Ch. 9: Agent of SHIELD

    Date: Thursday, January 6, 2011.


    Location: Manhattan, New York


    The murmur of conversations and the incessant clicking of laptop keys filled the coffee shop. Natasha Romanoff sat across from Tyson dressed in a casual black jacket over a red shirt with jeans. "You''ve made quite an impression, Tyson," Natasha said, "With your abilities and quick thinking in the field, SHIELD could use someone like you."


    Tyson raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance. "SHIELD? Like the acronym you gave the police officer? Strategic, Homeland, yadda yadda?"


    Natasha nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "We handle the kinds of situations others can''t, or won''t. And we need people who can face the unexpected and keep standing. People like you."


    The coffee shop door swung open, allowing a breeze to sweep into the warm interior, along with a man whose imposing presence seemed to swallow the room. He was cloaked in a long, black trench coat, with a patch covering one eye. His demeanor was calm and unhurried, but there was an undeniable weight about him. His head was shaved clean, and his beard was neatly trimmed. As the man approached, the chatter in the room quieted noticeably, as if his commanding aura demanded respect from those around him. He reached Natasha and Tyson''s table and pulled up a chair, seating himself with the casual authority of someone utterly used to being in charge.


    "Tyson, meet the man in charge of it all," Natasha gestured toward the newcomer. "Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD."


    Fury''s single eye assessed Tyson, seeming to see into him, "Son, the world is full of dangers most people don''t realize exist," Fury began, "SHIELD stands between those threats and innocent lives. But we can''t do it alone." He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "We need individuals with special talents like yours. You''ve proven yourself capable in the field, and we can offer resources, information, and tech you won''t find anywhere else. You help us, we help you. That''s the deal."


    Tyson contemplated the offer. It was more than he''d expected so soon. He sat across from two of the most formidable operatives in the world, being invited to join their exclusive ranks. But Tyson knew that with such an opportunity, clear boundaries would be needed. "I want to help," Tyson finally said, his voice steady despite the gravity of the moment, "but it has to be on my terms. I''ll need autonomy, the ability to refuse missions that don''t align with my principles."


    Agent Romanoff nodded almost imperceptibly, her expression thoughtful as she considered his words. Director Fury remained impassive but attentive, taking in the young man''s stipulations without objection.


    Fury considered him for a moment before speaking. "Anything else?"


    "Yes," Tyson replied without hesitation. "I want a dedicated SHIELD liaison, someone I can trust, who''ll be available when they''re not out in the field."


    Fury''s single eye narrowed slightly, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips. "Let me guess. Agent Romanoff?"


    Tyson glanced at Natasha, then back at Fury. "I trust her."


    Fury gave a single nod, the kind that said he''d already anticipated the request. "Fine. But remember, Romanoff has her assignments. You get her when you can, not always when you want." Tyson understood. Natasha was invaluable, her missions were critical to SHIELD''s operations. He couldn''t expect her to be at his beck and call. "One more thing," Fury said, and there was a new, calculating look in his eye. "A few months ago, there was a heist at the Federal Reserve. The details were never made public¡­ and they never will be."


    Tyson blinked, taken aback by this revelation.


    Fury smiled slightly, leaning back in his chair, pleased at Tyson''s stunned reaction. "Consider it... seed money. The Green Goblin did a quarter of that value in damages during his few appearances. You''ve proven yourself resourceful, and even heroes have bills. Use it to fund your operations, and improve your gear. Stay ahead of the threats."


    "But it''s an investment in you," Natasha added, her gaze intense. "We''re expecting you to use it wisely."


    Tyson felt the weight of their trust, the enormity of what they were offering, and what they expected in return. "Okay," he said finally, a sense of determination settling over him. "I''m in. And I''ll prove you made the right choice."


    After Fury left, Tyson and Natasha sat alone at the table. The din of the crowded shop faded away as an intimacy settled over them. He studied her face, taking in the way her red hair curled softly against her cheek. Though her expression was somber, there was a warmth there that she reserved just for him. With a flourish, Tyson made a bottle of her favorite wine appear on the table causing Natasha to raise a sculpted eyebrow in surprise.


    "You trust me, huh? After everything?" she asked lightly.


    Tyson smiled gently back at her. "Up for a game to find out?" he suggested, holding up the conjured wine. The illusion was flawless, from the condensation beading on the bottle to the dark plum liquid that sloshed inside.


    Natasha''s eyes narrowed, though there was a playful glint in their jade depths. "Is this real?" she questioned, trailing a manicured finger along the bottle''s curved surface.


    "No," Tyson confessed with a casual shrug, "but I can use the practice mimicking the effects of intoxication." His voice was tinged with amusement.


    Tyson studied Natasha''s face, watching her smile transform from the usual seriousness she wore like a mask into something rare and genuine that lit up her features. The change was startling as if the sun had broken through storm clouds, and Tyson found himself momentarily mesmerized.


    "Fine," Natasha said, "but no Truth or Strip this time," she stated while pointing at him accusingly.


    "You''re pointing at me like it was my idea," Tyson said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "What''s the matter? Not an exhibitionist?" Tyson teased, leaning in closer, his gaze never leaving her face. With a theatrical whisper, he added, "No one will know if I don''t want them to."


    She snorted, "There are cameras in here you goof. You need to work on your situational awareness." But Natasha''s fleeting smile faded, her expression once more shuttered and unreadable. "I''m being reassigned temporarily," she revealed, her voice softening with regret. "I won''t be your liaison for some time."


    Tyson nodded in understanding. He knew Natasha went wherever SHIELD sent her, no matter the personal cost. It was a burden she bore uncomplainingly. And one Fury had just warned him about. "SHIELD calls and you answer," he murmured. Though he kept his tone light, disappointment flickered in his chest at the thought of her absence.


    "But you did get the last question, and I didn''t get your real pants..." Natasha said, trying to recapture their earlier playfulness. "So I get to ask one. Do you genuinely trust me?"


    Tyson conjured some wine glasses with his power, buying time to consider the question behind his easy smile. He poured illusory wine into the glasses and slid it toward Natasha before replying. "I probably shouldn''t," he admitted frankly. "You came into my life under false pretenses, and as far as I can tell, you deceived me through all our interactions to learn my secrets." Natasha took a sip of the imaginary wine, her jade eyes watching him steadily over the rim of the glass. Tyson swirled the false wine pensively. "But I know there''s more to you, Nat," he continued after a moment, his voice sincere. "And I hope, one day, you''ll show me."


    Silence fell between Tyson and Natasha after their playful banter became heavy. "The life we lead, the secrets, the constant danger..." Natasha started, her voice trailing off as she set her glass down on the table between them. "It''s not for everyone."


    Tyson met her jade-green gaze steadily, "I''m not just anyone," he said, his voice unwavering.


    A small, appreciative smile touched Natasha''s lips. "No, you''re not," she agreed.


    The mood continued to shift between heavy introspection and lighthearted flirtation as Tyson and Natasha carried on with their verbal sparring. "Where are you heading next?" Tyson asked, genuine curiosity coloring his words.


    "California, likely," Natasha responded with a casual shrug, her crimson hair catching the light as she moved.


    "Oh," Tyson said, unable to keep the hint of disappointment from his voice.


    "Miss me already?" Natasha teased, an amused glint lighting up her green eyes.


    "Yup," Tyson replied without hesitation, his blunt honesty catching her slightly off guard. Leaning forward, his eyes were bright with the thrill of their game. "Hey, it''s my question, right? So here''s a good one. Let''s say, hypothetically, I had the super soldier serum. Would you take it?"


    Natasha''s face took on a thoughtful look as she turned over the implications in her mind. "Some of the founders of SHIELD had a hand in creating the initial super soldier serum. There''s a rumor that the serum amplifies everything that is inside you, so good becomes great; bad becomes worse," she mused. "I''ve fought hard to come to terms with my past, to own my choices and my mistakes. I wouldn''t want to risk amplifying any lingering darkness still within me." Her voice was steady as she gave her answer, revealing the depth of self-awareness and the inner journey she had undertaken to accept her past.


    Tyson nodded respectfully, appreciating her thoughtful response. He continued thinking aloud, "Maybe Norman Osborn was always arrogant and a little bit crazy to start with. Perhaps his super soldier serum was the real deal, but when the serum worked on him, because of who he already was, it didn''t just make him strong, it made him megalomaniacal and insane."


    Though the mood had turned serious for a moment as they discussed Norman Osborn''s descent into madness, Natasha''s smile soon returned, lightening the atmosphere once more. "Okay, last one, because otherwise I might sit here all day drinking with you," she declared, her tone playful as she looked across the table at him. "What''s it like being with someone, using illusions?"


    Tyson chuckled softly at the personal question, taking a sip of his drink before responding. "Same as being with them without it, just a little more awkward at the end."


    Natasha laughed, not shying away from the intimate subject. "Guess that depends on the ending," she retorted slyly.


    Tyson smiled, raising his wine glass in appreciation of her boldness. "I suppose it does," he conceded with an amused shake of his head.


    "All the same, huh?" Natasha continued, her curiosity clearly piqued. "Everything feels real?"


    Tyson''s gaze dropped, and a shadow passed over his face. When he lifted his face again, the familiar green-blue eyes were gone, replaced by flat red ones with three commas orbiting the pupil in a haunting dance. "Reality is only what you perceive," he stated.


    In an instant, the coffee shop melted away. Natasha found herself sitting on a log in a forest clearing. The scenery was breathtaking; towering trees with leaves like hands reaching for the sky. The ground was a tapestry of vibrant flora, and the air was alive with the rustle of hidden creatures. Sunlight dappled through the dense canopy at the edge of the clearing, casting a kaleidoscope of light and shadow all around.


    Without warning, Tyson, who had been standing in the clearing, burst into a flock of crows, black as night. They swirled around her in a tornado of flapping wings, only to coalesce behind her moments later. One of his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close, while his other hand pressed a kunai to her throat.


    He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her skin, the threat in his eyes as real as the weapon at her neck. "Does it feel real?" he murmured the words, a challenge and a caress all at once.


    The world seemed to hold its breath, but Natasha didn''t miss a beat. "As real as it gets," she replied, her tone unwavering. A smile then tugged at the corners of her lips. "You''re such an otaku."


    At her words, Tyson reeled as if she''d physically struck him. The illusion he had crafted shattered like glass. The vibrant forest dispersed and they were back in the quiet corner of the coffee shop. "You know Naruto!?" he blurted out, his composure splintering into boyish excitement. His eyes, no longer held the Sharingan red of the illusion, as he mumbled, "I think I might be in love."


    "Careful there, Agent Smith," Natasha began, her tone holding an edge of seriousness even as her emerald eyes held a playful glint. She relaxed back into the plush chair, "That''s a high-stakes operation. It''s not all wine and wild motorcycle rides through the city, you know." She let the statement hang in the air between them, the warning clear despite the teasing lilt in her voice. Tyson met her gaze steadily, the excitement in his eyes tempering into something more solemn. "But, who knows?" Natasha continued after a moment, "Missions come with unpredictable outcomes... And one day, I might just let you in on some classified information." She finished with a wink, the playful sparkle returning to her eyes suggesting that, maybe, she wasn''t entirely opposed to the idea of someone trying to keep pace with her.


    Their banter, the questions, the proximity, it was all part of the game they''d played since their first meeting months ago.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The courthouse steps were an ocean of flashing cameras and shouting reporters brandishing microphones as they surged forward to accost the somber procession of friends and family funneling past. Security personnel did their best to hold back the tide.


    Among the mourners, Harry Osborn''s face told the tale of a young man at war with himself. Grief and anger warred across his features with denial as a subtle third adversary in the mix.


    Inside the courthouse, the air hung heavy. Low murmurs and shuffling papers filled the background, but an almost palpable anticipation overwhelmed the whispers. The past came back to haunt the families of the victims within the crowded room, memories of the Green Goblin''s reign of terror that had rocked the city with maniacal laughter. They sat with hands clenched, grief a physical presence that filled the air.


    Reporters snagged impromptu interviews, dredging up tears and ragged declarations of the need for justice with their probing questions.


    Harry Osborn sat apart from the rest. His fingers tightened on a photograph of his father until the edges crumpled. "They won''t get away with this. Neither of them, Spider-Man or Mirage," Harry whispered to the picture, his voice thin and lost beneath the ambient noise. "They took everything from me. I won''t rest until I see them destroyed."


    The frozen smile in the photo offered no response. Harry pocketed it, a new fire kindling in his eyes. It seemed revenge would be his inheritance now.


    Norman Osborn shuffled into the courtroom. The heavy-duty shackles around his wrists were specially made to hold someone with his enhanced strength. The murmuring crowd fell silent as the judge entered from his chambers.


    The sharp crack of the gavel cut through the room. "All rise for the arraignment of Norman Osborn," bellowed the bailiff.


    The crowd rose in a wave, countless eyes fixed on the man who had terrorized the city as the Green Goblin. This was the beginning of the end, they hoped. The first step in bringing him to justice. But for Harry, watching from the gallery, it was the start of something darker. Revenge simmered in his veins, a quest that would consume him if he wasn''t careful. He stared at his father, noting the defeated slump of the man''s shoulders. Norman Osborn seemed small now, diminished. Just a man about to face overdue consequences.


    The judge''s voice was calm, a steadying force amidst the courtroom''s roiling emotions. "We gather today to uphold the law and seek justice for those we have lost. Though the acts we will hear of are monstrous, this trial will be conducted fairly."


    And so began the arraignment of the man known as Norman Osborn, and the terror known as the Green Goblin. But while the crowd focused on Norman, Harry''s thoughts were only of retribution, of destroying the ones who had taken everything from him. The photograph of his father burned in his pocket, a reminder of the vengeance he would seek.


    The prosecutor''s booming voice rattled off the litany of charges. Multiple counts of murder, terrorism, and unspeakable acts of violence committed by the Green Goblin. Norman''s face remained an impassive mask, not flinching as the accusations piled up.


    The prosecution was relentless, unveiling each piece of evidence with dramatic flair. They displayed sinister-looking gadgets, weapons, and devices, all recovered from Norman''s home. The air grew thick with dread as grieving family members took the stand, their testimonies painting a haunting picture of loss. Mothers wept openly while fathers seethed, their voices tight with anger as they recounted memories. Siblings spoke haltingly of the hole left behind by their murdered loved ones.


    The defense table seemed to carry a weight all its own despite the heavy pall of grief hanging over the courtroom. Norman''s lawyers sat with faces taut with stress as they argued for a plea of insanity. They spun a tale of a man lost to a separate personality, the Green Goblin, a creature of pure madness existing beyond Norman''s control.


    But the prosecution played their trump card. Surveillance footage from Oscorp. It showed Norman not as a man hounded by an uncontrollable alter ego, but as a willing participant. He eagerly initiated the process that began his transformation into the Green Goblin, against recommendations from another scientist. The evidence was clear and damning.


    Murmurs erupted through the courtroom as the insanity defense crumbled. Watching from the gallery, Harry felt his heart sink. The father he had known, the man he had loved, morphed in his mind into someone, or something, he could no longer recognize.


    The jury''s verdict came swiftly, the gavel crack echoing like a gunshot. Guilty, on all charges. A wave of relief swept palpably through the courtroom, punctuated by cries from the victims'' families. Some wept openly while others embraced, their nightmare finally over as justice was served.


    The stern-faced judge, whose commanding voice brooked no nonsense, wasted no time in handing down the sentence. Given the depraved brutality of Norman''s crimes and the clear menace he posed, Norman was remanded to the RAFT, the maximum security prison run by SHIELD for the most dangerous offenders.


    The courtroom began emptying as the crowd spilled out into the sunlight, relieved that the Green Goblin''s reign of terror had ended with justice served. But young Harry Osborn remained rigidly in his seat long after the murmuring voices and shuffling feet had faded into echoes. He was alone with his roiling thoughts, a hurricane of fury, sorrow, and vows of revenge swirling within his mind. While the world outside moved blithely onward, for Harry, time ground to a halt. He clutched his father''s photograph tightly, the edges now damp with his tears. For many, the journey towards justice had ended, but for Harry, a new path was unfolding, paved with malevolent intent and haunted by the Green Goblin''s mocking laughter.


    Tyson sat through the entirety of the trial. And through it all, his heart continued to sink. Norman Osborn had done so much damage. Caused so much death. And yet, Tyson could''ve stopped it all in the beginning. He was too busy worrying about his identity and the consequences of his early intervention. But now, seeing all the people missing family members, and all of the Green Goblin''s victims, Tyson regretted not doing more.


    Tyson thought about Uncle Ben. Then he thought about SHIELD letting him keep the money he''d stolen. While Fury appreciated Tyson''s intervention, he wondered what Fury would think if he knew Mirage could''ve stopped the Green Goblin before his first rampage. As the trial proceeded, Tyson''s guilt and regret mounted. He heard the testimony and evidence presented, but all he could think about was how he had failed the city. How his inaction had led to tragedy.


    When the guilty verdict was read, Tyson closed his eyes. There was no celebration within him, no sense of justice served. Only sadness for the lives destroyed and the knowledge that he could have prevented it all.


    The city was still reeling from the Green Goblin''s trial when Sergei Kravinoff, otherwise known as Kraven the Hunter, swaggered into the courtroom, charged with attempted murder among other crimes. He did not seem the least bit rattled by the accusations against him. Instead, he wore his arrogance like a cloak, his lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk that made the spectators'' skin crawl.


    Kraven''s bravado was unlike anything the courtroom had seen before. He did not shy away from his fearsome reputation; on the contrary, he seemed to relish it. Each gruesome account of his heinous acts, detailed by the prosecution, was met with a nonchalant shrug or a dismissive snort from the defendant.


    The atmosphere in the courtroom grew tense as a key witness was called to the stand. Mirage, a recent collaborator with SHIELD, had crossed paths with the defendant in the past. Kraven the Hunter had shown Mirage firsthand his delight in the hunt and utter disregard for human life.


    Normally, it was not legal for a witness to testify without revealing their true identity. However, the judge made an exception in Mirage''s case since he had been acting as a consultant for SHIELD at the time of their encounter. The judge instructed that his testimony would not be considered hard evidence, but rather an explanation of his involvement with and impressions of Kraven''s character.


    Mirage took the stand. Kraven eyed the masked man with amusement as if enjoying the spectacle. The prosecution led Mirage through an account of his encounter with Kraven. Mirage described how before announcing himself, Kraven had thrown a spear at Spider-Man. The spear aimed to kill, but luckily missed Spider-Man. However, lodged into Mirage''s ribs. Throughout the testimony, Kraven listened with a small, smug smile, meeting the descriptions of his handiwork with pride.


    When the defense attorney began his cross-examination, he attempted to rattle Mirage, questioning the reliability of his account since he refused to reveal his true face. But Mirage stood firm, insisting that though anonymity was required to protect those close to him, he spoke the truth about Kraven''s penchant for brutality.


    Kraven scoffed at this, his arrogance unfazed by the damning words from the stand. He sat back wearing his self-satisfaction like a cloak, relishing his fearsome reputation rather than shying away from it. The spectators shifted in discomfort, unsettled by the defendant''s bravado in the face of such accusations. But Kraven appeared wholly unconcerned with the gruesome proceedings, treating the entire trial as a trivial amusement rather than a reckoning for his alleged crimes.


    "His eyes," Mirage recounted, "they didn''t hold a sliver of regret or remorse. To him, I wasn''t a person. I was just...prey."


    "You are prey!" Kravenoff called out.


    The courtroom shuddered collectively at Kraven''s chilling words, the merciless attitude settling over the room like a cold fog. The prosecution proceeded to solidify their ironclad case against the defendant with irrefutable evidence of his heinous crimes. They presented evidence from Kraven''s first hunt of Spider-Man, the one Tyson hadn''t been made aware of. Kraven had set lethal traps in Central Park to lure in his prey. But the traps did more than just target the web-slinger. Copious amounts of traps had been placed throughout the area, posing a deadly threat. Innocent civilians fell victim to the ruthless traps. Several people had been injured, and a few were killed by the merciless snares.


    The defense attorney''s shoes clicked against the courtroom floor as he approached the podium, though his stride lacked its usual confidence. The mountain of damning evidence stacked against his client had shaken even this seasoned lawyer''s nerves. He cleared his throat and shuffled his notes, stealing a glance at the smirking murderer sitting at the defendant''s table. Kraven lounged lazily in his chair as if relaxing at home instead of fighting for his freedom. His predatory gaze swept over the courtroom like a lion surveying a herd of helpless gazelle, utterly unconcerned with the proceedings against him.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the defense attorney began, "let us take a rational look at the facts of this case."


    It was a futile plea. Mirage''s account of staring into Kraven''s pitiless eyes had chilled the jury to their core. No clever arguments could erase the atrocities Kraven had committed, meticulously documented and displayed by the prosecution. The defense lawyer stumbled over his statements, grasping at straws as he struggled to portray his client as misunderstood rather than the monster we knew him to be. Kraven seemed to find the bumbling performance entertaining, chuckling under his breath as if enjoying a private joke at his lawyer''s expense. When his turn came to testify in his own defense, he did not attempt to appear sympathetic to the jury. Instead, he bragged of his exploits, speaking with obvious pride about the lives he had ruined and the pain he had inflicted. He lounged back in the witness chair, leveling his predatory gaze at the men and women who held his fate in their hands.


    "None of you could survive a single day in my world," he told them, lips curled in a sneer. A ripple of unease went through the jury box at his words. The prosecution had worked hard to paint Kraven as a ruthless, heartless killer, but his testimony erased any lingering doubts. This was no misunderstood victim of circumstance. This was a monster.


    The jury wasted little time in reaching a unanimous verdict. Guilty on all counts. When the judge handed down a sentence of 18 years, Kraven showed no relief or remorse. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed, a wild chilling sound that seemed to echo endlessly off the courtroom walls. As officers moved to restrain him, Kraven shouted over his shoulder, "The hunt is far from over!"


    His vow lingered like a dark promise.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Within the bowels of New York''s vast sewer network, the echoing drips and skittering of unseen creatures created an unsettling atmosphere that was a world away from the bright lights and bustle of the city above. But Spider-Man was not faint of heart. He moved with purpose through the damp and dark tunnels. He carefully laid an intricate network of tripwires across the sewers, creating a complex web designed to vibrate at the slightest touch.


    Spider-Man had caught only glimpses of something large, powerful, and fast stalking down into these tunnels, but the shed skin he found, pointed to the Lizard, the creature Mirage had fought on the bridge that night Uncle Ben died. That''s why Peter now found himself down in this dank underworld. With the Green Goblin handled, he had gone to see Dr. Curt Connors, hoping the brilliant geneticist could shed some light on the Lizard''s origins. But Peter''s instincts told him the good doctor was holding something back. His thoughts turned to the formula he had helped Connors complete, the key to regenerating lost limbs. Had the doctor''s scientific curiosity led him to test it on himself? If Peter''s hunch proved true, it meant this respected man had unleashed a monster upon the city. The idea was difficult for Spider-Man to accept, even after all the impossibilities he had witnessed since gaining his powers. But ready or not, he had a feeling answers lay ahead in the dark. Gripping his camera tightly, Peter steeled himself and pressed deeper into the shadows.


    Perched on the side of a tunnel, Spider-Man paused to check the small, cobbled-together device in his hand. Though crude, it was his only means of monitoring the web network. A blip on its tiny screen would alert him that something had tripped the wires, allowing him to pinpoint the location of his quarry. Spider-Man was ready. Tonight the hunter would become the hunted.


    Spider-Man crouched in the damp shadows of the sewer tunnel, the only sound being his breathing which echoed softly off the curved walls. He couldn''t help a small, bitter chuckle. "Great plan, Peter," he muttered. "Go into the sewers looking for a giant lizard-man. This''ll end well."


    The silence swallowed his words, leaving him alone with his thoughts as he waited. His mind drifted to Dr. Connors. The brilliant scientist who had been so determined to overcome his disability, whose passion for his work had driven him to push the boundaries too far. It was difficult to reconcile that image with the monstrous creature Spider-Man now hunted through these dank passages. With a shake of his head, Spider-Man pushed the memories away. This was about more than just Connors. There was a city full of innocent people counting on him to stop whatever Connors had become before anyone else got hurt.


    Time crept by, marked only by the shifting colors on the tiny screen of the cobbled-together device in his hand. The constant moisture in the air clung to him like a damp veil. He was beginning to think this night''s hunt would be fruitless when the device chirped urgently, its screen flashing red.


    In an instant Spider-Man was off, scrambling through the maze of tunnels as fast as his limbs could take him. His heart pounded, not with fear, but determination. This was his chance to face the creature, to try and save Connors.


    He skidded to a halt where the signal originated. The tunnel had been ripped apart, chunks of concrete strewn about. His tripwire hung limp and severed. But there was no sign of his quarry, only a lingering sense of lurking danger.


    The sewer tunnels were as silent as a tomb. Spider-Man moved deeper, spider sense tingling. The chill, fetid air raised goosebumps along his arms and the back of his neck. Water dripped a maddening, arrhythmic beat. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. He scanned high and low, taking in each shadowed nook and cranny. The soft squelch of his footsteps and steady puffs of breath seemed too loud as if the silence itself listened for any intruders. A faint twang resonated through the web of tripwires he had laid. Spider-Man tensed, muscles coiling in anticipation. Something approached.


    Ripples shuddered across the dark sewer pools, preceding the heavy footfalls that sent shivers skittering over the surface. Each step rang out like the beat of a war drum, steady yet growing closer. Spider-Man crouched low, ready to spring into action as a hulking shadow lumbered around the corner.


    The Lizard emerged into the dim light, its massive body filling the tunnel. Sickly green scales reflected what little illumination there was, casting an otherworldly glow over the sewers. Feral yellow eyes fixed on Spider-Man with predatory intensity. For a heartbeat, a flicker of humanity shone in those reptilian orbs.


    "Connors! I know you''re in there! You need help!" Spider-Man shouted, not ready to give up on the man behind the beast. But the Lizard hissed out a sound of pure animalistic aggression and lunged forward.


    The battle that erupted was a clash of agility against raw power. Spider-Man leaped and spun in the air, shooting webs in an attempt to either restrain or swing away from his monstrous opponent. But the Lizard was relentless, tearing through the webbing as though it were mere paper. The creature''s massive body filled the dank tunnel, its regenerative abilities healing any minor wounds it sustained. Its thick tail whipped about like a gigantic club, smashing into the concrete walls and sending debris flying. Razor-sharp claws swiped through the air, seeking Spider-Man with deadly intent.


    Water sloshed and echoed within the tight confines of the sewer, adding to the chaos as Spider-Man narrowly ducked under a swipe that would have decapitated him. In response, he lashed out with a kick that sent the Lizard stumbling backward a few steps. But the beast quickly recovered, roaring with a primal rage that shook the very foundations of the tunnels.


    Throughout the fierce exchange, Spider-Man kept talking, his words as much a weapon as his fists. "This isn''t you, Doc!" he shouted, desperate to believe that Connors was still in there somewhere, that he could hear him through the bloodlust of the Lizard.


    And that was when it happened. For a split second, the Lizard''s ferocious snarl faltered. The savage yellow of its eyes dulled slightly as human emotion bled into them. "P-Peter..." came the strained, guttural voice. Unmistakably that of Connors trying to surface through the monstrous alter-ego.


    "Dr. Connors!" Spider-Man straightened, heart pounding with a mix of hope and urgency. "You''re still in there! Fight it!"


    The Lizard let out a chilling laugh. "You''re Spider-Man? I should have known, with your persistence and questions." The words were warped but intelligible. "But you won''t stop me!"


    The Lizard''s monstrous form barreled toward Spider-Man. Each swipe was meant to deliver a killing blow. The fetid air of the sewer tunnel reverberated with the shockwaves of its savage ferocity. Though agile and quick on his feet, Spider-Man could not fully evade the Lizard''s onslaught. Razor sharp claws caught him across the chest, slicing through his suit and leaving behind trails of hot blood. The force of the blow sent Spider-Man tumbling backward into the murky sewage water behind him. Before he could regain his footing, the Lizard was upon him once more. Its powerful arms pinned Spider-Man underwater. The creature''s cold reptilian eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction as it held him down. Spider-Man could feel the burning in his lungs intensify as they cried out for air, his vision beginning to fade at the edges as darkness threatened to overtake him.


    Beyond the desperation and the pain of his injuries, Spider-Man''s resolve did not waver. He had to break free. He could not give up this fight.


    Summoning every ounce of strength, Spider-Man twisted violently, propelling himself out of the foul water in a spray of droplets. He gasped as precious air filled his aching lungs, though there was no time for relief. The Lizard was already bearing down on him once more. The two locked in a blurring dance of kicks and swipes.


    Spider-Man and the Lizard battled ferociously through the crumbling sewer tunnels beneath the city. Their titanic conflict strained the already fragile infrastructure to its limits. Pipes buckled and burst under the tremendous force, shooting high-pressure jets of water into the air. The cracked concrete walls trembled, chunks breaking free and tumbling down around them as the aged foundations shook from the fury unleashed in their hidden depths.


    Calling upon his keen intellect, Spider-Man scanned the debris-strewn environment until they landed on a precarious cluster of rocks near the ceiling. A plan formed quickly in his mind, and with a few precise shots of webbing from his wrists, followed by a tug, he triggered a cave-in, sending a torrent of rubble crashing down between himself and the raging Lizard.


    As the dust settled, Spider-Man leaned heavily against a grimy wall. His chest heaved as he gulped grateful lungfuls of air. Blood from his many wounds mixed with the sewer filth that coated his costume.


    Spider-Man''s body was a map of aches and pains as he pushed himself off the foul sewer wall. He winced, feeling every bruise, every scratch and gash that the Lizard''s claws had torn into his flesh. Spider-Man faced a hard truth. He wasn''t equipped to handle this alone, not on the Lizard''s home turf. He needed help. And he needed to find a cure for Dr. Connors.


    Spider-Man emerged from the sewer into the night, the bright city lights a jarring contrast to the inky blackness he had just left behind. His suit was tattered and torn, blood seeping from wounds deeper than just his skin. They were a constant reminder of his failure to reach the man that still lurked somewhere behind the monster, his mentor, his parents'' friend. As Spider-Man swung low and fast across the city, the buildings blurred past in a haze. He had only one destination in mind, one beacon of hope on this tumultuous night. Gwen. Smart, resourceful Gwen. She was one of the few who knew the truth of his double life. More than that, she was his rock, a grounding presence he desperately needed now.


    Spider-Man landed with less grace than usual on Gwen''s balcony, his battered body loudly protesting the movement. She slid the glass door open, worry clear on her face as she exclaimed "Peter!" Rushing to his side, Gwen helped support him as he limped into her apartment.


    Peter Parker landed on Gwen Stacy''s balcony with less grace than his alter ego Spider-Man typically displayed. His battered body loudly protested the jarring movement as he half-limped, and half-stumbled through the open glass window into the warmth of her apartment. Worry and relief warred on Gwen''s face as she rushed to support him, exclaiming "Peter!"


    "I need help, Gwen," Peter admitted through gritted teeth, the words pained in more ways than just the physical. Asking for assistance wounded the heroic spirit within that he tried so hard to embody. He was supposed to be the one who saved others, not the one needing saving.


    Gwen''s slim fingers helped peel away the tattered remnants of his costume to assess the damage underneath. Her touch remained gentle even as her gaze grew focused, cataloging cuts and bruises. "You''re a mess, Peter Parker," she murmured, though her voice held no heat, only an undercurrent of concern for the battered young man before her.


    "I''ve had better nights," Peter tried to joke, but the quip fell flat amidst the stark evidence of the battle he had barely survived.


    "What happened?" Gwen asked as she cleaned and dressed the worst of the wounds.


    "It''s Dr. Connors...he''s the Lizard, Gwen. And I couldn''t stop him," Peter confessed thickly, the admission feeling like a physical blow. Saying it aloud made the failure feel more real, more permanent.


    Gwen paused, her eyes locking with Peter''s. He braced himself for recrimination but found only compassion and steely resolve in her steady gaze. "Then we''ll find a way to help him, together," she stated, conviction lending strength to the vow.


    The determination in Gwen''s voice was like a balm to Peter''s frayed nerves, soothing the raw edges of his failure. But then, a knock on the bedroom door shattered the momentary peace that had settled over the pair. "Gwen, honey? I made cookies. Do you want some?" The familiar, authoritative voice of Captain Stacy filtered through the door, laced with a father''s affection for his only daughter.


    Panic, swift and sharp as a knife, sliced through the tension in the room. Peter''s eyes widened in alarm, mirroring the look of shock on Gwen''s face as they shared a split second of sheer, paralyzing fear. With Peter half dressed in his Spider-Man suit, wounds from the recent battle still fresh, being discovered here by Gwen''s father, a high-ranking and respected police captain, was not an option either could entertain.


    Gwen moved towards the bedroom door, strategically blocking her father''s line of sight as she opened the door. "Um, no thank you, Dad!" she said through the cracked door in what she hoped was a casual, carefree tone. "I''m not hungry right now."


    "You sure? They''re chocolate chip, your favorite," Captain Stacy persisted, a hint of authority underscoring his words, making it clear he wasn''t quite ready to end the conversation and walk away just yet.


    A wave of distress passed over Gwen''s face. In a stroke of desperation, she blurted out, "I''ve got cramps, Dad. Really bad ones. I just want to lie down."


    The brief silence that followed her words was heavy, loaded with Captain Stacy''s processing of this new information and the unsaid understanding between father and daughter about such delicate topics of feminine health. "Oh, alright, sweetheart. Just...rest up then. Holler if you need anything," he finally offered, the earlier cheer in his voice replaced with discomfort.


    "Will do. Love you, Dad," Gwen replied, unable to keep a slight strain from seeping into her voice as she closed the door. She listened intently as Captain Stacy''s footsteps receded down the hall.


    Peter had pressed himself against the side of Gwen''s bed, making his lean frame as small as possible. He was out of sight but all too aware of the heartbeat in his chest. The close call with Gwen''s father had left a sheen of nervous sweat on Peter''s brow, mixing with the grime and blood from his earlier battles. When Gwen returned, her expression held a mixture of relief and suppressed amusement at their narrow escape. "That was close," she whispered, though the humor didn''t fully eclipse the gravity of the situation.


    "Too close," Peter agreed with a small, shaky laugh. His heart still raced with the residual effects of adrenaline, fear, and the thrill of their narrow brush with discovery were feelings he knew all too well.


    Gwen''s hands were on him then, antiseptic and bandages at the ready. The sting of the solutions on his cuts stood in sharp contrast to the gentleness of her touch.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Within the elegantly appointed suite, Tyson and Felicia were hunched over a cluttered table, pouring through the assorted documents, photographs, and laptop screens that comprised the collected evidence of the Kingpin''s illicit empire.


    "We''ve got enough here to bury him," Felicia remarked as her finger glided over a series of particularly damning photographs.


    Tyson, however, slowly shook his head, his expression grave. "Maybe in a world where men like him don''t have the power to manipulate the system," he replied. "The Kingpin''s got the money and connections to bribe cops, hire the best lawyers, or find some other way to make all of this disappear." He swept his hand over the table in a gesture of frustration, indicating the futility of their accumulated evidence.


    They both fell silent for a moment, the enormity of their task weighing heavily upon them. Beyond the expansive windows, the city lights twinkled in an intricate web, a sprawling network much like the Kingpin''s own far-reaching influence.


    Then Felicia''s hand paused over a document, her posture straightening with interest. "Tyson, look at this," she said, her tone sharpening. "It''s a list of local businesses. They''re the Kingpin''s next targets."


    Tyson moved closer, his eyes scanning the list intently. It was a revelation, an emerging pattern amidst the chaos. "He''s expanding, trying to tighten his stranglehold on Hell''s Kitchen," Tyson murmured.


    A steely resolve slid into place as the implications rapidly coalesced in Tyson''s mind. "We can''t just sit back and wait for him to make a mistake," he declared, straightening with determination. "It''s time we took the fight to him."


    "We''ll need a strategy," Felicia asserted, already leaning back over the documents, "Something he won''t anticipate coming."


    "Exactly," Tyson agreed firmly, his gaze returning to study the sprawling cityscape outside the window. "We have to play this smart. Because we''re not just up against some street thug."


    Tyson and Felicia sat surrounded by a chaotic spread of papers that covered the large oak table. Each document was a thread in the vast web of the Kingpin''s criminal empire, and the two were preparing to tug at that web.


    Felicia''s finger traced lines of text on a financial document. "Look at this, Tyson. Safeguard Tactical Operations, Skyline Cargo Airlines, and Crestpoint Private Bank. They''re all targets in the Kingpin''s crosshairs. He''s a shrewd businessman. These companies aren''t random targets. They''re cogs in the machine he''s building."


    "The private bank handles heavy corporate accounts with lots of cash flow," Felicia noted, chewing pensively on the end of her pen. "Control the money and you control the power."


    Tyson nodded grimly, "And Skyline has a fleet of cargo planes, perfect for smuggling illegal goods. Safeguard''s reputation in security means the Kingpin could move anything through them undetected."


    Together they leaned over the detailed profile of Crestpoint Private Bank. "It says here he plans to use hackers to initiate a catastrophic financial attack. Stock prices crash, and the Kingpin buys up the crippled bank for pennies on the dollar," Tyson explained, his brow furrowing in distaste at the depths of the Kingpin''s ruthlessness.


    Felicia''s slender hand moved to the file on Skyline Cargo Airlines. "He''s playing dirty with them too. Bribes, damaging regulations, and public scandals. He''s forcing them into a corner so he can sweep in and take over."


    "Safeguard''s situation isn''t any better," Tyson said with a scowl, flipping through the pages. "The Kingpin is inundating them with frivolous lawsuits. They''ll be begging to sell by the end of it."


    The two shared a grim look, a silent understanding passing between them. They were pulling back the curtain on the Kingpin''s show, one where he was the undisputed ringmaster.


    "We can''t let him get control of these companies," Felicia said vehemently. "We''ll need a plan for each company," Felicia added, already jotting down potential strategies on the notepad in front of her.


    "Right," Tyson agreed as he began pacing back and forth across the room, his mind racing. "For Crestpoint, we could find a way to counteract his hacking, stabilize the stock prices..."


    "And for Skyline?" Felicia prompted without missing a beat, her pen poised above the paper.


    "Public support, evidence against the Kingpin''s interference, maybe even a buyout offer they can''t refuse," Tyson mused aloud, becoming more animated as he sank deeper into tactical planning.


    "Safeguard might be trickier with the legal issues," Felicia remarked, a crease of concern appearing between her brows.


    "We''ll expose his actions, turn the public opinion in their favor." Tyson declared.


    Their planning session continued late into the night. Though only two people were against an entire criminal empire, their list of potential strategies grew as the hours passed. However, as the night deepened, a stark realization began to settle upon them.


    Exasperation seeped into Felicia''s tone as she collapsed back into her chair amidst the papers covered in half-formed plans scattered around them. "We''re out of our depth," she admitted bluntly. For all their effort, they still lacked one crucial thing. A feasible plan.


    Tyson stood by the window, hands clenched, as Felicia''s blunt words weighed heavily upon him. Despite their late-night brainstorming session, they still lacked the resources and knowledge needed to counter the Kingpin''s far-reaching criminal empire. An uneasy silence fell over the room.


    After several long moments, Tyson broke the silence, a new determination edging his voice. "We''ve been thinking about this all wrong. We won''t beat Fisk by playing his game. We''re not businessmen or legal experts. But we are something else."


    Felicia glanced up, curiosity piqued by his tone. "What are you suggesting?"


    Tyson turned from the window, eyes ablaze with conviction. "We hit him where it hurts. We use what we have to make him back off."


    "You mean the evidence?" Felicia leaned forward intently, following his train of thought.


    "Partly. But we also have the element of surprise on our side... abilities he can''t predict." Tyson paced as his mind raced ahead. "I say we make him taste real fear. Show him he''s not as untouchable as he thinks."


    A slow, understanding smile spread across Felicia''s face. "A confrontation."


    "Exactly. The next time you meet with him, I''ll be there too, as Mirage. I''ll make him realize he''s vulnerable. We can force his hand with the evidence and a little¡­ persuasion."


    The plan Tyson had devised was audacious, teetering on reckless, but they were out of conventional options. As Felicia stood next to him gazing out the window at the glittering cityscape before them, the glow of the city was reflected in her eyes, mirroring the reignited resolve rising within her. "It''s dangerous. He won''t take kindly to being threatened," she said, turning back to Tyson with a hint of concern in her voice.


    Tyson nodded, acknowledging the risk they would be taking. "True, but this way we''ll be the ones making the moves, controlling the game," he replied confidently as he paced back and forth across the room.


    The atmosphere in Felicia''s apartment shifted as the despair and frustration of earlier were replaced by a shared understanding between them that they were about to embark on their most daring gambit yet against the Kingpin.


    "But what if he retaliates? Goes after us?" Felicia asked, her voice steady even as her eyes betrayed the concern lurking within.


    "If things go as I hope, he won''t even know you''re involved," Tyson assured her, confidence radiating from his muscular frame as he turned to face her. "The evidence we''ve gathered, it''s not just our weapon against Fisk. It''s our shield too. It''ll protect us as much as it''ll condemn him."


    Felicia contemplated his words for a moment before a fire kindled within her. "Okay. Let''s do it your way. Let''s show the Kingpin that he''s not the only one with power in this city," she agreed, her lips curling into a sly smile.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Felicia Hardy strode into the lobby of Fisk Tower, her heels clicking crisply against the polished marble floor. The watchful security guards wore intimidating looks, but Felicia offered them only an amused smirk as she sauntered toward the elevators as though she owned the place.


    Outside, Tyson flexed his fingers, unsheathing the claws he so rarely used. The wind ruffled his hair as he surveyed the sheer glass and concrete exterior of Fisk Tower. Taking a deep breath, he leaped onto the side of the building, the claws giving purchase on the otherwise smooth surface. Hand over hand he ascended, the city spreading out below him.


    Meanwhile, Felicia stepped out of the elevator into the vast office on the top floor. The space screamed of power and wealth. Behind an imposing desk sat Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, massive and imposing in his crisp white suit.


    "Miss Hardy," rumbled Fisk, rising to welcome her. "Do you have my latest acquisitions?"


    "I do," replied Felicia, taking a seat before him. Their meeting commenced.


    Above, Tyson reached the roof. With a slight flex of his superhuman strength, he opened the access door and entered the tower. Steadying himself, he focused his mind on the room he''d memorized from the building plans. Silently he made his way to the door.


    It was showtime.


    The door to Wilson Fisk''s office swung open silently as if nudged by an invisible hand. Mirage stepped through, moving with casual confidence into the lion''s den. The Kingpin raised one thick eyebrow at the masked man''s bold entrance but otherwise did not react.


    "Ah, there you are, Willy," Mirage quipped, sauntering further into the spacious office. "I''ve been looking for you."


    Fisk''s broad face darkened, and a rumbling growl escaped his throat. "How did you get in here?"


    "Trade secret," Mirage said lightly, running two fingers across his lips in a zipping motion.


    With a speed that belied his massive size, Fisk''s hand disappeared under the desk and emerged clutching a gun aimed straight at Mirage''s chest. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The bullet punched into Mirage''s ribs with a meaty thwack. Mirage grabbed at the wound, staggering back a step. His face contorted in pain and shock. "So...rude..." he gasped out. His knees buckled, and he toppled forward.


    As his body made contact with the floor, it burst apart in a cloud of smoke that billowed out to fill the office. The smoke swirled and condensed into several identical forms of Mirage, each wearing the same cocky grin. A dozen Mirages now occupied the spacious office, surrounding Fisk.


    The Kingpin''s left eye twitched in annoyance as he lowered the useless gun, realizing the futility of the weapon against this particular foe. The chorus of Mirages laughed, the sound echoing off the walls and high ceilings.


    The illusions melted away until only a single Mirage remained, leaning casually against the edge of Fisk''s massive desk. The office fell silent, the tension hanging thick in the air as a temporary truce settled between the adversaries.


    "Let''s talk," Mirage said, his voice low and serious.


    Fisk regarded the hero with narrowed eyes, his hands folded over his stomach. The Kingpin''s suit barely contained his massive frame as he sat impassively behind the desk. "Very well," he rumbled. His deep baritone resonated through the room. "What did you have in mind?"


    Mirage straightened, squaring his shoulders as he faced the crime lord. "I''ve got enough evidence to put you away for life," he stated flatly. As he spoke, the office filled with the glow of projected images. Documents, photos, and financial records floated like a damning collage of Fisk''s many misdeeds. Felicia Hardy, standing unobtrusively nearby, widened her eyes in feigned shock, though her pulse quickened at the sight.


    Fisk was unmoved. "You must know it''s not that simple," he said after a pause. "Take me down, and you leave a power vacuum. Unrest. Chaos." He let his words sink in before continuing. "And litigation. My lawyers will keep this tied up in the courts for years."


    Felicia maintained her guise of stunned witness, watching the standoff warily.


    "We don''t have to be enemies," Fisk rumbled. "With my resources and your abilities, we could be allies. Think of the potential." He spread his hands as if offering the whole city up to Mirage.


    Mirage crossed his arms, seeming to consider the offer. "Allies? Why would you help me?" he asked evenly.


    "I''m a businessman," Fisk responded with a trace of amusement in his tone. "I respect...talent. You took down those two madmen. Insanity is bad for business. And unlike Spider-Man, you haven''t interfered in my operations up to this point. I''m offering you a part in my enterprises. Legitimate ones," he added, seeing the skepticism etched on Mirage''s face. "Think of it as...a professional courtesy."


    A heavy silence draped the room, the tension palpable between the two men. Finally, Mirage spoke, "Do I look like a businessman?"


    The Kingpin didn''t miss a beat. "You don''t need to be a businessman to reap the benefits," he countered smoothly, the glint in his eyes as sharp as a knife''s edge. "I have just the venture. Something... theatrical. The Flatiron Armory. It''s a venue for high-profile events under my ownership. Completely legitimate," he emphasized, gauging Mirage''s reaction.


    "Everything from fashion shows and art galleries to exclusive product launches. It''s all above board," Fisk elaborated, oozing confidence with every word. "Perfect for a showman like you. It practically runs itself, staffed and all. You can even delegate management if you''re... preoccupied."


    The Kingpin''s beady eyes followed Mirage''s gaze as it slid toward the lithe, platinum-blonde figure of Felicia, who had been silent but alert beside Fisk this whole time.


    "Someone like her?" Mirage asked, nodding in Felicia''s direction. His towering form radiated an imposing sternness.


    Kingpin''s broad face remained expressionless, giving no hint of his thoughts. "Her talents are...diverse," he replied evenly, "but if you want her, she''s yours. I have her family''s fate firmly in my grasp. Consider the girl a package deal."


    Mirage''s gaze narrowed, his suspicion plain. "And the catch?" he demanded.


    Fisk spread his meaty hands, the picture of reasonableness. "A simple non-interference pact," he proposed. "You gain the girl, the Flatiron Armory business, and we both stay out of each other''s affairs forever."


    Felicia shifted her weight almost imperceptibly at this pronouncement, feigning discomfort at being used as a bargaining chip. Her emerald eyes remained fixed on Mirage.


    Mirage paused, considering. Then he nodded slowly. "I''ll admit, I hadn''t thought of such an arrangement before. But now that you suggest it, I find the notion appealing." His voice took on a hypnotic cadence as he continued, "Though simply leaving one another be seems a waste. Why settle for distant neutrality when we could become the best of friends instead?"


    Since first stepping into the room, Fisk had locked his gaze onto Mirage''s, as he often did in meetings, as a display of boldness, waiting for the other to flinch or look away first. But this time, the tactic proved his undoing. All the while, Mirage had been subtly worming tendrils of his psychic power deep into the crimelord''s mind. Fisk showed no outward reaction, but Mirage could feel his mental hooks taking hold. The effect wouldn''t last permanently, but he sensed the man''s iron will was not enough to resist his insidious psionic invasion.


    "We''re going to be allies going forward," Mirage went on confidently. "I''ll be taking control of the Flatiron Armory, but we''ll be meeting regularly to discuss your business ventures. There are going to be some changes around here."


    Fisk nodded in placid agreement.


    Mirage pointed at Felicia. "Everything involving the armory will be controlled through this beauty. Ensure she is properly staffed, supported, and advised, all above board. I''m taking her with me to... work my magic." Felicia suppressed a shudder at his phrasing. "She''ll return as my proxy, but occasionally I''ll drop by for a meeting to ensure everything is running smoothly."


    With another nod of complete compliance from Fisk, Mirage waved his hand theatrically. A cascade of magical sparks enveloped Felicia. Though she felt nothing. Still, she rose as if in a trance and moved to follow Mirage out. Felicia wanted to maintain appearances despite how the meeting had turned out.


    "Pleasure doing business with you, Willy," Mirage quipped as they departed, a triumphant smirk on his face.

 Arc 4 - Ch 10: Valentine

    Date: Monday, February 14, 2011.


    Location: Manhattan, New York


    Tyson''s phone buzzed as the screen lit up with Jubilee''s name. When he answered, her energetic voice, bursting like sparklers on the Fourth of July, greeted him, "Happy Valentine''s Day, Tyson!"


    He could almost visualize her grinning on the other end of the line. "Same to you, Jubes," he replied. "Got any big plans?"


    Her laughter was a little too casual as she responded, "Oh, you know, the usual." After a brief pause, a hint of curiosity laced her next words, "But what about you, any special plans with a certain someone?"


    Tyson paused, a smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I''ve got plans with Felicia this evening."


    "No way, so you two are official now?" Jubilee asked, trying but failing to sound nonchalant.


    "Nah, not official. She''s not my girlfriend or anything, but we''re...close," he explained carefully.


    Jubilee''s voice held a mix of teasing and something else Tyson couldn''t quite identify. "And what about your hot teacher? Ms. Rushman, was it?"


    "She''s not my teacher anymore, the semester ended," Tyson chuckled, the memory of Natasha flashing in his mind. "But yeah, still hot."


    "So, she''s just gone?" Jubilee pressed, a hopeful note creeping into her tone.


    "Yup, but we did go on a date before she left," he admitted, pride evident in his voice and smile.


    "No way, you actually scored a date with your teacher? Look at you!" Jubilee''s voice rang brightly with amusement, but Tyson detected a twinge of disappointment underlying her words.


    "Just that good, I guess," he quipped back easily.


    Tyson heard a sigh from Jubilee on the other end of the phone. Her tone then shifted and became softer as she said, "I miss you, Tyson."


    "Miss you too, Jubes," Tyson responded sincerely. "Listen, I know I said after the school year we¡¯d finally hang out," Tyson began.


    "You''re not backing out on me, are you?" Jubilee asked with a faux sternness in her bright voice.


    "Of course not," Tyson quickly assured her, earnestness seeping into his tone. "I¡¯m working on something big, and I might be able to have it ready before graduation." He paused before adding, "With the Green Goblin behind bars, things are starting to quiet down around here."


    Jubilee''s relief was palpable even over the phone, and her laughter, as bright and joyful as fireworks, filled Tyson''s ear. "Good, because you owe me some serious hangout time."


    Their conversation flowed easily after that, but beneath the surface, Tyson could sense the unspoken words hanging delicately between them. Jubilee was cautious, not wanting to tip the delicate balance they''d found, temporarily content with Tyson''s friendship for now.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The bell''s echo still rang in the air as students flooded the corridors, their voices created a discordant symphony of laughter, chatter, and the occasional shout as friends called out to one another. It was a scene of typical high school life, where everyone was wrapped up in their own little worlds. But that veil of normalcy was shattered in an instant when a thunderous crash resounded.


    The Lizard exploded through the bathroom wall and into the hallway as if it were made of paper rather than brick and mortar.


    Screams pierced the previously cheerful atmosphere as panic took hold and students scrambled chaotically in every direction, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the monstrous intruder as possible.


    Amidst the pandemonium, Peter Parker''s voice rang out sharp and urgent, "Gwen, go!" he shouted, locking eyes with Gwen Stacy before turning and sprinting not away from, but toward the danger.


    The Lizard was towering and fearsome. It swung a massive clawed hand at Peter, who slid under the blow with an unexpected agility given his nerdy appearance. In one smooth motion, he fired a web from his wrist, snagging the Lizard''s foot and wrenching back violently. The creature stumbled, and Peter seized the opportunity, leaping onto the Lizard''s back. But the Lizard moved quickly, violently shaking himself until Peter was flung free. The momentum was so forceful that it sent Peter''s backpack skidding off his back, and down the hall.


    In another part of the school, Tyson was hit with a wave of odor that made his senses scream in warning. It was overlaid with the harsh tang of chemicals and something ranker, the unmistakable stench of sewage. That combination sparked a memory in Tyson. Those particular chemicals reminded him of the Lizard, that night they''d fought on the bridge. It sent off a warning of danger he could not ignore. Then, as if on cue, distant screams of terror started deeper within the school. Tyson remembered this, a scene from his memories where the Lizard had attacked Peter''s school.


    "On Valentine''s Day? Really?" Tyson muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the villain''s terrible timing.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The massive form of the Lizard pinned Peter against the wall with an almost casual display of his prodigious strength. With a guttural roar, he hurled the young hero through a trophy case, the glass and metal awards clattering around Peter as he crashed through the wall and into a chemistry classroom.


    Their battle became a blur of motion that led them further into the room filled with rows of lab benches and chemicals. The relentless Lizard cornered Peter next to one of the tables. "Nowhere to hide, Peter," he growled, pressing his massive clawed foot down and pinning one of the boy''s arms. Peter''s other hand shot out in desperation, narrowly deflecting a lethal swipe from the Lizard''s other claw.


    In a desperate twist, Peter''s hand shot out, a web zipping to his discarded backpack. He tugged and the bag zoomed into his grasp, even as the Lizard''s strength sent him flying through yet another wall.


    The Lizard turned to the chemicals arranged on a nearby bench. His large, clumsy fingers crushed one vial, the liquid falling and mixing with another beaker''s contents before he lobbed the volatile mixture at the new hole in the wall. The chemicals exploded on contact in a small blast.


    The Lizard declared into the hole Peter left in the wall, "All those souls, lost and alone. I can save them, I can cure them. There''s no need to stop me, Peter¡­"


    The Lizard''s monologue died in his throat as a shoe came rocketing through the hole in the wall, smacking him squarely in the face. He reeled back, stunned into momentary silence. Before he could recover, Spider-Man burst through the gap, clad head to toe in his signature red and blue costume. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the Lizard.


    The two collided, Spider-Man driven by the need to protect the innocent and save the man hidden within the monster''s scaly exterior. The Lizard fought with single-minded determination to cure humanity of its weakness. They grappled and strained, muscles bulging, neither willing to yield.


    Tyson shed his unassuming student persona as he rushed through the school, dropping his clothes to reveal the black spandex underneath. He donned his mask and transformed into Mirage. His illusory powers flared to life. Images of Mirage appeared around the school, drawing the attention of the panicked crowd of students, and directing them toward the exits, away from the brawl.


    Gwen''s face hardened as she doubled back, striding purposefully through the chaotic school hallway. She hefted a heavy trophy left on the ground after its case was destroyed. Her eyes narrowed with determination as she followed the sounds of battle toward the melee. Rounding a corner, she came upon the ongoing clash between Peter, masked as his alter ego Spider-Man and the hulking Lizard.


    The Lizard had Spider-Man pinned against the wall, scaly claws wrapped around the web-slinger''s chest. Spider-Man strained against the monster''s viselike grip, muscles bulging, but he could not break free. Seizing the opportunity, Gwen rushed forward and brought the heavy marble trophy base crashing down onto the Lizard''s head. The blow staggered the creature, causing its grip on Spider-Man to loosen.


    Spider-Man wasted no time in slipping from the Lizard''s grasp. Enraged, the Lizard rounded on Gwen, lashing out with a swipe of its cruel talons. Gwen cried out as the claws raked across her shoulder, tearing her shirt and opening up a long, deep laceration that immediately began gushing blood.


    Before the Lizard could attack again, Spider-Man was on it, unleashing a barrage of punches and webs to distract the monster from its prey. Gwen stumbled back, clamping a hand to her freely bleeding shoulder wound, as Spider-Man and the Lizard became a blur of flying fists, claws, and webs. She knew Peter would keep the Lizard occupied, but she needed medical attention fast. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Gwen hurried off to find help before she lost too much blood. The sounds of the titanic battle echoed behind her as she ran.


    The battle between Spider-Man and the Lizard had raged through the school, leaving devastation in its wake. Now it surged into the library, but the elderly librarian remained blissfully unaware, classical music streaming through his headphones and drowning out the sounds of the fierce fight happening just steps away. Spider-Man''s spider-sense flared and he glanced up just as the Lizard seized a heavy oak table, lifting it effortlessly over its head. With a guttural roar, the Lizard hurled the table toward the oblivious librarian. Spider-Man acted on instinct, shooting a web-line and snagging the table mid-air. With a jerk of his arm, he swung the table in a wide arc, slamming it into the Lizard''s torso. The impact launched the Lizard, sending books flying from shelves as bookcases toppled in a domino effect across the library.


    The library doors burst open and Mirage hurried in, quickly taking in the scene. He strode toward the startled librarian, who had finally noticed the bizarre scene unfolding around him. Mirage''s eyes widened in recognition. "It''s you again!" he exclaimed, a hint of amusement lacing his tone despite the dangerous situation.


    The elderly librarian adjusted his glasses, giving Mirage a quizzical look. "Well, excelsior!" he exclaimed. "I do seem to stumble into the action, don''t I?" With that, he scurried away, finally keen to the peril he''d nearly faced.


    The massive form of the Lizard crashed into Peter, knocking the costumed hero into the confines of the breezeway. Peter spun around the hulking monster, reaching out a hand to grab hold of the Lizard''s thick, scaly tail. With a forceful yank, the appendage detached from the creature''s body, and Peter stumbled backward, staring in shock at the still-squirming tail he now held. The opaque lenses of his mask widened as he took in the bizarre moment, but there was no time to dwell on the gruesome dismemberment. The Lizard let out a roar of anger, the fury overtaking any sensation of injury. Peter found himself skidding across the tiled floor of the breezeway from the force of the enraged blow, the severed tail now useless in his gloved hands. He looked up just in time to see the hulking form of the Lizard advancing, an unsettling sight as the stump of the severed tail was already twitching with new growth.


    With rapid flicks of his wrists, thick webbing shot forth in a barrage, enveloping the Lizard''s bulky body in sticky strands. The creature thrashed and struggled against the sudden restraints, but Peter was relentless. He swung around the confines of the breezeway with the agile grace of a circus acrobat, using the architecture to his advantage as he stayed one step ahead of the Lizard''s snapping jaws and wildly thrashing limbs. More webbing spiraled outward, sticking the Lizard to the walls, floor, and ceiling of the breezeway, limiting his movements.


    Peter''s webbing enveloped the Lizard, but the scene took an unexpected turn as Tyson, now disguised as Mirage, entered with his adamantium claws gleaming. Without hesitation, Mirage plunged the claws into the Lizard''s chest. "Your limbs grow back, but do your organs?" Mirage taunted. His body grew to match the Lizard''s formidable size, a tail ripped through the back of his costume, and his teeth elongated into sharp points.


    He was a lonely child who found solace in the wonders of science spending countless hours engrossed in books on biology and observing the animals at the zoo, captivated by their forms and behaviors. His passion for herpetology only grew stronger as he aged, leading him to pursue a career in genetics. He was driven by an unyielding desire to unravel the mysteries of life itself. He had many early successes, establishing himself as a brilliant scientist. His groundbreaking research in cross-species genetics earned him accolades and recognition from the scientific community making him believe he was on the cusp of something truly remarkable. This discovery would change the world. But then came the accident. A lab mishap left him disfigured, his right arm severed. It was a tragedy, a turning point that ignited an obsessive desire within him. He became consumed with finding a way to regenerate his lost limb, to restore himself to his former glory. He delved deeper into his controversial research, his experiments becoming increasingly reckless and unethical. It was Peter Parker, the teenage son of his deceased coworkers, who inadvertently provided the missing piece to the formula he had needed. Driven by obsession, he injected himself with the untested serum, a concoction that regenerated his arm but also delivered something far more sinister. The transformation was agonizing as his body contorted and reshaped itself into the monstrous form of the Lizard. He became a creature of primal instincts, acting on impulse. Yet even in his monstrous state, he retained fragments of his former human self. He grappled with the duality of his existence until eventually he gained some control over the primitive transformation. With his new clear advantages, he now sought to force his "gift" onto others, to elevate humanity to what he saw as a perfected reptilian state. He concocted a plan to spread his formula across New York City, mutating its inhabitants into creatures like himself.


    The Lizard''s roars of fury turned to gasps of pain as his struggles weakened. Peter''s heart raced. "Don''t kill him!" he yelled, desperation edging his voice.


    Mirage shot him a wild, reckless grin. "I won''t unless he keeps wiggling. Who knows what I''ll pierce?" he retorted, "I haven''t had anatomy class yet. I''m not one of those science types like you two are."


    "That''s not right," Peter insisted, his moral code clashing with Mirage''s ruthlessly pragmatic approach.


    "What''s not right is him attacking you in a school full of kids," Mirage snapped back, eyes flashing. "Think about it, Spider-Man. If he came for you here, he must know who you are. Remember what the Green Goblin did when he found out your identity."


    The air crackled with tension, not just from the physical battle, but from the clash of ideologies. The Lizard continued to weaken under Tyson''s life-draining touch. With a grunt, Tyson removed his claws, and the wound in the Lizard''s chest slowly began to close, but the villain''s strength did not return. His once fearsome form now sagged, barely conscious.


    "See. Wrap him up some more, and he won''t be going anywhere," Tyson said, his voice calmer.


    Despite his unease with Mirage''s ruthless methods, Peter complied with Tyson''s request. More layers of webbing enveloped the Lizard, cocooning him in a tight, inescapable bind.


    Their teamwork, though fraught with ethical tension, had subdued the formidable threat. As the dust settled, Peter couldn''t help but think back to the words of Captain Stacy on Thanksgiving. Tyson''s ruthlessness made Peter reconsider the complexities of justice and the fine line between heroism and vigilantism they trod. The heavy silence following the intense battle was pierced by the wail of sirens, red and blue lights soon flickering through the shattered school windows.


    Tyson turned to Peter, "Do you want to get out of here and check on Gwen?" he asked, acknowledging Peter''s unspoken worry.


    Peter nodded and sprinted away, shedding his Spider-Man guise as he ran. Without another word, Tyson extended his hand, unsheathing his adamantium claws with a metallic shring. With precise slashes, he severed the webs anchoring the Lizard, careful not to harm the creature inside.


    Tyson grunted as he hoisted the massive webbed form of the Lizard. The creature weighed around half a ton, well within Tyson''s considerable lifting capacity, but the awkward bundle of webbing and reptilian flesh made the load cumbersome to carry. Tyson lumbered toward the bathroom the Lizard had destroyed during his violent entrance earlier. The Lizard''s bulky, wrapped frame barely fit back down the ragged hole in the ground, but Tyson managed to stuff him down into the tunnel before dragging the unconscious beast along the old scent trail left behind during the Lizard''s approach.


    In the aftermath of the chaos at the school, Peter Parker, now dressed as a regular teenager again spotted Gwen Stacy. She lay on a stretcher, injured by the EMTs, at the far end of the crowd of students that had evacuated the building. Her blonde hair was a disheveled mess, and her face was pale, but her eyes scanned the crowd, clearly looking for Peter.


    "Gwen," Peter called out, his voice was filled with relief at finding his girlfriend, and residual fear from the injuries she sustained during the battle.


    She turned at the sound of his voice, and seeing him, her expression softened. "Peter," she sighed, as he rushed over to her. "Are you okay?" Concern was etched into every feature of her face as she looked him over for injuries.


    "Yeah, I''m fine. Are you?" Peter asked, his eyes searching her injuries. A profound sadness overtook him as he realized she had come to harm while helping him.


    "I am now," Gwen replied, her voice a whisper as Peter stepped closer, his hand finding hers in a gentle grasp.


    They shared a moment of silent closeness. Around them, the school was a scene of organized chaos as authorities directed shaken students, but for Peter and Gwen, the noise faded away to insignificance.


    "You were brave today," Peter said finally, his voice filled with admiration for her.


    "So were you," Gwen responded affectionately.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson dragged the Lizard through the tunnels, following the transformed doctor''s scents. The underground lair was accessible through a series of forgotten maintenance tunnels and drainage pipes. The cavernous space opened up into a dimly lit laboratory that was a blend of advanced scientific equipment and primitive living quarters. The damp walls were covered in algae and bore the marks of the Lizard''s claws, while various scientific paraphernalia lay scattered across workbenches. In one corner of the lair, a makeshift bed was nestled against the wall, comprised of torn rags and old blankets. Nearby, shelves lined with vials, beakers, and notes written in a hurried scrawl hinted at the frantic research conducted here. The air was heavy with the smell of chemicals and damp earth.


    Tyson dropped the web-wrapped Lizard at the entrance of the lab. Eventually, Connors reverted to his human form. With Dr. Connors now lying vulnerable and human on the lair''s floor, Tyson began the meticulous task of slicing through the thick, adhesive webbing that bound him. The webbing was tough and resistant, requiring careful and precise cuts to avoid injuring Connors.


    As Tyson worked, he thought about his powers of illusion. During the bridge incident, he''d tried using them, and they were ineffective against the hind-brain-driven Lizard. However, he believed that they would still have an impact on the human, Dr. Connors.


    Finally, as the last strands of webbing fell away, Tyson and Connors made eye contact. The moment Mirage''s mismatched eyes locked with Dr. Connors'', time seemed to freeze within the dim lair. Connors went still, the scientist''s brilliant intellect briefly surfacing. Seizing the opportunity, Mirage delved into the depths of the doctor''s fractured psyche, his illusion powers probing and twisting through the maze of Connors'' mind.


    Tyson wrestled with the ethical implications of what he was attempting. Direct mental manipulation skirted the line of free will, even if he had the best of intentions. He had done it before with the Kingpin, and now he was trying it again with Dr. Connors. Should he be using his powers this way? Fisk was one thing, but Connors was different. Tampering with another''s mind was no small matter, but the doctor''s inner turmoil left few good options. With each transformation into the Lizard, Connors slipped further into madness. If Tyson could bring the doctor''s brilliance to the fore and overcome the serum''s madness, perhaps the man could be saved. Connors needed an intervention before the reptile consumed what remained of the brilliant scientist within.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Having steeled his resolve, Tyson sent his illusion powers probing deeper into the maze of Connors'' fractured mind. His actions trod dangerously close to the line between morally grey, and dark, but the potential to pull back the brilliant man Connors had been was enough for Mirage to plunge ahead. The tendrils of his consciousness slid deeper still, grasping for any shred of the doctor that remained unconsumed.


    Dr. Curt Connors found himself sitting on a hospital bed, looking down in astonishment at two fully intact arms. The surroundings were sterile and calm, nothing like the dank underground lair of the Lizard. Nearby stood a doctor holding a clipboard, his professional demeanor was tempered by kindness. "Dr. Connors, how are you feeling?" he asked.


    Connors glanced around, still adjusting to the surreal environment. "I''m feeling pretty good," he replied, disbelief coloring his tone as his mind struggled to reconcile this new reality.


    The doctor smiled slightly. "Excellent. Your vitals are all normal. I was hoping to ask you some questions," he said reassuringly.


    Connors nodded, willing to engage. The doctor''s questions were direct and poignant. "What was your plan for the city?" he asked, his voice steady.


    Dr. Curt Connors began to explain the plan that had been twisted by his transformation into the Lizard. "The serum... I developed it to regenerate lost limbs, to heal," Connors started, a fervent tone underscoring his noble intentions gone wrong. "My goal was to offer this gift to everyone, to eliminate physical limitations and weaknesses." He paused, and Tyson glimpsed a flicker of internal conflict cross the doctor''s face. "But the serum, it''s not just about healing. It''s about evolving beyond our human constraints. I wanted to release it above the city, to transform everyone. To make them stronger, more resilient, like the Lizard."


    The doctor listened patiently, his expression neutral. He was a tall young Black man, with keen mismatched eyes of blue and green, who studied Connors intently. When Connors finished his fervent speech, the doctor spoke calmly but firmly.


    "I understand you mean well on some level, Dr. Connors," he said. "But what you propose would rob countless innocents of their free will. I advise finding a better path. Work with me to adjust the serum. Retain the regenerative properties while eliminating the negative side effects, reduce the influence of the primitive brain and forced transformations."


    Connors recoiled slightly, blinking in surprise. The doctor''s suggestion ran entirely counter to his new reptilian purpose. To change his life''s work? Alter the precious serum? Madness!


    Yet as Connors turned the idea over in his mind, a sliver of his human intellect peeked through. Adjust the formula to remove the psychosis and monstrous transformations while keeping the regenerative benefits and strength increases intact. It would be difficult, requiring meticulous effort. But was it possible?


    "You... you think the serum could be altered?" Connors asked slowly. Curiosity and temptation colored his gravelly voice. The scientist in him stirred, drawn by the challenge of refining his flawed creation into something truly wondrous. For a brief moment, reason struggled against madness within Curt Connors'' conflicted heart.


    Connors mused aloud, "There could be a way to refine the serum... to help people without forcing them into something they''re not." The conflict within him was evident. The scientist felt the pull of his original, noble intent to heal. But the seductive power of the Lizard''s strength also called to him.


    Tyson, posing as the doctor, seized the opportunity to further guide Dr. Connors towards a positive path. "How difficult would it be to synthesize an antidote to the serum you''ve already been injected with?" he asked.


    Connors, now engrossed in the scientific aspect of the problem, replied with a renewed sense of purpose. "It wouldn''t take long, a few hours at most," he said. His mind already raced with the biochemical processes required for the antidote. The prospect of creating something to counteract the Lizard serum seemed to rekindle the scientist in him, overshadowing the Lizard''s destructive nature.


    "That should be the first step," Tyson suggested firmly yet encouragingly. "You''re healthy now, Dr. Connors, but we don''t want you to revert. You can prevent it." He continued, reinforcing the plan, "If you want to remain healthy and safe, you should first create an antidote for yourself. And afterward, refrain from releasing or using another Lizard serum without my supervision."


    Tyson''s words were carefully chosen to instill a sense of responsibility in Connors. By framing the antidote''s creation as the first step in a new, collaborative effort, Tyson offered Connors a path away from his dangerous past actions. The suggestion to work under Tyson''s supervision provided a structure that could help Connors maintain his focus on using his scientific talents for good, preventing a relapse into his Lizard persona.


    Tyson extended his hand toward Dr. Connors, "Are you willing to work with me to ensure you remain healthy?" he asked sincerely.


    Dr. Connors reached out firmly, taking Tyson''s proffered hand in his own. The gesture was an acceptance of the path laid before him, and his commitment to leave behind the dangerous legacy of his alter ego.


    Tyson led the doctor through the sterile corridors of the hospital, Connors followed in quiet acquiescence. Their footfalls echoed off the tiled walls as they navigated the maze of hallways, the scientist trusting in his guide to see him through to the other side. At an elevator bank, Tyson pressed the call button, the doors sliding open with a soft chime. As they stepped inside, the clean white walls of the elevator cab surrounded them. But as the car descended, an imperceptible shift began. The sterile environment morphed subtly, taking on the damp textures of weathered brick and concrete. When the doors finally slid open, the two men emerged not into a hospital lobby but a dimly lit tunnel. The sewers. Connors'' secret lab.


    Tyson''s illusion had melted away so subtly that the transition from hospital to sewer went unnoticed. They emerged into a cluttered lab, littered with papers, beakers, and machinery. Tyson turned to Connors with an encouraging smile. "Here we are, doc. This is your space, for now." Connors gazed around the room, mind already spinning ideas to adjust the formula. This squalid lab represented his drive to share the lizard serum with humanity, but now it symbolized a chance to continue his work, taking it in a different direction to improve the world. Tyson''s unique powers had brought Connors out of his serum-induced madness, and back to a place where he could innovate. Their handshake had been the first step of a hopeful new partnership. Tyson supporting Connors'' brilliant but unconventional research and supervising his progress ensured he didn''t fall back on the same path. The scientist nodded firmly, rolling up his sleeves. There was work to be done.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The golden light of elegant chandeliers spilled over the rich mahogany furnishings of the five-star restaurant as evening draped over the city outside. The soft clinking of silverware, murmur of subdued conversations from nearby tables, and occasional delicate laughter filled the air. Tyson raised a glass of deep, rich red wine to his lips, the liquid reflecting the chandelier''s light. He silently thanked Nat for introducing him to this particular vintage, which had quickly become his favorite.


    "How are things going at the Armory?" Tyson asked lightly.


    Felicia paused, her platinum hair cascading over her elegant black dress like a waterfall. Her eyes momentarily darted away as she gathered her thoughts. "I was nervous about going back to Fisk''s office," she admitted, fingers absently tracing the wine glass stem. "But he was professionally respectful. He handed over all the documents I needed." She took a breath and tension visibly left her shoulders. "He released me from my debt and directed me to a specialist for guidance. A real businessman-type."


    Felicia''s eyes locked back onto Tyson''s, shining with an unspoken gratitude. "I don¡¯t know how to even begin to repay you, Tyson. You saved me, and my family... and you got me a high-paying job I can make a career out of. All in one conversation."


    Tyson smiled, "Your company is more than enough," he replied, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.


    Felicia snorted, but it was a playful sound, and her eyes sparkled with emotion she didn¡¯t try to hide. "So corny," she commented, but her voice softened, "but sweet."


    Her expression changed, a sultry look taking over as she leaned in slightly, her eyes locked onto Tyson''s. "Just my company, huh?" she asked teasingly. Her tone was light but held an undeniable undertone of challenge. "You claimed me from the Kingpin. And the only cost is my company?" Felicia swirled the wine in her glass, the deep red liquid catching the light, a small smile playing on her lips as she admired it.


    Tyson¡¯s smile broadened, crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes in a way that conveyed amusement laced with a hint of tenderness. ¡°He officially passed you off to me. You¡¯re mine now.¡± Tyson took on a lighter tone as he continued, ¡°I imagine the everyday work at the Armory will prove rather mundane compared to the heists he¡¯d sent you on before, no?¡± His eyes sparked with mischief as he spoke.


    Felicia¡¯s musical laughter rang through the air in response. ¡°Mundane can be good sometimes,¡± she retorted, arching one elegant eyebrow playfully. ¡°Speaking of which, I¡¯m yours now, am I?¡± The challenge in her tone was unmistakable to Tyson''s ears.


    Tyson leaned in closer, the twinkle in his eye intensifying as he did so. ¡°Absolutely,¡± he affirmed confidently. ¡°But don¡¯t fret. I intend to treat you far better than the Kingpin ever did. I¡¯m quite attuned to your desires.¡±


    Intrigued by his words, Felicia played along, leaning forward as well and pitching her voice to a sultry whisper meant only for him. ¡°Oh?¡±


    Understanding flashed in Tyson¡¯s eyes then, and he reached into his jacket pocket, sliding a manila file folder across the table to rest in front of her. ¡°I understand that there will be an adjustment period. We can¡¯t just dive right in. A little foreplay goes a long way,¡± he said, his voice low and filled with the thrill of the upcoming adventure he had planned for them.


    Intrigued, and not just by the suggestive double entendres Tyson was speaking in, Felicia opened the file folder, her eyes scanning the contents. Her breath caught in her throat as she read, and she looked up to meet Tyson¡¯s gaze once more, excitement mixed with a trace of disbelief evident on her features. ¡°We¡¯re going to hit Oscorp?¡± she asked, her voice a mixture of shock and exhilaration at the prospect.


    "Just like our first night together," Tyson replied, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew her well and understood the thrill she found in her escapades.


    Felicia''s smile was a flash of white in the dimly lit restaurant, her approval radiant. "Now that''s what I call foreplay," she declared, her eyes alight with anticipation. "God, you know me so well."


    Tyson''s eyes glinted with a mixture of excitement and steely determination as he reviewed the details of their daring plan, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We''re not just going in to play cat and mouse with their security," he said, intensity etched on his features. "I want to get my hands on Oscorp''s most sensitive data."


    Felicia nodded, a spark of exhilaration in her eyes, "So what''s the target?" she asked eagerly.


    Tyson''s extensive knowledge of Oscorp now proved useful. He pulled detailed blueprints from the file folder and spread them across the table, tapping locations as he explained. "These are the data servers, likely containing intel on the Goblin and Lizard formulas, plus the military projects like glider schematics, and mechanized armors they''ve been building to compete with Stark, among other secrets."


    Felicia leaned in, keen eyes scanning each blueprint, absorbing Tyson''s every detail. "How do you know all this?" she couldn''t resist asking, impressed.


    A wry smile tugged at Tyson''s lips. "Let''s just say I spent time learning Oscorp''s layout, security protocols, and even system network. I didn''t just join as an intern to play security guard. It''s time my insider knowledge came in handy."


    Admiration shone in Felicia''s eyes. "You''ve thought of everything," she remarked.


    Tyson admitted, "Not everything. You know there''s always an element of unpredictability. But we''re a good team, Felicia. We can handle whatever Oscorp throws at us."


    His confidence was infectious, and Felicia found herself nodding in agreement, caught up in the thrill of the moment and the exhilaration of the adventure ahead. "When do we start?" she asked, ready to dive into this new escapade with him.


    "Soon," Tyson replied, "We''ll need to prepare, and make sure we have everything we need. This is Oscorp, after all. They''re not going to make it easy for us."


    The pair spent the next hour immersed in their planning, discussing possible entry points, security blind spots, and contingency plans. Tyson''s knowledge of Oscorp''s layout, security protocols, and system network came in handy as they prepared.


    Tyson instructed, "Hold on tight", his voice a low rumble. They had decided on a rooftop entry, much as Tyson had when he entered Fisk Tower. However, Oscorp''s Tower was much larger, and Tyson needed to bring Felicia with him. So they had settled on a different approach than climbing. Felicia secured her arms around Tyson''s waist as he summoned the Goblin Glider with an outstretched hand. The device, sleek and ominous, responded with a familiar hum, vibrating with latent power as they mounted it.


    With the wind battering against them, they ascended sharply, the city''s panorama falling away beneath them. The stark luminescence of the moon highlighted the contours of Oscorp Tower as Tyson and Felicia prepared for their aerial entry. Felicia''s eyes sparkled with unspoken thrill, and Tyson could feel the electric pulse of excitement running through them both. The glider carried them with alarming speed, and soon they were hovering atop Oscorp, the world seemingly at their feet. With a deft maneuver, Tyson landed them on the roof. After dismounting, with a simple gesture, the glider flew off into the night, back from whence it came.


    Felicia wasted no time heading directly for the rooftop access door. Within seconds, the door clicked open under her nimble fingers. "We''re in," she announced, her voice barely more than a breath yet laced with triumph.


    Tyson nodded, focusing his concentration on cloaking them in illusion. "Time to disappear," he murmured, and they were both enveloped in his veil of illusionary invisibility.


    Felicia, the Black Cat, led the way navigating the internal maze of Oscorp Tower. Whenever they encountered security cameras, Felicia tossed a small device that interrupted their video feeds and sent the cameras to loop harmless footage on repeat. Their passage was made easier thanks to Tyson''s insider knowledge of the camera''s locations. He maintained the cloak of invisibility around them both. Whenever they passed security guards, the pair were nothing more than whispers in the air, drifting by undetected.


    "This is too easy. It''s like cheating," Felicia teased in an exaggerated whisper as they slid past another yawning guard, oblivious to their presence.


    Tyson just grinned invisibly. "Try to contain your disappointment," he whispered back wryly.


    Felicia and Tyson had finally reached their immediate destination. A smile played on Felicia''s lips as she exhaled softly, facing the new challenge before her. "Looks like it''s my turn to shine," she said.


    The hallway was a tangled mess of laser lights, a high-tech obstacle course that would have stopped any ordinary intruder in their tracks. But Felicia was far from ordinary. She stood poised at the entrance, her silhouette bold against the crisscrossing red lines. Her body was tense, ready for the coming performance that would require equal parts artistry and athleticism.


    Felicia turned to look at Tyson. A mischievous glint lit her eyes as she spoke, "Keep your eyes on me," she purred, her voice a sultry whisper that hinted at the spectacle to come.


    With cat-like grace, Felicia launched herself into the maze of lasers. Each twist and arch of her body was executed with flawless control, her muscles flexing and stretching as she slid into poses that would make a contortionist jealous. She bent backward until her fingertips brushed the floor, her spine curving into a perfect semicircle as she slid under a beam set just inches from the ground. The move displayed shocking flexibility wrapped in an undeniable sensuality, the kind that draws the eye and refuses to let go.


    At the next obstacle, she dropped to all fours, movements smooth and liquid as she threaded herself through the web of lights. She held poses that showcased her strength, her form both powerful and hauntingly beautiful. Halfway through she paused, one leg extended in a graceful line behind her, body lowered near the floor. She turned her head, seeking out where she knew Tyson watched. Her lips curved in a smile both triumphant and inviting. "Still watching?" she purred, before launching herself forward once more.


    The final stretch was the greatest test, lasers spaced haphazardly mere inches apart. But Felicia met the challenge with fearless grace, her body moving in ways that defied logic and physics. She leaped, twisted, bent, each motion flawlessly executed. Not a single beam was disturbed as she dove through the last obstacle and landed in a crouch on the far side.


    Chest heaving with exertion, a sheen of sweat glistened on the visible portions of her skin as she rose slowly to her feet. Felicia turned to look back through the maze of lasers, her expression a mix of exhilaration and pride. She had made it through with cat-like skill, her body moving in perfect harmony with the obstacles in her path. The lasers had not stood a chance against her flawless athletic artistry.


    Felicia''s voice, filled with challenge and encouragement, floated through the laser-filled corridor. "Your turn."


    "Really?" Tyson asked, letting out an amused, disbelieving laugh that echoed slightly off the metal walls. He stared down the corridor of dancing lasers, his gaze settling on Felicia''s lithe form poised on the far side. Her emerald eyes glinted with mischief as she flashed him a teasing smile.


    "You wouldn''t leave your date all by herself, would you?" she called, her voice echoing off the cold metal walls. Though her tone was playful, Tyson detected the hint of seriousness underlying the challenge.


    He let out an amused, disbelieving laugh. "Really?"


    The original plan had been for Felicia to continue alone, her gymnast''s skill allowing her to nimbly evade the security system. But now, hips cocked to the side in an alluring pose, she made it clear she had revised that strategy. This was a test, an opportunity for Tyson to prove he could keep up with her.


    Tyson hesitated. His hulking frame seemed ill-suited for the delicate task ahead. He shot her an incredulous look. "And if I mess up, we''ll be sprinting through the rest of this place."


    "Come on, live a little." Felicia mocked.


    The thought of disappointing her, of backing down from her dare, was unbearable. With a resigned exhale, Tyson turned his focus to the complex laser grid, sharp eyes tracing the pattern. Though larger and more muscular than his companion, he possessed superhuman agility and claws built for climbing. They would have to be enough.


    Tyson started forward, his movements bearing less resemblance to fluid ballet and more to powerful athleticism. He approached the first set of lasers, crouching low to the ground, muscles coiling under his suit before he launched himself into a forward roll, tucking in his limbs tightly to avoid the beams.


    Reaching a particularly dense cluster, Tyson didn''t attempt Felicia''s limber weave. Instead, he leaped straight up, his claws digging into the ceiling with a soft thud. Suspended above the lasers, he began to traverse the corridor, his arms pulling him forward in a display of sheer strength. His body hung downward, a stark contrast to Felicia''s upward arcs, his form a study in power as he navigated the laser grid from above.


    Lowering himself back down was another challenge. He dangled from one hand, the other reaching out to carefully test the air where he knew a laser should be. Finding the gap, he swung forward, releasing his grip at the last moment to land silently on a narrow clear patch of floor.


    Next was a high arch of lasers, crisscrossing in a way that left no room to stand upright. Tyson tackled it with a cat-like crawl, his back nearly flat against the ground, claws gently scraping the floor for traction. He moved steadily underneath the lights, his larger frame compacted impossibly tight, tension visible in the set of his jaw.


    Then came the segment Felicia had backward-bended through. Tyson approached it differently, turning to the side and leaning into a deep, one-handed handstand, his body parallel to the laser. He walked on his hand, his other arm and both legs narrowly avoiding the beams, his muscles quivering with the strain.


    The final stretch was a zigzag of vertical and horizontal lasers, an erratic, unpredictable mess. Tyson faced it head-on, his body launching through the gaps in a series of powerful leaps and bounds, twisting mid-air, a display of inhuman agility and precision control.


    And then, suddenly, he was through, skidding to a stop next to Felicia with a wide triumphant grin.


    "Show-off," Felicia teased, though her eyes shone with admiration.


    "Just keeping up with my date," Tyson replied, the adrenaline from the challenge still evident in his stance and smile. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the thrill of the heist mingling with the tension building between them. The chemistry was as palpable as the electric air of the laser-filled hallway they''d just conquered together.


    Deep inside Oscorp Tower, a vault stood like a steel sentinel. Felicia narrowed her eyes in focus and worked the lock with a finesse born of many a moonlit heist. The tumblers fell into place eagerly under her skilled touch. Tyson stood a few steps away, keeping a hawk''s watch, his ears pricked for the faintest stir of trouble.


    With a soft click, the vault yielded to Felicia''s expertise. Inside, rows of servers blinked in the dim light, holding more secrets than a spy''s diary. Tyson nodded to Felicia and plugged a compact device, courtesy of SHIELD, into the central server. Screens flared to life, lines of code streaming down them like digital rain.


    "We need specifics," Tyson murmured, his fingers flying over the keypad as he searched. "Goblin and Lizard formulas, glider and armor schematics, weapons, anything on animal mutations, genetic engineering, and radiation exposure."


    The download initiated and a thin blue progress bar began inching across the screen. They exchanged a silent look, understanding flashing between them. They were almost home free. Felicia''s gaze fixed intensely on the small screen. "Got it," she breathed softly as the download was completed. They had acquired the data, but Felicia wasn''t fully satisfied. "We''re not just data thieves tonight. Let''s snag those serums as well."


    With access now granted to the central database server, Felicia was able to easily tap into the security feeds. She deleted the few brief moments where they had been visible, erasing all evidence of their presence. With full access and Tyson''s illusions, they had all the time they needed to be thorough in gathering information and removing any trace of their activities.


    "Can we erase all the data we took?" Tyson asked.


    Felicia''s lips curved into a sly smile. "We can," she confirmed with a nod. "I can wipe it completely from the central server and any connected Oscorp computers. That includes scrubbing the chemical formulas right from the automated machines that produce them." Her smile faded slightly. "But if they had paper copies or backups off the network, we obviously can''t get to those."


    Tyson let out a slow breath and nodded, "It''s the best we can do. Let''s try to keep the data out of their hands for as long as possible and set them back as best we can."


    Felicia turned back to the computer console, her fingers flying over the keys as lines of code flashed across the screens. Tyson kept watch near the lab entrance, tense and alert. He strained his ears listening for any sound of approaching security personnel, prepared to summon his illusions at a moment''s notice while Felicia finished her work.


    After several tension-filled minutes, Felicia entered one final command with a flourish. She disconnected the stolen data drive from the server and held it up with a satisfied grin.


    "Let''s get out of here," she said. Tyson nodded, relief washing over his features as they slipped out of the server vault.


    Afterward, they stealthily made their way toward the lab where the experimental serums were produced. Even the most advanced digital locks proved no challenge for Felicia''s expert skills. Tyson, meanwhile, was a master of deception, casting illusions that completely cloaked their movements from the oblivious guards.


    They crept silently into the lab where the top-secret serums were developed and stored. Tyson rifled through the refrigerated storage, snatching up vials of glowing liquid and securing them in one of Oscorp''s refrigerated transport containers.


    As they exited to the rooftop under the cover of night, Oscorp''s security remained entirely unaware that anything was amiss. Emerging into the cool night air of the city, Felicia and Tyson shared an exhilarated look, the fire of victory mingling with adventure in their eyes. Tyson summoned the Goblin glider and they disappeared into the city''s shadowy embrace, two audacious thieves slipping away after a successful night''s work.

 Arc 4 - Ch 11: Valentine Part 2

    Date: Monday, February 14, 2011.


    Location: Empire Suite, Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson and Felicia arrived back at the lavish Empire Suite after pulling off a daring heist at Oscorp Tower. Felicia was breathing heavily, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, soaking through the tight black fabric of her cat burglar costume. In contrast, Tyson looked energized and refreshed as if the high-stakes infiltration had been nothing more than a casual stroll in the park.


    "Whew! That was a close one," Felicia exhaled as she collapsed onto the plush sofa, kicking off her heeled boots. Her green eyes sparkled with exhilaration, lips curled in a satisfied, cat-like grin.


    Tyson smiled, leaning against the wall with his muscular arms crossed, clearly amused by his date''s thrill-seeking reaction. "I told you I''d show you an unforgettable night on the town."


    Felicia let out a throaty laugh. "Most guys try to impress a girl with flowers. Not you, Tyson. Taking me along to rob one of the most high-tech facilities in the city? Now that''s a date!"


    She stretched her lithe body lazily, adrenaline still pumping through her veins. The skin-tight black outfit left little to the imagination, showcasing every curve of her athletic form. Tyson found his gaze lingering on her shapely figure appreciatively.


    "I have to say, this is the most fun I''ve had on a date...ever," Felicia purred. "The thrill of sneaking past those guards, not knowing if we''d get caught or make it out with the goods..." She shivered. "It really got my heart racing."


    Tyson chuckled. "Well, I aim to please." He sat down next to her, those odd-colored eyes meeting her green ones. "I could tell you were enjoying yourself. The way your eyes lit up when I made it through the laser hallway...priceless."


    Felicia bit her lower lip, regarding him with newfound interest. "You know, you''re different than other guys. And I don''t just mean the superpowers. You understand my need for...thrills." She placed a hand on his muscular thigh. "I like that in a man."


    "I aim to please, Felicia," Tyson said, matching her Cheshire grin with one of his own. "And I have to say, you were magnificent tonight."


    Felicia Hardy was a unique woman; daring, uninhibited, and yet intelligent enough to appreciate a partner who could match her wit and abilities. Meanwhile, Tyson admired those qualities, and the fact that she looked stunning in her sleek black catsuit certainly didn''t hurt.


    Felicia stretched lazily, "What can I say, I love a little danger with my romance," she purred. "And you, Tyson Smith, are positively thrilling." Tyson chuckled as he moved to the suite''s exquisitely stocked bar, pouring two glasses of wine. Felicia accepted a glass of wine from Tyson and took a long sip, eyeing him over the rim.


    Tyson set his glass upon the bar and turned, desire smoldering in his gaze as he looked upon Felicia. She had placed her own wine glass down and met his eyes boldly, a knowing smile playing about her lips.


    He reached out and placed a hand below her chin, tilting the thief''s face up to his own. Then he kissed her, firm and passionate. Felicia responded instantly, her lithe arms coming up to encircle his neck as she pressed against him. A throaty sound of approval escaped her and Tyson''s hands slid downward to grip her hips tightly through the sleek black fabric of her catsuit, pulling her roughly against him. They stood entwined in the exquisitely furnished suite, lost for a moment in heated passion before Tyson drew back to look down at Felicia''s flushed face.


    "I believe," he said, his voice rough, "that was one hell of a first date."


    Felicia''s green eyes sparkled with mischief and desire. "Oh, I don''t know," she purred, tracing a nail lightly down his chest. "I''d say the night''s still young."


    Tyson''s hands gripped Felicia''s hips tightly, pulling her lithe body against his muscular frame. She could feel the heat of his skin through the sleek black fabric of her catsuit. His lips trailed down her neck, eliciting soft gasps of pleasure as he kissed and nipped at her flushed skin. Felicia was lost in passionate bliss, her eager fingers exploring the hard planes of his chest and shoulders.


    And yet, in the back of her mind, she knew this was an illusion. The real Tyson was somewhere else within the exquisitely furnished hotel suite, his powers weaving this sensory deception that felt as real as if he was really with her. A thrill rushed through Felicia at the sheer intimacy of it. The thought of Tyson making her feel such exquisite sensations without even being physically present was incredibly alluring. She gave herself over completely to the experience, moaning softly as his phantom hands and lips worked their magic. The night was still young, and Felicia intended to savor every delicious moment with her new lover.


    Felicia groaned as he pulled her down to straddle his lap, her knees sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa. Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel his arousal, hard and urgent beneath her. Strong hands gripped her thighs as she ground against him. She traced the defined muscles of his chest, gripped his shoulders, and ran her fingers through his thick hair. Every sensation felt real, tangible.


    Tyson was so tall that even kneeling, their faces were level. Felicia lost herself in his mismatched eyes, seeing her own desire reflected back. When his lips claimed hers again, she surrendered completely, trusting him in a way she had never trusted a lover before. His hands roamed her body possessively as she arched into him, hungry for more contact.


    "Tyson..." she breathed, consumed by sensation. She knew this was just a deception, a trick of the mind. And yet she had never felt more desired, more seen. At this moment, she belonged utterly to Tyson Smith, in body and spirit. And she reveled in the intensity of it. Felicia leaned back as her hands moved to the zipper at the back of her skintight catsuit. She slowly dragged the zipper down, the skintight fabric parting to reveal inch after inch of flawless pale skin.


    She shimmied her shoulders, guiding the top half of the suit down and exposing the black lace bra beneath, barely containing her full, rounded breasts. Tyson drew in a sharp breath, unable to tear his eyes away as more and more of her was revealed. She had the lean, toned body of an athlete, all smooth lines and subtle curves.


    As she peeled the suit down over her taut stomach, Tyson''s hands moved to grip her bare waist, thumbs brushing along the underside of her breasts teasingly. Felicia let out a throaty chuckle at his eagerness, continuing her sensual striptease.


    She stood briefly to shimmy the rest of the suit down over her hips and long, shapely legs. As she stepped out of it, clad only in her bra and a tiny black thong, Tyson openly admired her nearly naked form.


    "You are exquisite," he murmured, voice husky with desire.


    His large hands traced down her sides, over her flat stomach to grip her hips. He pulled her close, nuzzling against her breasts as she sighed in pleasure. Felicia ran her fingers through his hair indulgently as his lips and tongue explored her cleavage. She could feel his arousal, hard and insistent against her bare thigh.


    "I want you, Tyson," she whispered hotly in his ear. Her hands moved back to unclasp her bra, freeing her breasts.


    Tyson''s head dipped to take one rosy nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly as she cried out. Felicia was lost in the feel of his mouth worshipping her breasts, his hands roaming her now mostly naked body. She ground against him urgently, consumed with lust.


    "Please, Tyson," she moaned. She needed more of him, all of him. His illusion had her utterly intoxicated with desire.


    Tyson lifted his head from her breasts, eyes burning with lust as he gazed up at her. "Anything you want, Felicia," he rasped before claiming her mouth once more in a searing kiss.


    Felicia gasped against Tyson''s mouth as she felt his hands move to the bottom of his shirt, deftly lifting it upward. Still locked in a passionate kiss, she helped push the shirt off his broad shoulders, breaking their embrace just long enough to tug it free and toss it aside.


    Her eager hands roamed over his bared chest, tracing the hard ridges of muscle and sinew. Tyson was powerfully built, with the sculpted physique of a bodybuilder. Felicia traced her fingers over the grooves between each defined ab, eliciting a low groan from him.


    His hands moved to his waistband and Felicia''s pulse quickened in anticipation. She kissed her way down his neck as he stood, watching with rapt attention as he stripped off his pants and kicked them away. Tyson sat before her in all his glory, arousal evident through his tight black boxer briefs.


    Felicia bit her lip, green eyes darkened with lust as she took him in. This close, the sheer size and strength of him was even more evident. Tyson watched her reaction hungrily as she reached out to trace the hard ridge of his cock through the thin fabric of his underwear.


    "Mmm someone''s eager," she purred.


    Her fingertips teased him lightly. Tyson sucked in a sharp breath, abdominals clenching at her touch.


    "You have no idea," he growled. In one smooth motion he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and tugged them down. His thick arousal sprang free and Felicia''s eyes widened. He was huge, bigger than any lover she''d ever taken. The thought of having him inside her sent a spike of heat straight between her legs.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She wrapped her fingers around his rigid length, marveling at how he throbbed in her hand. She stroked him firmly, eliciting a low groan as pre-cum beaded at the swollen tip.


    "I want this inside me," Felicia murmured hotly, pumping him. She swirled her thumb over the slick head and Tyson shuddered, gripping her shoulders almost painfully.


    "Fuck, Felicia..." he choked out through gritted teeth. His control was hanging on by a thread as she continued stroking and caressing his aching cock.


    Felicia was enthralled, never breaking her rhythm even as his hips bucked urgently into her grip. She could tell Tyson was close to the edge and she had no intention of stopping.


    "Let go for me," she purred. She increased her pace, grip tightening just shy of too much. Tyson''s eyes were wild, body coiled tight like a spring about to snap. When Felicia leaned in close, breath hot against his ear, and whispered "Come for me, Tyson," it pushed him over.


    With a ragged groan, he came powerfully over her hand and stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling out as she continued pumping him through his intense orgasm.


    Tyson was left gasping and spent, body trembling in the aftermath. Felicia gazed up at him with a satisfied, cat-like smile, licking one cum-slick finger clean.


    "Mmm, I''d say someone enjoyed himself," she teased throatily. Tyson just shook his head with a chuckle, pulling her in for a searing kiss.


    Felicia''s eyes widened in surprise as she tasted Tyson''s cum on her fingers. "Mmm...your cum tastes like vanilla ice cream," she murmured, before eagerly licking up more of the pearly fluid from her hand and stomach. The unusual sweet flavor was addictive and she found herself craving more.


    Once Felicia had cleaned all of Tyson''s seed from her body, she shifted position to kneel before him. His cock was still thick and heavy in her small hand. She stroked him gently, coaxing him back to full hardness as she gazed up at him with lust-filled eyes.


    "I want more," she purred, before taking him into her warm, wet mouth. Tyson groaned as her lips wrapped around him, tongue swirling to lap up every drop of sweet essence she could find. She sucked firmly, head bobbing as she took him deeper. The velvety heat of her mouth had him rapidly swelling again until he hit the back of her throat.


    Felicia moaned around his thickness, the vibrations sending intense sparks of pleasure through Tyson''s body. Her mouth was incredibly skilled, working him with just the right amount of suction and swirls of her tongue. She lost herself in her task, focused solely on coaxing out more of that delicious vanilla cream.


    Tyson''s eyes were dark with lust as he watched Felicia enthusiastically suck and slurp at his cock. Her platinum hair spilled over his thighs as she knelt before him like a woman worshipping. The sight of her pretty lips stretched wide around his girth, with her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, was incredibly erotic.


    "Fuck, your mouth feels amazing," he groaned. Tyson tangled his fingers in her hair, but didnt pull, letting her move at her own pace. Felicia hummed approvingly, doubling her efforts. She could tell Tyson was getting close again from the way his thighs tensed beneath her palms and they feeling of his abs clenching. She slipped a hand between his legs to fondle his balls Felicia massaged them as she sucked, bringing him right to the brink.


    With a guttural groan, Tyson came again, spurting hot creamy jets into Felicia''s mouth. She swallowed every drop eagerly, her throat working as she drank him down. The rich vanilla taste coated her tongue, sending a spike of heat straight between her legs. When Tyson was finally finished, she allowed his cock to slip from her warm mouth.


    Felicia sat back with a satisfied smile. Licking her lips, she purred, "Mmm...I could get used to this tasty treat."


    Felicia rose slowly to her feet, Tyson''s heated gaze following her every movement. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lacy black thong, maintaining eye contact as she slowly dragged the fabric down over her hips. Tyson''s eyes drank in every inch of smooth, creamy skin as it was revealed. Stepping out of the skimpy garment, Felicia now stood before him in all her nude glory.


    Turning, she positioned herself with her hands braced against the back of the sofa. Arching her back, she looked over her shoulder and gave Tyson a smoldering, inviting look. His eyes roamed over her toned backside appreciatively before meeting her heated gaze.


    "I believe you mentioned something about us being far from done," Felicia purred. She arched further, displaying herself to him shamelessly.


    Felicia let out a surprised gasp as Tyson gripped her hips and pulled her down onto his face. She braced her hands against the back of the sofa for balance as she felt his hot tongue delve between her legs, lapping at her slick folds.


    "Oh!" she cried out, back arching at the sudden pleasure. Tyson''s strong hands held her firmly in place as he feasted on her pussy. His tongue swirled and flicked over her sensitive clit before thrusting inside her velvety entrance.


    Felicia rolled her hips shamelessly, grinding down onto his mouth. His nose was buried in her pale white down, inhaling her scent. She looked down to see Tyson gazing up at her, eyes burning with lust even as his talented mouth brought her pleasure.


    "Yes, just like that," Felicia moaned encouragingly. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. Tyson groaned against her, the vibrations sending delicious sparks through her core. His tongue worked her relentlessly, lapping and sucking until she was right on the edge.


    When he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked firmly, Felicia came undone with a wordless cry. Her thighs trembled as intense pleasure crashed over her in waves. Tyson kept licking and sucking her through every pulse and flutter of her release.


    Finally, Felicia slumped forward, spent and panting. Tyson gently turned her in his arms so she was sitting astride him once more. Her face was flushed, eyes glazed with satisfaction.


    "Mmm, I''m impressed," she purred, tracing a finger down his muscular chest. "Most men are too impatient to properly warm a girl up like that."


    Tyson grinned wolfishly, one large hand coming up to cup her breast, thumbing her stiff nipple. "I told you I aim to please."


    Felicia gasped as his other hand slipped between her legs, thick fingers easily sliding through her slick folds to circle her still-swollen clit. She rocked her hips urgently, chasing the promise of more pleasure.


    Tyson''s cock was rigid against her thigh, more than ready for her. Gripping his shoulders, Felicia rose back up into her original standing position.


    Tyson growled low in his throat as he moved behind her, gripping her hips with strong hands. He ground himself against her backside, letting her feel his renewed arousal.


    "I''m going to take you just like this," he rasped into her ear. "Nice and deep."


    Felicia shivered in anticipation, pushing back against him eagerly. She wanted that thick hardness inside her more than she could express.


    Tyson stroked himself briefly before positioning the swollen head of his cock at her slick entrance. Gripping her hips, he slowly sank into her inch by inch. Felicia''s mouth fell open in a silent moan at the delicious stretch of him filling her. Once fully sheathed, Tyson gave a few shallow thrusts, letting her adjust. "God, you feel incredible," he bit out through clenched teeth.


    "So big..." Felicia whimpered, fingers clenching against the sofa. The ache of being filled and stretched so completely was exquisite.


    At her breathless urging of "Yes, please!" Tyson began thrusting in earnest. His strong hands held her hips firmly in place as he drove into her again and again. Felicia cried out, the pleasure building rapidly. Each deep stroke rubbed deliciously against her g-spot, ratcheting up the sensations.


    "Harder!" she gasped, pushing back wantonly to meet his powerful thrusts. Tyson willingly complied, driving into her with focused intensity. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoed through the lavish suite.


    Felicia was lost in ecstasy, her world narrowed down to the mind-melting pleasure of Tyson''s huge cock pistoning steadily in and out of her soaked heat. She moaned his name over and over like a prayer, clawing at the sofa desperately.


    Tyson slid a hand around to rub tight circles over her throbbing clit, ratcheting her pleasure impossibly higher. "Come for me, Felicia," he commanded roughly. "I want to feel you cum on my cock."


    His deep voice and the rhythmic stimulation were her undoing. Felicia screamed as she came powerfully, inner walls clenching and spasming around his driving hardness. Tyson groaned as he fucked her through every pulse of her intense climax before finally finding his own release deep inside her.


    They collapsed together onto the sofa in a satisfied heap of tangled limbs. Felicia sighed blissfully, utterly spent and sated. She stroked Tyson''s muscular chest as he pressed soft kisses into her disheveled platinum hair.


    "Mmm, you weren''t kidding about us being far from done," she murmured, craning her neck to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.


    Tyson just chuckled, wrapping his arms around her possessively as their heart rates returned to normal. "Oh, I''m just getting started with you, my dear Felicia."


    Tyson held Felicia close, her petite body nestled against his larger frame as they lay together on the plush hotel sofa. Their passionate encounter had left them both pleasantly spent, but the night was still young.


    Tyson brushed Felicia''s tousled platinum hair aside, pressing a line of kisses along the graceful arch of her neck. She let out a soft hum of pleasure, craning her head back to give him better access. His hands roamed over her supple skin, caressing her hips, her waist, the underside of her breasts. Felicia covered one of his hands with her own, guiding it up to palm her breast fully as she arched into his touch.


    Tyson nuzzled into her neck, fingertips teasing her pert nipple until it hardened under his ministrations. Felicia''s breathing grew heavier, a new spark of arousal kindling within her. She pressed her backside against Tyson''s hips, feeling his manhood against her.


    "Insatiable," she murmured approvingly, rolling her hips in invitation. Tyson nipped at her shoulder, his low chuckle sending vibrations through her.


    He slid a muscled thigh between her legs, parting them. Reaching down, he gripped himself, guiding the tip of his rigid cock to her slick entrance. Felicia tilted her hips up eagerly as he pushed inside her molten heat once more.


    Despite their earlier passionate coupling, the stretch and fullness of him entering her made Felicia gasp. In this position, with her leg hooked back over his hip, Tyson penetrated her even deeper. She shuddered as he filled her to the hilt, then began a steady rhythm of long, luxurious strokes.


    There was no urgency this time, just intense intimacy. Tyson held her close as he made love to her, their bodies fit together seamlessly. Felicia turned her head, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss. The kiss was slow but thorough, tongues languidly exploring. Each deep thrust ratcheted up the heat between them.


    "You feel so good inside me," Felicia whispered against his mouth. She reached back to grip his hip, pulling him even deeper. Tyson groaned, increasing his tempo slightly in response. His large hand splayed across her toned stomach, holding her firmly against him as he took her.


    Felicia was lost in sensation, in the feeling of him buried so deep, hitting new angles that made her see stars. She pushed her hips back wantonly, matching his rhythm as the pleasure built. Tyson trailed kisses across her shoulder, along her jawline, worshipping her with his lips, his hands, his body.


    Her inner walls clenched and fluttered around him as she came. Tyson groaned harshly. His hips stuttered and his pace became more frantic as her climax triggered his own. He held her tightly as he spilled himself inside her once more.


    They lay wrapped up in each other, heart rates gradually slowing.


    Felicia sighed in deep contentment. She couldn''t recall ever feeling so thoroughly satisfied by a lover. Tyson''s stamina and sheer skill were incredible. But she had a feeling this was still just the beginning of a very pleasurable night together.

 Arc 4 - Ch 12: Evaluation

    Chapter 46: Evaluation


    Date: Monday, February 21, 2011.


    Location: Chikara Dojo, Chinatown, Manhattan, New York


    The air inside Chikara Dojo hummed with the rhythmic thud of fists and feet striking training pads. At the center stood Colleen Wing, her instructions crisp and clear, slicing through the air with the same precision she sought to instill in her students'' movements. With each command, she demonstrated a technique, her eyes missing nothing as she acknowledged each improvement and corrected every misstep with a nurturing yet firm hand. In contrast to the synchronized group being instructed, Tyson practiced alone in a secluded section of the dojo. His presence was both part of the dojo yet distinctly apart. He wielded a ninjato, a single-edged sword similar to a katana but shorter and with a straight blade instead of curved. Every slash and thrust he executed was crisp, honed to a level that while short of mastery, few could aspire to reach.


    Tyson stood at an imposing 6''6", more than a head above everyone else in the dojo. His chiseled features and muscular build cut an intimidating figure even when ignoring the sword in his hand. His brown skin was covered by a full-body black outfit that he had taken to wearing while training and his mismatched blue-green eyes were alight with fierce concentration as he flowed through kata after kata. Around him, the rhythms of the dojo continued unabated. Students grappled, punched, and kicked in disciplined exertion as Colleen Wing moved among them, her firm yet encouraging voice guiding them through complex forms and sparring sessions, shaping them into martial artists. Tyson was a study in solitary self-improvement, challenging himself with every subtle movement of the blade, seeking to surpass his limits. He executed a series of intricate maneuvers, the ninjato arcing through the air with deadly precision.


    As the last echoes of the class''s disciplined practice faded, Colleen escorted them outside. She opened the door of the Chikara Dojo and her students dispersed into the evening, returning to their mundane lives. But Colleen''s observant gaze fell upon a group of people approaching the dojo. Her eyes lit up with recognition and warmth at the sight of the man leading them. Bakuto. The man who had not only recruited and trained her, but gifted her this very dojo.


    Bakuto approached with the quiet confidence of a man long accustomed to command. Of medium height and leanly muscular, he moved with a martial artist''s easy grace. His hair was trimmed short, the messiness styled rather than careless, and his keen eyes missed nothing as he surveyed his surroundings. His business casual attire and artfully unkempt beard lent him a casual air. As he drew nearer, a small, knowing smile played about his lips. Colleen couldn''t help but return it, warmth and familiarity lighting her features. When he reached her, they embraced briefly in a quick hug that spoke of years of trust and shared history.


    "I saw your students leaving as we arrived," Bakuto said, stepping back to look her over appraisingly. "You''ve done well for yourself, Colleen. This place thrives under your care. It''s better than I had hoped."


    Colleen''s eyes shone with quiet pride. "The credit is yours, Bakuto. It is my honor to carry on the work you began."


    With an inviting gesture, she led Bakuto and his companions into the dojo. Bakuto''s gaze traveled over the meticulously maintained space before resting on Tyson, who continued his solitary practice, heedless of the departed students or the new arrivals. He moved through his kata with a singular focus, the rest of the dojo merely a backdrop as he lost himself in the motions. His form spoke of long hours devoted to honing his skill. Ignoring the scrutiny upon him, he poured his intensity into each step and strike.


    Bakuto''s gaze lingered appreciatively on the young man. "Who is that?" he asked, head tilting toward the lone student.


    "That''s Tyson," Colleen replied, pride coloring her voice as she regarded her dedicated student. "He''s a high school student who showed up looking for training." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. "I considered him for the scholarship, but he preferred to stay in the city. He''s been here nearly every day since the summer, training for hours on end. He''s committed. Pays five times the normal rate for lessons and usually attends for five times the normal class duration."


    Bakuto''s eyebrows ticked upward as he studied Tyson. The young man''s dedication and skill were evident in his motions. Colleen and Bakuto observed him in silence, Bakuto''s shrewd gaze missing nothing. Tyson remained focused on his training, but his enhanced hearing picked up every word exchanged between them. Colleen watched him, her critical eye missing nothing. After long minutes she stepped forward, selecting a blade from the rack that matched his own. Tyson noted her approach, and broke his rhythm, awaiting her instruction.


    Colleen began without preamble, "I''ve noticed a few areas for improvement." Tyson inclined his head in acquiescence. Colleen hefted the ninjato, "First, your grip. It''s too tight." She demonstrated, fingers flexing, finding the sword''s center of gravity. "Hold it firmly, but not rigidly. Imagine you''re holding a bird, your grip must be secure enough that it won''t escape, yet gentle enough not to harm it." Tyson adjusted his grip accordingly. Colleen continued. "Your breathing is also erratic. It should flow smoothly, in sync with your movements." She inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly, matching the rise and fall of the sword. "Proper breath control enhances efficiency and endurance. And can even make your strikes more powerful."


    Brow furrowed, Tyson focused on synchronizing his breathing to the swings and slashes, though the adjustment did not come naturally. Still, his dedication was evident. He would master this in time, just as he had mastered so much else. Bakuto observed it all. His shrewd gaze remained fixed on Tyson, missing not a single detail. What he saw pleased him.


    Tyson paused mid-swing as Colleen pointed out one last area for improvement. "Watch the alignment of your blade during strikes," she said, demonstrating a precise cut. Her blade sliced the air in a perfect line. "Your blade alignment is a bit off at times. This can make your strikes less effective. Focus on maintaining the edge alignment throughout your movements, ensuring that each cut is as sharp and accurate as possible."


    Studying her intently, Tyson mirrored her motion, concentrating on the alignment of his own blade. The adjustment was subtle, but Bakuto and the other seasoned warriors in the dojo immediately noticed the improvement in Tyson''s technique.


    Colleen observed Tyson with satisfaction, pleased at his receptiveness to correction. "Good," she said approvingly. "Keep these points in mind, and you''ll see significant improvement in your swordsmanship." Respect for his skill mingled with belief in his potential shone in her voice.


    "Thank you, Colleen, sensei," Tyson replied, "I appreciate the lesson." He continued practicing in the dojo, the rhythmic whoosh of his movements the only sound breaking the quiet observation of the room. He made the subtle adjustments to his technique that Colleen had suggested, his concentration absolute as he sought to improve his skill.


    Bakuto observed Tyson briefly before gesturing to Colleen, leading her upstairs and out onto the fire escape of the dojo. The cool afternoon air brushed their faces as they stepped outside, the distant hum of the city providing a backdrop to their conversation. "Do you think he has potential for... more?" Bakuto asked.


    Colleen hesitated, weighing her words carefully before she spoke. "Tyson is... independent, very focused on his own path. He''s not really someone I''d consider for the Hand. His work ethic, though, is unmatched." She leaned on the railing, her eyes reflecting the city lights. "He''s always punctual, pays in advance, in cash. And there''s a discipline in him that''s hard to ignore and not commonly seen in this generation."


    Bakuto''s interest deepened at her words, a subtle shift in his expression betraying his thoughts. "I want to test him," he said, his voice low but firm. "See what he''s truly capable of."


    Colleen thought back to what she knew of Tyson. "He''s so focused usually, but enjoys his practice." She recalled moments when she had seen him sparring playfully with Natalie, a skilled red-headed former student. "At times I''ve even seen him playful... But I don''t know how he''d react under real pressure if his life was genuinely at risk."


    Bakuto''s quiet reply was, "Soon we''ll find out."


    They returned inside, resuming their discussion about the dojo. As they walked through the training area, their conversation seamlessly shifted to the dojo''s finances, Bakuto offering insights and suggestions to boost enrollment. However, this was merely a facade, a cover for their real intention. Observing Tyson complete his practice.


    From the corner of his eye, Bakuto noted the sheer effort and duration of Tyson''s training. "He''s been at it for a while," he remarked quietly to Colleen.


    Colleen nodded in agreement. "He can work like this for hours without a break. He''s not the most naturally gifted martial artist I''ve seen, but what Tyson lacks in talent, he more than makes up for in stubbornness and endurance." Their conversation continued, but both were acutely aware of Tyson''s presence in the studio. As the evening wore on, the intensity of Tyson''s training finally ceased. With a final, precise movement, he sheathed his ninjato, the blade sliding into its scabbard with a soft click. His practice for the day concluded with the same focus and dedication with which it had begun. Tyson carefully placed the sword back in its designated spot among the other weapons.


    With a respectful bow to Colleen and a brief glance around the dojo to ensure everything was tidy, Tyson made his way out into the evening.


    The streets of Chinatown were alive with light and sound as Tyson made his way from the Chikara Dojo. Neon signs advertising restaurants and shops in a mix of English and Chinese flickered in electric reds and greens, casting colorful shadows on the busy sidewalks. Voices called out in half a dozen dialects while scooters and bicycles wove expertly through the crowd. Tyson navigated it all with familiarity, and he should, he had walked this route many times over the last six months. His motorcycle waited where he had left it, a few blocks from the dojo in a quieter section of Chinatown. As he approached, the sounds of the main thoroughfare faded, leaving only the buzz of the occasional passing car. Reaching for his helmet, Tyson''s thoughts drifted back to his training that evening. Colleen had introduced new dynamics into his kata, it had demanded intense focus. It would take more practice with the sword for him to fully implement her suggestions.


    "What are you doing here, gaijin?" The sudden rough voice cut through Tyson''s reflection. He turned to see a man standing a few feet away, tensed in clear aggression. The man''s face was hard, eyes narrowed with hostility at Tyson''s presence.


    Tyson kept his response measured, aiming to defuse the confrontation. "I''ve been parking here for months. I attend classes at a local dojo." His tone carried calm confidence, hinting that he could handle himself if pressed.


    But the thug was unimpressed. With a menacing smirk, he slid a set of brass knuckles from his pocket onto his hand and stepped closer with clear intentions.


    Tyson held up a hand in a placating gesture at the man''s aggressive posturing. "I''m sorry if this is your property. I wasn''t aware there''d be a problem. I''d be happy to compensate you for using the parking space." His voice was calm but alert, hoping to negotiate rather than escalate. "There isn¡¯t a need for violence here. We can work something out."


    The thug''s only response was a sudden punch, aimed with precision that betrayed formal training. Tyson recognized the skill behind the attack immediately. This was no ordinary brawler. Taller and with a significant reach advantage, Tyson, instead of attempting to block, stepped back, moving just beyond the reach of the brass knuckles. The thug shifted forward, launching a front kick, but Tyson was ready. He stepped inside the man''s guard, making the kick go wide. With a controlled shove, Tyson sent the man stumbling several feet back. The thug landed with a surprised grunt, but unharmed as he scrambled to his feet. Tyson had intended to de-escalate. Shoving instead of striking signaled he could have hurt the man but chose not to. He had hoped to end the confrontation without further violence, but the thug was undeterred.


    Raising his hands to his mouth, with a sharp whistle, the man called for reinforcements. More thugs emerged from the nearby buildings, forming a menacing circle around Tyson. The new arrivals were an assorted bunch, armed with an array of weapons. Clubs, chains, brass knuckles, and even a nunchaku and even a wakizashi, a traditional Japanese short sword.


    Tyson raised his hands in a calming gesture, seeking to defuse the escalating tension. "You sure we can''t talk about this?" he asked evenly, keeping his voice steady despite the growing threat.


    The thugs closed in, tightening the circle around him. Their faces were set in hard expressions, their violent intentions clear. Though surrounded and outnumbered, Tyson stood ready, his body coiled. The apparent leader barked something rapidly in Japanese. Tyson was a polyglot but unfortunately didn''t understand the language. However, his sharp hearing picked up the faint scuff of a shoe on the pavement behind him. One of the thugs was trying to sneak up while he was seemingly distracted.


    Tyson listened intently, sensing the man''s approach. Just as the nunchaku sliced through the air where he had been standing a moment before, Tyson sidestepped, evading the blow. The thug, having committed to a strike he thought sure to land, was overextended. Seizing the opportunity, Tyson delivered a punch to his midsection. As the man doubled over in pain, Tyson expertly disarmed him of the nunchaku. He followed up with a powerful kick that sent the winded thug sprawling across the sidewalk to crash against the brick facade of a nearby building.


    Tyson bent and retrieved the fallen nunchaku. Unlike the wooden training weapons he was used to, these were made of steel, the bars connected by a nylon rope. He gave them an experimental swing, listening to the distinctive whistling as they sliced through the air. Even if he hadn''t heard the thug''s approach, that unique sound would have given him enough warning to respond to the attack.


    The remaining thugs hesitated, their confidence faltering as they watched Tyson handle the exotic weapon with easy skill. In competent hands, the nunchaku could strike with the force of a baseball bat but required far less effort from its wielder. The tradeoff was that it was such an unusual weapon, that it needed practice and training to use effectively in a fight, while anyone could swing a bat.


    The thugs paused, uncertainty flickering through them at their opponent''s unexpected skill. Tyson took a defiant stance, readying the nunchaku for their next move. "Well, come on then," he challenged, his voice steady and confident.


    The standoff broke when two thugs charged without warning, one with a chain and the other brandishing brass knuckles. Tyson reacted instantly. He whipped the nunchaku out, intercepting the chain and redirecting its momentum to send its wielder stumbling. At the same time, he ducked beneath the punch of the other, delivering an uppercut with his free hand that drove the brass-knuckled thug back.


    Another thug, armed with a club, charged at Tyson from the side. Tyson spun, bringing the nunchaku down to strike the hand wielding the club. The sharp cracking sound indicated the thug''s fingers were broken and could no longer maintain their hold on the club. The weapon dropped from suddenly limp fingers as Tyson followed through with a roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the thug''s chest, sending him crashing heavily to the ground.


    The remaining thugs quickly regrouped and attacked as one. Tyson moved like a whirlwind, his body a blur of motion as he parried, dodged, and struck with a fluidity that was almost dance-like. He wielded the nunchaku not just as a weapon, but as an extension of his own body, manipulating it with masterful skill. The thugs could not have known, but Tyson had spent far too many hours practicing with nunchaku. Michelangelo was his favorite ninja turtle as a child, and sessions swinging the weapon indulged his longing for its hypnotic fluidity and cool factor. The fact that the thugs had conveniently provided him with one now allowed him to test the nunchaku in live combat for the first time.


    Tyson spun the nunchaku in a lazy figure-eight as he eyed the two thugs stalking him. One clutched an identical nunchaku while the other brandished a wakizashi, the short sword glinting dully under the streetlights. The thugs moved to flank him, coordinated in their approach despite the differences in their weapons.


    Tyson, not keen on being flanked, struck first. He lunged, channeling a small amount of superhuman speed and using the extra reach afforded by the nunchaku to crack the thug on the head. The blow landed true, sending him to the ground, immediately unconscious. With the first thug incapacitated, Tyson turned to deal with the wakizashi. The swordsman slashed and stabbed relentlessly, seeking to overwhelm Tyson''s defenses through sheer ferocity. But Tyson''s movements were honed through months of disciplined practice. He deflected or dodged each attack, watching for an opening. It came on an overextended thrust. Tyson slapped the blade aside and followed through with a brutal strike to the thug''s wrist. More bones snapped under the unforgiving steel of the nunchaku. The wakizashi clattered to the pavement as the man staggered back, clutching his ruined hand. Tyson pressed the advantage, lashing out with a spinning kick that lifted the disarmed thug clear off his feet. The man hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, his head cracking against the concrete with an ugly thud.


    The remaining thug hesitated after Tyson''s easy dismantling of his companions. But he didn''t relent, diving forward with a knife gleaming in his hand. Tyson flowed inside the clumsy stab and seized the man''s arm, holding it immobile. Tyson''s fists slammed into the thug''s ribs, three punishing blows dropping the man to the ground.


    Tyson surveyed the fallen thugs dispassionately. Though he was victorious, he mentally cataloged all the errors in his form, reminding himself of the weaknesses in his technique that he needed to address. There was always room for improvement. He collected the matching nunchaku and the wakizashi, trophies of a hard-won battle¡­ Finally, some loot, he thought to himself with a satisfied smile.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    From their vantage point high above the street, Colleen Wing and Bakuto, along with his entourage watched the scene unfold below. They observed as Tyson dispatched the first thug and methodically took apart the group surrounding him.


    "Remember the last initiate who took down ten armed attackers?" Bakuto asked, his gaze fixed on Tyson.


    Colleen''s response held a hint of pride. "Should I not? It was me." But her expression turned thoughtful. "It wasn''t nearly this easy when I did it. He''s barely been touched."


    Bakuto nodded. "You''ve been watching him for months. What''s his weakness?"


    Colleen hesitated, reluctant to see Tyson come to harm yet curious about his potential. "There was another skilled student he regularly practiced with. She stopped coming about a month ago. She challenged him, but I could tell he held back. He was clearly captivated by her beauty."


    "A weakness for a pretty girl, eh?" Bakuto chuckled. "We can use that."


    He gestured to one of his group. The woman swiftly left the room, heading for the street...and Tyson.


    Tyson had just finished collecting his loot from the defeated thugs when a new figure approached him on the street below. She spoke in Japanese, and yet again Tyson was faced with a language that he didn''t understand. With a roll of his eyes, Tyson bent down and touched one of the defeated thugs for just a second, absorbing enough of the man''s knowledge to understand the woman''s words. He straightened up and addressed her in fluent Japanese, "My apologies, could you repeat that?"


    The woman shed her heavy cloak, revealing her striking appearance. She looked to be about seventeen years old, similar to Tyson''s age, but with vivid features that made her stand out. Her heritage was distinctly Asian, and her short, vibrant pink hair just barely reached her shoulders. She wore a fitted white shirt, unadorned except for a prominent red circle positioned between her breasts in an unmistakable nod to the Japanese flag. The shirt was tucked into a sharply pointed, pleated black skirt that swayed slightly as she moved. The skirt was cinched at the waist with a heavy black belt, holding it securely above her hips in a blend of traditional and modern flair. Her legs were clad in bold, black, and purple striped thigh-high socks, adding a rebellious touch to the ensemble. The socks disappeared into padded samurai boots, a modern take on traditional footwear. Most strikingly, she wore large white headphones, incongruous with her otherwise combat-ready appearance. The headphones, combined with the katana she now unsheathed, lent her an aura more reminiscent of an anime character than a serious threat. Yet the ease with which she handled the sword and her confident stance suggested that underestimating her would be a mistake.


    The young woman strode towards Tyson with a confident gait, "I am the Cherry Blossom," she announced, her eyes fixed on him with a piercing gaze. Though her voice held a tinge of disdain, her stance and the ease with which she handled the katana spoke of competency. Tyson remained wary but calm, keeping his focus on the self-proclaimed Cherry Blossom. He didn''t speak, content to let her say her peace. The girl''s glance towards the incapacitated thugs was dismissive. "These men, they are under my protection. You''ve made a grave mistake, gaijin."


    Tyson weighed his words carefully. "I didn''t start this. They attacked me. I defended myself."


    Cherry Blossom''s lip curled slightly. "Words of a trespasser," she retorted sharply. Her grip shifted on the katana, moonlight glinting off the honed edge of the blade. "Now, you will pay for what you''ve done." Sensing imminent confrontation, Tyson positioned himself defensively as she commanded, "Prepare yourself." Though he preferred to avoid further violence, the woman''s demeanor indicated she would not be deterred.


    As Cherry Blossom assumed an expert combat stance, Tyson unsheathed the wakizashi in a smooth motion. Tossing the sheath aside, he kept the short blade low and ready. "I''m not looking for more trouble," he stated, hoping to stall her attack. "But I will defend myself if I have to."


    Cherry Blossom let out a small, mocking laugh. "Defend? Against me?" Her tone dripped arrogance as she approached Tyson, the razor-sharp katana held out steadily before her. "You will find that a more challenging task than dealing with my ''petals''."


    Tyson stood facing Cherry Blossom, assessing the situation. Her confident movements indicated expertise with the katana. In contrast, he held a wakizashi, considerably shorter than her longer blade. This presented a significant reach disadvantage that he was acutely aware of. Typically, this would give Cherry Blossom an edge. However, Tyson had advantages. Unless Cherry Blossom was enhanced, he likely had superior speed. His mutant abilities provided agility and reflexes that would easily offset the reach difference. Moreover, his physical prowess was formidable. His strength and endurance could overcome any gaps in skill. If he closed the distance, neutralized her reach, and leveraged his speed and strength, he could gain the upper hand.


    However, Tyson didn''t want to simply overwhelm the girl. Like with the thugs, her ''petals'', this was an opportunity to test himself and how far he''d come with his training. With this in mind, Tyson prepared to engage, shifting his grip on the wakizashi and wielding it in his off-hand. He reached out and grabbed the nearby nunchaku with his right. Dual wielding rarely worked well, especially with such different weapons, but it would be easier to discard one rather than try to retrieve it mid-battle. Weeks earlier, practicing with Natasha, he had wielded a sword in his off-hand as a joke. But doing so had allowed him to see the benefits of partial ambidexterity. He had actively worked since then to make his weaker hand proficient.


    Cherry Blossom stood poised, katana ready, as Tyson faced her while dual wielding the wakizashi and steel nunchaku.


    Tyson tensed as Cherry Blossom exploded into motion, her katana hissing through the air in a testing arc aimed at his defenses. He responded by bringing up the wakizashi to parry. Steel rang against steel at their first contact. His right hand held the nunchaku at the ready, waiting for an opening. They broke apart, reassessing. Cherry Blossom''s dark eyes were sharp and analytical as she took in Tyson''s response. Tyson returned her gaze steadily, gauging the speed and skill his opponent possessed. Making the next move, he feinted with the wakizashi and followed with a swift swing of the nunchaku. Cherry Blossom slid backward, evading the blow. She replied with a series of quick, precise slashes, each strike seeking to force Tyson onto the defensive and test his agility. Tyson ducked and wove, the wakizashi and nunchaku moving in smooth concert as he turned aside her attacks. Cherry Blossom exhibited consummate mastery, every cut and parry executed with lethal elegance. She probed at Tyson with a succession of increasingly elaborate combinations, intent on finding a flaw in his defense.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The exchange became a high-speed clash where Tyson''s adaptability and athleticism met Cherry Blossom''s skill and precision in a whirling storm of attacks and counterattacks.


    Tyson and Cherry Blossom broke apart once more, circling each other warily. It was clear from the set of Cherry Blossom''s shoulders and the calculating look in Tyson''s eyes that neither had gained the upper hand in the fight. They were still probing, testing each other''s capabilities. In the brief respite, Tyson reassessed his strategy. Holding the nunchaku in one hand and the wakizashi in the other wasn''t giving him any advantage against Cherry Blossom''s superior skill. He wound back his arm and threw the nunchaku at Cherry Blossom, shifting the wakizashi to his dominant hand to allow for greater control and precision.


    Cherry Blossom watched Tyson''s actions closely, her dark eyes sharp. It was evident to Tyson that she was a highly disciplined and dangerous opponent. His throwing the nunchaku didn''t phase her in the slightest as she easily sidestepped the projectile. Clearly, he was only ensuring she didn''t capitalize on his momentarily open defenses as he shifted his wakizashi into his primary hand.


    They moved toward each other again, even faster this time, with increased ferocity. Cherry Blossom''s strikes were more deliberate now, each slash and thrust of her katana aimed to maim or kill. Tyson met her attacks with a blend of defensive parries and evasive maneuvers, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp blade again and again.


    The fight took on a rapid rhythm of its own, a blurring exchange of offense and defense between the two skilled combatants. With only one weapon to focus on wielding, Tyson''s use of the wakizashi was more effective, his parries sharper and counterattacks quicker. He found a way to flow with Cherry Blossom''s attacks, looking for any opportunity to strike back. While Cherry Blossom seemed to relish the challenge Tyson presented. Her attacks became a series of complex combinations designed to overwhelm and outmaneuver. Her katana flashed silver as it moved with lethal speed and elegance, forcing Tyson to narrowly avoid being cut down time and again.


    Tyson''s breaths came in controlled bursts as he tried to channel the instructions given by Colleen earlier into his techniques. His focus was entirely on the blade before him, his breathing, and the angle of his own sword''s edge. Their movements were a blur, Tyson''s defensive style against Cherry Blossom''s aggressive flurry.


    As they momentarily disengaged from their intense sword fight yet again, Tyson keenly observed Cherry Blossom. Despite her controlled, economical movements, she was breathing heavily, the physical toll of the high-intensity battle becoming evident. Tyson hadn''t wanted to utilize his enhanced speed and strength to simply overwhelm the girl, instead desiring to test his skills. But as he watched his opponent, he realized his path to victory could be his endurance. While she might have been the more skilled swordsman, she was already tiring, while he could fight like this all day.


    Seizing the opportunity, Tyson raised the intensity and frequency of his strikes, switching from defensive to being on the offensive. His wakizashi became a blur, attacking from multiple angles, each strike designed to force Cherry Blossom to constantly shift her guard and expend more energy. She met his barrage with remarkable skill, her katana moving in swift, precise arcs.


    Cherry Blossom anticipated Tyson''s barrage to be a short-lived tactic, expecting him to tire as she had seen many opponents do in the past. A last desperate flaring of the candle''s flame before it went out. However, Tyson''s stamina was far beyond that of any ordinary human. His relentless assault did not waver; if anything, it intensified with each passing moment.


    Tyson''s strategy was clear, keep Cherry Blossom on the defensive, and force her to use her katana in ways that would drain her energy faster. He was relentless, his attacks a continuous flow of motion, leaving no room for her to launch a counterattack. His continuous barrage kept her katana occupied parrying and blocking. Concern flickered in her eyes as realization dawned. Her breath grew labored and her movements, though still precise, lacked their initial sharpness.


    As the battle raged, Cherry Blossom''s tenacity waned against the relentless tide of Tyson''s blows. In desperation, she gambled on a risky maneuver, locking blades with him to halt his assault. But the move proved to be her undoing.


    Their katanas crashed together and Tyson seized the moment, shoving forward. For all her skill, Cherry Blossom was a normal-sized teenage girl. Even without using his superhuman strength, the force hurled her backward, shattering her guard.


    Tyson pressed his advantage ruthlessly. Before Cherry Blossom could recover, he closed the gap between them, driving his fist into her stomach. She doubled over with a gasp as her breath exploded from her lungs. Capitalizing on her vulnerability, Tyson followed with a crushing cross to her face. The decisive blow knocked Cherry Blossom unconscious instantly. She collapsed, her katana clattering to the ground beside her limp form.


    Silence fell on the street as the tension of combat evaporated. Tyson stood over his fallen foe, victorious but slightly disappointed. It had not been his skill that won the day, but abusing his remarkable endurance. However, his disappointment was short-lived as he looked down on the defeated Cherry Blossom, and her weapon. The prospect of having scored more loot overrode his sense of failure.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    High above, Bakuto watched the conclusion of the duel with keen interest. He''d seen the shift in momentum as Tyson weathered Cherry Blossom''s attacks before unleashing his own overwhelming offensive. Bakuto knew how this would end long before the final blow landed. With an almost bored nonchalance, he snapped his fingers three times. One of the other women in his coterie silently withdrew from the room to carry out his unspoken command.


    Beside Bakuto, Colleen watched the scene unfold below with growing dread. Comprehension dawned, and her eyes went wide when she realized which woman he''d sent after Tyson. Colleen turned to Bakuto, distress evident on her face, "Not her, please," she implored, though she already suspected it was futile. "She''ll kill him."


    Bakuto didn''t bother looking at her, his gaze still fixed on the fight. "Perhaps," he said, his voice neutral. "Or perhaps not."


    Colleen wrestled with indecision, torn between her loyalty to the man who had given her so much, and her duty to protect her student down below. Should she speak out, try to prevent the threat Bakuto had just unleashed? Or trust in Tyson''s training, and have faith he could overcome whatever came next? In the end, her uncertainty kept her silent.


    Below, Tyson stood over the unconscious form of Cherry Blossom, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest to ensure she still drew breath. Satisfied that she would live, he turned his attention to reclaiming his weapons. He gathered up the pair of nunchaku, including the one he''d thrown earlier during their fight, then slid the wakizashi into its sheath before securing them and the girl''s katana to his motorcycle.


    He had just swung a leg over the bike, mounting up, ready to head out, when the distinctive hiss of a thrown blade split the air. Tyson twisted aside, but the dagger still found its mark, slicing into the thick muscle of his hamstring. Pain lanced through the leg as he stumbled, barely catching himself. He was forced off the motorcycle, crouching behind it for cover. The wound would be a crippling one for most men, but Tyson was far from normal. He wrenched the dagger from his leg with a grimace, grinding his teeth against the pain. Blood flowed freely from the wound, but only for a moment before it closed.


    Leanly muscular and clad neck to toe in a skintight white outfit that was decorated with circular black lines, the woman cut an intimidating figure. Her face was obscured by a small black mask, and a bullseye emblem adorned her forehead. Tyson''s meta-knowledge screamed a warning at the sight. He recognized the symbol at once, though he would have expected to see it on a man''s head, not a woman''s. Her sleek jet-black hair was pulled tightly back, and in one hand, she held a dagger identical to the one just embedded in Tyson''s leg, gripped with casual readiness. She might have been striking, if she wasn''t trying to kill him.


    But then, Tyson corrected his mental assessment, he had to admit, regardless of her lethal intent, she was still attractive.


    Tyson looked up at her and asked through gritted teeth, "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"


    The woman tilted her head slightly, her gaze never leaving Tyson''s. "I''m the one who ends your little rampage," she replied, her voice cold and confident. "You''ve caused quite a stir, and Lady Bullseye is here to put an end to it."


    "Lady Bullseye¡­ Wait what rampage?" Tyson echoed in confusion, "I was just trying to go home."


    Lady Bullseye''s response was calculating and frigid. "I''m not sure the police will see it the same way. An outsider comes to Chinatown armed to the teeth." She gestured at his motorcycle, laden with the collected weapons. Her gaze swept over the unconscious thugs scattered around. "He assaults a group of locals," she continued, her voice dripping with accusation. "Until he takes his own life with one of his blades." She held up the dagger in her hand, its sinister glint mirroring the sharp edge, her words unveiling her deadly intent.


    In response, Tyson''s expression shifted to one of fear and desperation. "No, please... I''m too young to die," he pleaded.


    Lady Bullseye laughed, a hollow sound devoid of warmth. "Too young? Ha! Too pathetic is more like," she sneered, disdain evident in her tone.


    She hurled the dagger, aiming directly at Tyson''s heart.


    Tyson''s pleading expression vanished as the dagger spun through the air toward him, replaced in an instant by a sharp, cunning smile. With a display of superhuman dexterity, he snatched the blade from the air, catching it a mere foot from his chest.


    The desperation he had feigned just moments before was gone, replaced by a feral grin as he looked directly at Lady Bullseye, her own thrown dagger now clutched in his hand.


    "I hope you have more of these daggers," he taunted, confidence and challenge clear in his voice.


    Gripping the pilfered dagger in a reverse hold with his left hand to match the one he''d ripped from his own leg, Tyson turned to face Lady Bullseye, once again dual-wielding and ready for her next move.


    She observed his sudden shift in demeanor, head tilting slightly in amusement as her lips formed a puckered smile. "Very cute," she remarked. "Let''s see you try to catch this." In a swift motion, she produced a pistol from behind her back, the weapon seeming to appear from nowhere.


    Tyson''s mind raced as Lady Bullseye produced the pistol from behind her back. Surprise jolted through him first. He wondered at where had she been hiding that gun in such a tight outfit. But the surprise faded quickly, replaced by pragmatism. He really shouldn''t have bantered with her. It was time to stop playing around.


    Without hesitation, Tyson hurled the dagger in his right hand toward Lady Bullseye. His aim was poor; he had little skill for throwing weapons. But the dagger was never meant to harm her. It was merely a distraction. As anticipated, Lady Bullseye didn''t sight the weapon on Tyson, abandoning her shot to dodge the incoming blade.


    Tyson seized the moment, diving toward the nearest of the downed thugs. He plunged a hand into the man''s jacket pocket, fishing urgently for anything that might aid his escape. His fingers closed on a small metal cylinder. He recognized it immediately and pulled it from the thug''s pocket.


    Lady Bullseye had already recovered her composure. The pistol was rising to track Tyson once more.


    Tyson pitched the metal cylinder to the ground between himself and his attacker. There was a metallic clink as it struck the concrete. Then, with a soft whump, a mist erupted from the cylinder, rapidly enveloping the area in a concealing fog.


    The mist billowed out, obscuring Tyson''s movements and giving him a tactical advantage. Lady Bullseye''s aim was compromised as the disorienting haze obscured her line of sight. Tyson became little more than a ghostly silhouette, moving through the concealing fog.


    Tyson deftly employed his illusion abilities. To any onlooker, including Lady Bullseye herself, it appeared as though he had thrown the dagger and procured a smoke bomb from the downed thug. However, the reality was much different. Under the veil of his illusion, Tyson remained calm and collected as he walked in Lady Bullseye''s direction. He maintained the illusion, making it seem as though he was still shrouded in the mist.


    Tyson started his motorcycle. The distinct sound signaled his location. Lady Bullseye aimed her pistol toward the sound, and in the direction where she remembered the motorcycle being. However, she found herself forced to dodge a barrage of weapons thrown from within the obscuring mist. Chains, clubs, and even a discarded nunchaku flew at her, each throw carefully timed to interrupt her aim, giving Tyson time to mount his motorcycle.


    As Tyson peeled off, riding away from the scene, the engine roared as he accelerated away. Lady Bullseye struggled to get a clear shot. She had not pulled the trigger a single time as Tyson turned the corner, removing any chance of her hitting him. The sound of his motorcycle faded into the distance, leaving Lady Bullseye to return to Bakuto.


    Relief washed through Colleen as she watched Tyson peel away on his motorcycle, disappearing into the night. He had survived the ambush, showcasing not just his fighting prowess but his intelligence and adaptability as well. Lady Bullseye reentered the room, her silent return an acknowledgment of her failure to eliminate the target.


    Bakuto turned to Colleen, curiosity and expectation in his voice. "What did you notice?"


    Colleen kept her eyes on the now empty street below as she answered thoughtfully, "He analyzed his opponent and used his superior physical abilities to overcome their gap in technique. He utilized his surroundings and the available resources to his advantage."


    Bakuto nodded. "Further, he executed a diving roll and retreat despite his injury, focusing through the pain to throw with reasonable accuracy while formulating an escape. He survived two of our finest, even after passing his test and hours of difficult training."


    "Keep a close eye on him." He instructed. Then Bakuto addressed the room, his voice carrying an undertone of significance. "I''ll notify the other Fingers of The Hand. We may have found a Black Sky candidate."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson stood in the corner of the room, observing the group who had been watching him. He listened as the man, Bakuto, described Tyson as a Black Sky candidate. Tyson vaguely remembered the title from his meta-knowledge but had no idea what it meant. One thing Tyson had recalled was the man, Bakuto. He was a high-ranking member of the Hand. His memories of the Iron Fist television show were hazy, but he believed the guy might be immortal, or ageless from snuffing dragon bones¡­ or something. Iron Fist wasn''t good enough for Tyson to have paid close attention.


    The remaining members of the Hand listened with rapt attention as Bakuto described his years-long search for a new Black Sky, and how Tyson now seemed a perfect candidate. After some muttered discussion, the group dispersed to attend to various tasks. Colleen returned to Chikara Dojo while the other women accompanied Bakuto to retrieve Cherry Blossom.


    Lady Bullseye was the exception. She pulled on her heavy coat again, disguising her features, and headed north, peeling off her domino mask and wiping away the bullseye makeup as she went. Descending into the East Broadway subway station near Seaward Park, she was unaware of Tyson following her under the veil of his illusions.


    Tyson sat in the subway car, keeping a watchful eye on Lady Bullseye. She sat hunched, scowling at the floor, seemingly more upset than angry about her failure. He considered his options. He could end her now, removing one of the Hand assassins from the world. But he would not act rashly. Better to learn what he could from her first.


    The train slowed, and Lady Bullseye rose heading for the doors. Tyson followed, his illusions cloaking him from view. They emerged into a Monday night lacking the usual bustle, though small groups laughed and chattered on the sidewalks. Vendors hawked their wares, competing with the muffled thump of hip-hop leaking from open doorways. Graffiti sprawled across aging brick, splashes of vivid color.


    A homeless man ranted on the corner, his voice carrying clearly. "There''s more than the Lizard crawling about under our streets. I''ve seen other monsters down there!"


    Lady Bullseye paid him no mind, her boots clicking against the pavement as she stalked away. Tyson followed, keeping to the shadows, his senses alert for any potential ambush.


    Oblivious, Lady Bullseye strode onward.


    She made for a less-gentrified building, the sign labeling it, Marchand Pharmaceuticals. The name nagged faintly at Tyson''s memory but he could not place it. Lady Bullseye went inside, and Tyson followed.


    She was admitted past security and Tyson moved in her shadow, still using his illusions to avoid any scrutiny. He wracked his brain trying to remember why the name Marchand Pharmaceuticals was so familiar. He couldn''t remember it from any of his meta-knowledge. Was it something from his time here, had he seen an advertisement or commercial and was mistaking it for something significant?


    Lady Bullseye made her way to the top floor, unaware Tyson was only feet away, within the same elevator car. She entered an executive office. Tyson read the name on the door¡­


    Edgar Lascombe.


    Tyson''s brow furrowed as he slipped through the door behind Lady Bullseye, the name on the office plaque nagging at him. It joined the litany of half-remembered details crowding his thoughts, whispers from the past that should have meant something if he could only grasp their significance.


    His feet carried him forward on instinct, gliding across the plush carpet as his eyes roved the opulent surroundings. The furniture, the leather chairs, all screamed money and power. The kind of place where decisions got made, and fortunes rose and fell on the whims of the elite.


    Lady Bullseye strode toward the broad desk without a sideways glance, seemingly oblivious to her silent shadow. Tyson hung back, merging with the dimness of a corner, his mind still wrestling with those persistent names. Marchand Pharmaceuticals. Edgar Lascombe. They twisted through his thoughts like smoke, maddeningly familiar yet ever-elusive. Pieces of a puzzle scattered by time, he could only hope their importance would become clear.


    A man, Tyson assumed was Lascombe, greeted her condescendingly, "Ah you''re back. Done playing ninja?"


    She replied tersely, "I don''t play." Her severe expression softened as she neared Lascombe. Lady Bullseye leaned in, and Tyson heard her whisper, "Hail, Hydra."


    Tyson slowly pieced together the puzzle laid before him as Lady Bullseye and Lascombe spoke. The mention of Hydra by Lady Bullseye sent a chill down his spine. Then it struck him.


    Edgar Lascombe.


    CEO of a pharmaceutical company.


    This man had been mentioned months ago¡­


    By Cindy Moon''s mother under Tyson''s interrogation.


    Tyson''s search for Cindy had stalled after speaking with her mom. That piece of information had seemed minor at the time, but now, as he stood listening to Lady Bullseye, it was the missing link he had been searching for. Lascombe wasn''t just a high-profile CEO, but a Hydra operative, tied to the sinister web surrounding the fate of Cindy Moon.


    As Tyson stood in the shadows, his thoughts drifted back to that day at Oscorp. The day of the spider bite. He hadn''t known Cindy, not really. He had only spoken with her that one time. If he hadn''t seen her bitten by the same spider that gave Peter his powers, Tyson likely would have never noticed the girl.


    The realization that Hydra was involved deepened the mystery surrounding Cindy''s disappearance. If Hydra had Cindy he needed to do something about it.


    Tyson knew he needed a plan, and his mastery of illusion would provide the perfect springboard.


    Concealed in the shadows of the dimly lit office, Tyson watched silently as Lady Bullseye took her leave, her footsteps echoing down the hallway until the door clicked shut behind her. Edgar Lascombe was now alone, seated at his desk, oblivious to the predator lurking unseen in his midst.


    Tyson''s understanding of the dynamics at play here grew during the conversation between the CEO and the assassin. Lascombe was clearly the architect, the mastermind wielding power through cunning and influence rather than brute force. Lady Bullseye seemed to be the muscle, either a lower-ranking Hydra member or a hired mercenary. Realizing that Lascombe held authority over Lady Bullseye, Tyson had remained in the office while allowing her to depart.


    Studying Lascombe intently, Tyson considered his approach. A direct confrontation would be foolish. Killing one man who was a Hydra operative, even if he was one of the leaders, wouldn''t solve anything. It wouldn''t bring Tyson any closer to finding Cindy Moon, and he could end up revealing himself prematurely when stealth and subterfuge were his greatest assets. Instead, he would need to exploit what Lascombe and Hydra prided themselves on; information and influence. Tyson would craft an intricate illusion, a scenario designed to manipulate the manipulator, drawing Lascombe out and leading him to divulge more about Cindy''s whereabouts or Hydra''s plans. Tyson''s powers gave him the unique ability to weave convincing worlds, turning Lascombe''s reality into a stage under Tyson''s direction.


    As Lascombe resumed his paperwork, unaware of the hidden threat, Tyson soundlessly approached the desk and took the chair recently occupied by Lady Bullseye. When Lascombe glanced up, all he saw were two eyes fixed upon him. One blue, one green. Mesmerized by their pull, Lascombe''s will was worn away, falling before the mercy of the illusionist.


    Edgar Lascombe found himself standing before the shadowy visages of the HYDRA council, their faces obscured to anonymity behind dark silhouettes. Though only the vaguest impressions of gender and hairstyle could be gleaned, their authority rang clear.


    "How are things in New York?" one of the faceless heads intoned, the voice distorted beyond recognition.


    With practiced composure, Lascombe launched into an update on HYDRA operations within the city. "The Green Goblin''s imprisonment has opened avenues previously beyond our reach," he explained, hands clasped behind his back. "However, with the Stark Expo coming in three months, many eyes have been drawn to the city, the most bothersome being Tony Stark himself. His meddling has proven exceptionally disruptive thus far." Murmurs of agreement echoed from the shadowy figures, their obscured heads nodding in unison. "Oscorp teeters in the wake of Osborn''s reveal, and sentencing," Lascombe continued. "Public trust has been shaken. We must stoke these embers of doubt, drawing the disillusioned to our cause. The time is ripe to recruit among Oscorp''s disenchanted employees."


    "And what of the new players?" one council member interjected, their distorted voice betraying no identifiable traits. "The illusionist, Mirage, and other emerging threats?"


    Lascombe''s expression remained impassive. "Mirage poses an unknown danger. His abilities suggest that he could be a potential asset or a formidable adversary. We monitor his movements, but his powers make him difficult to pin down."


    "We''ve received intelligence that Mirage will be setting up a permanent location somewhere in Manhattan soon," said one of the shadowed figures in their distorted voice, "We recommend you double down, try to recruit him, but place assets in his retinue in case recruitment fails and he needs to be eliminated."


    Lascombe nodded slowly, considering the counsel. "A prudent suggestion," he acknowledged.


    His analytical mind was already sifting through his vast network of operatives to select the perfect candidate for this delicate mission.


    An image came to him then, of the lithe, dark-haired woman who had left his office just a few minutes earlier.


    Yes, she would serve perfectly, he mused, the ghost of a smile playing at his thin lips. She could woo Mirage into the Hydra fold with her charms, while also closely watching the illusionist should he prove resistant¡­ or a threat. Recruitment was always preferable, bringing new talents into Hydra''s embrace, but should Mirage not see the light, he would need to be neutralized. And she was a master assassin, her skills honed by the Hand. She might actually be able to take down the illusionist before he could bring his powers to bear.


    "I have just the asset in mind," Lascombe affirmed to the gathering, satisfied that he had found the solution to dealing with the wildcard that was Mirage.


    A vaguely female figure spoke, "And what of the other? The Spider-Man?" Though her words held a hint of curiosity, her tone remained flat.


    Lascombe shifted as he answered, "Spider-Man focuses on petty crimes like drug rings and robberies, but nothing beyond the level of human trafficking. The incident at Oscorp was an anomaly driven by the Green Goblin, not due to any interest or vendetta against the corporation itself." He paused, steepling his fingers. "His interests are mundane. In terms of threat level, he''s negligible. As for recruitment..." Lascombe shook his head. "Highly unlikely. His moral compass does not align with our objectives."


    The woman pressed on. "And the girl? Remind me of her story."


    A frown flickered across Lascombe''s face. He''d thought that matter resolved. "An associate brought her to me thinking that I could cure her. She presented as a prime opportunity for studying enhanced individuals. Her powers seemingly stemmed from an unidentified illness and mimicked Spider-Man''s almost exactly." Lascombe sighed. " She could have aided our research, but it was deemed too risky to leave her in the same city as Spider-Man. Others on this council feared there might be some link between them that he could capitalize on, exposing us. She was relocated to a facility, though I''m unaware of her status. Either an Eastern Europe or Asia cell. Her blood samples remain secured in my office. Any details on her current status would fall to whichever cell now oversees her."


    Silence engulfed the room as the council members absorbed this information. No further questions came regarding the girl. With the meeting at its end, the shadowy figures receded into the darkness.


    Lascombe sat alone contemplating the discussions that had just taken place regarding the girl, Cindy Moon. Unease gnawed at him as he recalled the council''s pointed inquiries about her.


    He rose from his seat, a growing disquiet prodding him to take action. With brisk steps, Lascombe made his way to the secure vault secreted within his private office.


    At the vault door, Lascombe keyed in the code to disengage the lock. The heavy metallic door swung open with a soft hiss, granting him access to the secrets secured within. Lascombe''s eyes quickly found the refrigerated storage unit harboring Cindy Moon''s precious blood samples.


    Lascombe released a small sigh of relief at the sight of the storage unit, undisturbed and intact. The potential knowledge locked away in Cindy''s blood, the possibility it held could be the key to unlocking new understandings of genetic mutations or abilities. It was beyond valuable to Hydra. To understand and control such assets was everything.


    Reassured of the samples'' security, Lascombe closed the vault door firmly. The locking mechanism re-engaged with a definitive click, sealing away the secrets once more.


    With the vault again secured, Lascombe turned on his heel, mind already returning to his work.


    Tyson slipped out of Lascombe''s office, the container of Cindy Moon''s blood clutched securely in his hands. A storm of emotions roiled within as the realization that Cindy was under Hydra''s control settled. That brief window after her transformative spider bite, when his intervention could have spared the girl her fate, haunted Tyson. If only he had known. Though it was fruitless to dwell on past mistakes, the bitter sting of regret needled him. He could only move forward, aware that each choice he made carried consequences.


    In putting himself, or rather Mirage, on Hydra''s radar, Tyson had taken a calculated risk. Yet he believed the old adage held true. Better the devil you know than the devil you don''t. Tyson viewed his illusionary manipulations as a gambit, a way to control the narrative on his terms. Lascombe was more than just an opponent to be thwarted; Tyson saw the potential to manipulate the man into an asset.


    So when Hydra''s tendrils reached for Mirage, Tyson would appear receptive, welcoming their goals and promises. He understood the dangers of engaging such a ruthless, far-reaching entity as Hydra. But opportunity dwelled alongside the risk.


    And in stealing Cindy''s blood, Tyson claimed a prize, while depriving Hydra of their asset. A satisfying first strike against the looming foe. Now he just needed to clear their security footage and get back to his motorcycle to reclaim the rest of his loot.

 Arc 4 - Ch 13: Preview

    Date: Saturday, March 5, 2011.


    Location: Empire Suite, Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Inviting scents filled the air of Tyson''s Manhattan apartment on the first Saturday evening in March. He had invited his friends Peter and Gwen over for dinner. As the three sat around the dining table, Gwen twirled some pasta onto her fork and then took a bite. "Tyson, this is amazing!" she exclaimed after swallowing the perfectly cooked spaghetti. "I didn''t know you could cook."


    "Yeah, man, this is great," Peter agreed, though his eating technique was messier and there were small dots of sauce at the corners of his mouth.


    "Thanks," Tyson replied modestly, "but I can''t take much credit. I just plated the food. I can''t imagine ever being able to cook something like this myself."


    The three friends chatted casually at first, about school, news around the city, and little details of their day-to-day lives. But Tyson''s expression grew more solemn as the meal started winding down. He turned his gaze to Peter. "Pete," he began, looking his friend in the eyes, "I know we''ve had our differences, especially about how to handle the bad guys in this city." He paused. "But I want you to know that you''re one of my truest friends. I hope you feel the same way about me."


    Peter looked down at his plate for a moment, caught off guard. But then he smiled sincerely back up at Tyson. "Of course, man. Since we first met, you''ve had my back. That means a lot to me."


    Tyson nodded slowly before continuing. "I know it''s been difficult for you since Uncle Ben died. I want to help¡­ financially."


    Peter''s face tensed, his hands fidgeting with the napkin. "I appreciate the offer, but I don''t need handouts. I can manage on my own."


    "It''s not a handout," Tyson insisted earnestly, "Police officers are paid for their work. You do the same on the streets, even more, yet receive nothing. That''s unfair. Your efforts warrant compensation."


    Gwen, listening intently, agreed. "He''s right. You risk yourself daily and deserve support."


    Peter looked between them, seeing their concern. He sighed, considering, then asked with tentative curiosity, "Alright, what did you have in mind?"


    Tyson let out a breath, relieved that Peter was open to considering his offer. "I''ve been thinking," he began, his eyes alight with a mix of excitement and earnestness, "about putting on illusion shows. One of the shows I want to create is ''Spider-Man.'' We''d charge admission, and since it''s your story, a portion of the ticket sales would go directly to you, Pete."


    Peter''s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the unexpected idea. He looked a bit uneasy but intrigued. "Shows, huh?" he mused, scratching the back of his neck. "But my identity. I can''t have people knowing who I am or anything about my personal life."


    Gwen''s brow furrowed in confusion. "Illusion shows? What are you talking about?" she asked. A moment later, her eyes widened with realization. She pointed an accusatory finger at Tyson and exclaimed, "You''re Mirage! That''s how he," Catching herself, Gwen corrected, "I mean, that''s how you got there so quickly when the Lizard attacked. You were already at school!"


    Tyson grinned cheekily. "Guilty as charged," he admitted. "Two superheroes in this city. One''s your boyfriend, and the other''s your lab partner. What are the odds?"


    Shaking her head in disbelief, Gwen struggled to wrap her mind around the revelation that both her best male friends had secret identities. The idea that she had been working alongside Mirage all this time without realizing it was astonishing.


    "Don''t worry about any reveals," Tyson quickly assured Peter, waving a hand dismissively. "I''ll keep your identity a secret. We''ll use generic identities instead of real ones. So instead of Aunt May, the audience would see a ''motherly figure.'' No real names, no real faces, just the essence of the story.


    Gwen nodded, looking impressed. "That''s a clever approach," she said approvingly. "It maintains Peter''s privacy while allowing his story to inspire others."


    Peter leaned back, regarding Tyson with a new appraisal. "You''ve thought this through, haven''t you?"


    Tyson gave a small, sheepish smile. "Yeah, I guess I have. I just...I see the things you do, Pete. You''re out there every day, risking yourself for everyone else. You deserve to have someone looking out for you too." The room fell silent as Tyson''s earnest words sank in.


    The constant struggle to balance responsibilities weighed on Peter, but he persevered because there was no other option. Finally resolving himself, Peter met Tyson''s gaze. "Okay, let''s try it," he agreed, a tentative but hopeful smile emerging.


    Tyson nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of Peter''s trust. "We''ll be discreet. You have my word."


    Gwen covered Peter''s hand with hers. For the first time in too long, Peter felt a ray of optimism that he might not have to bear the world''s troubles alone.


    "Want a preview?" Tyson asked eagerly.


    Peter blinked, surprised. "You''ve got it planned already?"


    Gwen commented, "I''d love to see what you''ve prepared."


    "Have a seat," Tyson directed. "Full immersion can be disorienting at first."


    The suite melted away around them, replaced by a scene of a quaint living room. Tyson, in his Mirage costume, helped an exhausted young man through the doorway into the home. The young man''s grandparents approached, recognizing his weakened state. But he explained his fatigue away to the concerned grandparents, whose faces were adjusted to be generic retirees for anonymity. "I just need to sleep it off," the young man said.


    The sun outside the bedroom''s window, set then rose, indicating the passage of time. When the young man woke, his world had changed. The observers could nearly taste his astonishment as he discovered unfamiliar muscles rippling under his skin. The story unfolded from there in a montage of discovery; tentative climbs up sheer building walls, web-swinging across the rooftops, and a wrestling match against a massive man. The crowd''s cheers were an almost tangible presence.


    Then the mood shifted, weighted down by a terrible scene. The young man''s grandfather fell to the sidewalk, struck down by a criminal over a petty squabble. The grief was overwhelming in its intensity, the desire for justice burning bright in the young man''s eyes.


    Throughout the unfolding drama, Peter and Gwen sat silent and rapt. Peter''s heart clenched at the thinly disguised truth of his past splayed out before them, the core of his journey untouched despite the anonymity of the characters. It was strange, to see his life acted out by mysterious actors. He sat in silence as the living room around him settled back into its familiar shapes and colors. The emotional weight of what he had just witnessed still hung over him, though the images themselves had faded away. Beside him, Gwen let out a soft breath. "That was...incredible," she said, her voice filled with awe. Tears glistened in her eyes.


    Peter did not respond right away. His own eyes were distant, turned inward as he wrestled with the memories and feelings that had been stirred up by the vivid dramatization. After a long moment, he looked up and met Tyson''s expectant gaze. "You did good," Peter told him seriously. "Really good."


    Tyson''s shoulders sagged in relief and a grin spread across his face. "It''s all about the story, Pete," he replied eagerly. "And you''ve got one of the best." He knew he had ventured onto sacred ground by retelling even a veiled version of Peter''s past. But it was a story worth telling, one that could potentially inspire countless others. "But that''s only the first act!" Tyson exclaimed. Excitement was plain on his face as the living room began to morph and change around them once more.


    The living room transformed into a dense jungle scene. Spider-Man, clad in his signature red and blue costume, swung gracefully between the trees, pursued by the hunter, Kraven. The branches lashed as Kraven launched trap after trap, but Spider-Man evaded each one with acrobatic flair, the tension escalating as he narrowly escaped capture again and again.


    The lush greens of the imagined Central Park jungle faded away, replaced by the vibrant floats, music, and crowds of a parade. The festive atmosphere was shattered by a sudden explosion, chaos taking hold as panic swept through the masses. But Spider-Man was there weaving through the mayhem, battling the Green Goblin and helping terrified civilians to safety.


    Gwen watched the scene unfold with a proud smile touching her lips. "That''s the Spider-Man I know," she murmured.


    The parade dissolved, revealing Kraven once more, this time ambushing Spider-Man. But Mirage was there, engaging the villain in fierce melee combat. After an intense exchange of blows, Mirage defeated Kraven.


    The scene shifted without pause, revealing the Green Goblin bursting into view atop his glider. He cackled maniacally as he hurled pumpkin bombs down upon the Queensboro Bridge below. Cars screeched to halts and people screamed in terror at the sudden chaos. The villain held a frightened young woman and a cable car brimming with hostages suspended precariously over the edge. In a heart-stopping moment, Spider-Man managed to rescue the hostages from their peril while Mirage distracted the Goblin.


    Then abruptly the setting changed again. They now stood on a different bridge, but this time Mirage was locked in fierce combat with a massive, reptilian creature, the Lizard. The two clashed violently, their battle ending with the Lizard forced to retreat, leaping from the bridge to the waters below. Mirage peered over the edge, following the creature''s descent until he hit the water and disappeared from view. The scenery then transitioned seamlessly from just under the surface of the dark river, rising into the dank confines of the sewer tunnels beneath the city. There, it was Spider-Man that confronted the Lizard. Water splashed and echoed off the walls as the two tumbled through the narrow tunnels, each fighter struggling to gain the advantage over the other.


    Gwen held onto the sofa''s edge, leaning forward as the fight continued. "This is so thrilling," she murmured, and Peter nodded, equally engrossed.


    The final change brought them to Midtown High, the school looked ordinary at first until the Lizard crashed into view, with Spider-Man right behind him. They watched the fierce battle unfold through the halls Peter knew so well, leading to a battle in the library, with a humorously oblivious librarian, and ending with Spider-Man entangling the lizard within an enclosed breezeway.


    As the illusion faded and they returned to Tyson''s living room, Peter and Gwen were briefly speechless, the echoes of the battles still ringing in their ears.


    "Tyson, that was... unbelievable," Gwen said, her voice filled with wonder.


    Peter''s emotions, a whirlwind of pride, nostalgia, and a touch of sorrow, could only nod in agreement. Seeing his journey, his battles, and his commitment to being a hero portrayed through Tyson''s illusions was overwhelming. "You''ve turned my life into an epic tale," Peter finally managed, his voice steady despite the storm inside.


    Tyson, looking gratified, replied, "It''s not fiction, Pete. It''s a tribute. You''re the real hero, I''m just here to make sure the world sees the amazing Spider-Man the way I do."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The morning sun gleamed off the towering glass and steel edifice of the Oscorp building. Inside, Harry Osborn, the youngest CEO in the company''s history, adjusted his tie with shaky hands as he prepared to face his first corporate board meeting since taking the reins of the family business. The shadow cast by his father, Norman''s, fall from grace still haunted the halls of Oscorp, and the weight of his new role settled heavily on Harry''s slender shoulders.


    Harry entered the sleek boardroom, dominated by a long polished table that gleamed under the recessed lighting. Stern faces greeted him, veterans of the business world with decades more experience than Harry''s scant years alive. Impeccably dressed in sharp suits, they contrasted Harry''s youthful appearance, making him feel out of place in his inheritance.


    "Mr. Osborn," greeted Mr. Davis, the lead board member, his voice cool and measured. "We trust you''re aware of the urgent matters on today''s agenda."


    Harry swallowed, finding his voice. "Yes. The recent incidents involving... my father and Dr. Connors." Voicing it aloud felt surreal. Each event was another blow to his family''s tarnished legacy.


    "Exactly," Mrs. Cho interjected sharply, tapping her pen with impatience. "Oscorp''s reputation is teetering on the precipice. We''ve been dragged through the mud, tainted by association with the Green Goblin fiasco. Not to mention the theft of our experimental serums."


    Harry swallowed, his throat dry. The cool gaze of the Oscorp board members weighed upon him as they awaited his response. They expected solutions from the young Osborn scion.


    "We need damage control," Mr. Davis stated, his tone brooking no argument. "And strategies to secure our assets. What are your plans, Mr. Osborn?"


    Harry felt sweat beading his brow. He had spent night after night poring over company reports, security protocols, and PR strategies, but it all seemed inadequate now. "I-I have been working on upgrading our security system and reaching out to the best PR firms in the city," he stammered, trying to project more confidence than he felt.


    Mr. Davis raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. "And the experimental serums that disappeared? The public is as of yet unaware that the Lizard is Dr. Connors, if that information gets out how will you handle it? And the glider stolen by Mirage? How do you plan to retrieve it?"


    "I intend to work with law enforcement and politicians to force Mirage to return the stolen property," Harry replied. The words felt foreign on his tongue as he strained to sound convincing. "Additionally, I plan to audit our internal processes to prevent future security breaches. As for Dr. Connors, should word get out, we''ll disavow his actions as a scientist gone rogue. Disassociate his name with Oscorp."


    The board members exchanged glances, their doubt was tangible. They were accustomed to Norman Osborn''s bold, assertive leadership. Harry''s tentative manner was a stark contrast.


    "Your father had a... formidable presence," Mrs. Cho said, not unkindly. "He made difficult decisions, for better or worse. Can you fill his shoes, Harry?"


    Harry was trying to preserve his father''s legacy, to become the man his father wanted him to be. But under their expectant gazes, he felt inadequate. He had never expected to take the reins of his inheritance so soon.


    "I know I''m not my father," he said, meeting their doubtful gazes unflinchingly, "But I am an Osborn. This company is my legacy, and I''ll do everything in my power to protect it and restore its name."


    Silence fell over the room as the board members weighed his words. Harry resisted the urge to fill the silence with further justifications. He had said what he needed to say. Now his fate rested in their hands.


    After a pause that felt to Harry like an eternity, Mr. Davis finally nodded. "Very well, Mr. Osborn. You have our support, for now." His tone made it clear the probationary period would be brief. "But be aware, we will be monitoring the situation closely. Results are what matter at the end of the day."


    Harry exhaled in relief. It was a small victory, but also a clear warning. The board would be watching him. He would need to prove himself, and quickly.


    The recent board meeting had left Harry determined to shift Oscorp''s trajectory. The public catastrophes of the weapons and biotech divisions'' failures needed decisive action to counterbalance them. Beneath his calm demeanor, his mind raced. Stark Industries made waves with its clean energy advancements with the Arc reactor, but Oscorp had an ace up its sleeve. Dr. Octavius''s energy project was a potential game-changer. Harry needed a win, and this could be his chance to not only restore Oscorp''s tarnished image but also step out from his father''s shadow in a way that would make Norman proud.


    He called his assistant to arrange a meeting with Dr. Octavius. Hearing the urgency in Harry''s voice, she promptly set it up.


    The sharp, metallic scent of technology permeated Dr. Octavius''s lab, mingling with the constant hum of machinery. Amidst the organized chaos of blueprints and prototype models, the doctor greeted Harry Osborn with a firm handshake. "Harry, to what do I owe the pleasure?" inquired Dr. Octavius, a hint of curiosity in his voice.


    Harry clasped his hands behind his back, desperation hidden beneath his practiced corporate poise as he surveyed the lab. "Doc, I''ll cut to the chase. Oscorp needs a win, something to get us back in the public''s good graces and appease the board. Your energy project is our best shot."


    Dr. Octavius nodded. "I''m aware of the company''s recent difficulties, Harry. But the prototype isn''t ready for a large-scale demo yet. There are variables I still need to test."


    Pacing, pressure mounted on Harry''s shoulders. "The Stark Expo is coming up. Imagine if we could upstage Stark''s presentation with our breakthrough. We could change the narrative, focus on Oscorp''s contributions to the future rather than its past failures."


    Removing his glasses, Dr. Octavius considered the desperate yet hopeful young CEO before him. He couldn''t help but muse that he was so unlike his ruthless father. "It''s risky. But if it could reshape Oscorp''s story, it may be worth trying. I''ll need more resources though. Staff, equipment, funds."


    "Whatever you need, Doc. I believe in your work," Harry assured fervently. He envisioned a future for Oscorp rising from the ashes of his father''s fall. "This could be the fresh start we need."


    Harry strode through Oscorp Tower, shoulders burdened under the weight of his family''s legacies and the expectations that came with them. The tower was a hive of innovation and secrets, many of them dangerous. But Harry''s next stop wasn''t about the good of the company. He''d left that in Dr. Octavius''s hands. His next destination was personal.


    Dr. Miles Warren''s lab stood in stark contrast to Dr. Octavius''s chaotic workspace. Warren''s department was pristine and clinical, every instrument neatly in its ordained place, creating an environment that mirrored the precision genetic research required. Dr. Warren himself was a lean man, his sharp features softened by a polite smile.


    "Dr. Warren," Harry greeted as he entered the lab, extending a hand, which Warren shook with surprising firmness.


    "Mr. Osborn," Warren nodded, his voice smooth and cultured. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"


    Harry inhaled, steeling himself. "After Dr. Connors''s... incident, Oscorp needs stability, especially in our genetics division. I want you to lead it, Miles. I''ve seen your research and your ambition. You''re what we need now."


    Warren''s polite smile widened just a fraction, in a subtle acknowledgment of the compliment. "That''s a substantial task, especially in light of recent events."


    Harry''s words carried a confidence he did not truly feel as he told Warren, "And I believe you can do it." He reached inside his coat and retrieved a carefully sealed vial. "This," Harry continued, "is a sample I discreetly collected from the battle at Midtown High. It''s Spider-Man''s blood."


    Warren''s eyes sharpened as the possibilities that the sample represented settled heavily upon him. "This is an extraordinary opportunity, Harry. The genetic potential¡ª"


    "¡ªis immense," Harry interrupted, an edge creeping into his voice. "Spider-Man and Mirage, they''ve made a mess of Oscorp''s reputation, of my family''s legacy. Understanding his genetics, what makes him...him, could be key to reclaiming what we''ve lost."


    Warren regarded Harry carefully, reading the pain and subtle fury etched into the young CEO''s face. "You''re looking for more than understanding, aren''t you, Harry?"


    The muscles in Harry''s jaw tightened as he ground his teeth. His father''s ignoble fall from grace, the chaos unleashed at Midtown High, Mirage confiscating their multi-billion dollar military project¡­ It all circled his mind like vultures over a carcass, pecking away at his composure.


    "I want Oscorp restored to its former glory," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "To once again be untouchable. If this research gives us an advantage, protects us from future... threats," his eyes bored into Warren''s, "then it''s a path we must follow. If Spider-Man and Mirage are knocked down a peg, or removed from the board entirely, in the process, then so much the better."


    Dr. Warren nodded slowly, "You''ll have my full discretion and dedication, Harry. This could redefine Oscorp, and perhaps even the world."


    Harry exhaled, the pressure on his chest momentarily easing. "Do what you must, Miles. Just...keep me informed."


    "Of course, Mr. Osborn."


    As Harry left the lab, vial in hand, the implications of what he''d set in motion loomed ominously. He was playing a dangerous game. His father had played a similar one, and it had cost him his life. But Harry was determined to restore Oscorp''s dominance, settle old scores, and secure his legacy, whatever it took.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Date: Saturday, April 9, 2011.


    Location: Grand Central Station, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson stood in Grand Central Station, anticipation rolling off him in waves as his eyes scanned the arrivals board. It had been months since he''d seen his friends, and his heart thrummed a nervous beat in his chest. Then, like a break in the clouds, Jubilee burst through the terminal doors. Her short black hair bobbed around her face, which was lit up with the kind of smile that could outshine the sun. Her yellow jacket, iconic and ever-present, contrasted vibrantly against her pink top and jeans, the ensemble complete with pink shades perched atop her head.


    "Tyson!" she squealed, skipping the last few feet between them and launching herself into his arms.


    He caught her easily, laughing as he spun her around, the noise and bustle of the station narrowing down to this single brilliant slice of happiness. "Jubes! I''ve missed you like crazy!"


    She pulled back, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yea! I bet you missed hanging with the coolest mutant around!"


    "Every single day," he grinned, setting her down but keeping an arm slung around her shoulders in an affectionate half-hug.


    It was then that Jean Grey approached the reunited friends. She was dressed more casually than Jubilee, in a simple green sweater and jeans. "Hey, Tyson," Jean greeted him warmly, a smile that, while more controlled than Jubilee''s exuberance, held a world of sincerity.


    "Hey, Jean." Tyson''s grin widened as he pulled the redhead into a one-armed hug, mindful of the contact. "It''s really good to see you."


    "You too," Jean replied, stepping back but letting her hand linger on his arm for a moment. The unlikely trio stood together, different as they were, Jean, Jubilee, and Tyson fit together like puzzle pieces.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened fractionally, her mouth parting in surprise as she focused on a newcomer who''d been waiting nearby. Felicia Hardy stepped up next to Tyson, alabaster hair cascading behind in silken waves. She was dressed in a figure-hugging black dress that clung to dangerous curves.


    "Guys, this is Felicia," Tyson said by way of introduction.


    Felicia smiled, "I just wanted a peek at the famous friends Tyson keeps talking about," she purred, her voice resonating strangely in the busy train station. "But this is more than I expected."


    With feline grace, Felicia prowled around Jean and Jubilee, appraising them in a way that felt both evaluative and appreciative. She completed her circuit and settled into an effortless pose, hand on hip.


    "Tyson sure knows how to surround himself with beautiful women," Felicia remarked, gaze dancing between the three of them. Stepping in, she gave Jean a brief, too-close hug before moving on to Jubilee. Jubilee''s cheeks flamed bright red and she stammered something unintelligible, her usual spark momentarily dimmed by Felicia''s brazen appraisal. Felicia stepped back, the mischief dancing more brightly in her eyes. "I wish I could stay and chat," she said, a hint of genuine regret flavoring her tone. "But the show demands my attention. A lot of work, you know."


    With a wave, Felicia turned, her departure as notable as her arrival had been. They watched her go with a mesmerizing sway to her hips that commanded the room until she was out of sight.


    "She... she runs all the show stuff," Tyson explained, his voice a tad hoarse as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. "I just put it on."


    "That''s your girlfriend?" Jean asked, an eyebrow arching gracefully in inquiry.


    "Nah, we''re just friends," Tyson rushed to clarify, but the flush of heat in his cheeks told quite another story.


    Jubilee, finally regaining her composure, coughed conspicuously. "Bullshit," in mock disbelief.


    Their laughter still echoed in the black taxi as it wove through the bustling New York traffic. The towering buildings of the cityscape slid by in a vibrant blur past the smudged windows. Jubilee bounced excitedly on the cracked vinyl seat, her infectious energy radiating outward. She turned to Tyson, eyes bright with anticipation.


    "So, where to?" she asked eagerly. "We''ve got hours before the show tonight."


    Tyson''s voice rang with assurance as he replied, "We''re going to hit the stores first." He smiled, continuing, "You guys need some dazzling outfits for the premiere tonight. It''s a pretty formal affair, being opening night and all."


    At the mention of shopping, Jubilee''s excitement ramped up another notch, an almost visible vibration thrumming through her small frame. Combined with Jean''s slight, appreciative smile, both reactions brought a flush of satisfaction to Tyson''s cheeks.


    "And after the shopping?" Jean asked.


    "We''ll head back to my hotel. They''ve got an excellent restaurant there for lunch," Tyson explained casually, though inwardly he hoped his friends would share his building excitement for the glamorous evening ahead. "Then we can get ready for the show in my room."


    Jubilee''s eyes glinted with mischief. "I can''t wait to go back to your room," she quipped playfully before pink flushed across her cheeks as she realized the unintended implication of her words. She hurried to clarify, "I mean, I can''t wait to see how nice the room is!"


    Their laughter once again filled the cab. The taxi continued weaving through the chaotic traffic, the blaring horns and urban clamor a distant backdrop to their lively reunion. All along the sidewalks, people streamed by in a constant flow of motion. The cab pulled up to the curb in Soho, its passengers spilling out onto the sidewalk under the clear spring sky. Jean and Jubilee stepped out and paused to take in the energetic buzz of the chic neighborhood. People milled about them as the latest fashions beckoned from stylish shop windows. The three friends strolled down the busy streets, eyes drawn to the myriad of upscale styles on display. Their leisurely walk eventually led them to the Prada store on 5th Avenue.


    Jubilee''s eyes lit up at its modern design and elegant aesthetic. "This is it!" she declared, excitement clear in her voice as they stepped into the high-end boutique.


    Inside, everything exuded sophistication, from the clean lines of the furniture to the refined attire along the racks. Jubilee and Jean dove into the rows of clothing. Their enthusiasm was evident as they flipped through the options, soft sounds of rustling fabric filling the air.


    "How about this one?" Jean held up a shimmering dress, its subtle sheen catching the light.


    "Try it on! Try it on!" Jubilee chanted encouragingly, already clutching several choices of her own. They headed for the fitting rooms, eager to begin their fashion extravaganza.


    What followed was a whirlwind of style and opinions. Dresses were donned and discarded as critiques and laughter were exchanged. The clicks of shoes being tested echoed on the fitting room floor. Bags of various colors and designs were examined and debated.


    Finally, with their decisions made, the two friends stood with, complete outfits in hand; chic dresses, matching bags, and shoes ready for a night out.


    Jean and Jubilee approached the register with arms laden with purchases. Jubilee''s face fell when she saw the total cost. "Tyson, this is too much," she protested, worry creasing her brow.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Tyson gave her a reassuring smile, waving off her concern with a flick of his hand. "Don''t worry about it. It''s my treat. You guys will look stunning tonight," he insisted in a tone that brooked no argument.


    Jubilee''s eyes softened as gratitude replaced her concern. "Thank you, Tyson," she said, her voice sincere. Jean echoed Jubilee''s sentiment with a warm smile of her own.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Savory aromas of seared meats and heady spices wafted around Jean, Jubilee, and Tyson having lunch at the Four Seasons restaurant. Jean had ordered a steaming plate of pasta carbonara, the rich sauce coating the noodles making her mouth water. Jubilee''s colorful, zesty salad sat before her, a medley of textures and flavors. Tyson''s medium-rare steak occupied his plate, the juices pooling enticingly atop the expertly seared meat.


    Tyson flicked his wrist ever so subtly as they began to eat, a faint shimmer in the air was the only outward sign of the illusion now cloaking their table, masking their conversation from any curious ears in the restaurant. Though unnecessary, Tyson thought that the gestures and visual distortion would help his companions grasp when his power was in effect. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself to unravel the tale of the past months.


    "I don''t remember how much I told you before," Tyson began, ready to catch his friends up on all they had missed. He started with his and Illyana''s journey back to New York, "After you left Alkali Lake, we popped into Limbo, between teleports while trying to find the nearest city. We were surprised to discover Azazel''s return upon our arrival, and the army of demons he''d coordinated in Limbo." Tyson recounted, "We searched the city for help and eventually stumbled upon a group of sorcerers based there. During our meeting with them, the Sorceress Supreme, their leader, cast a spell on me that let Illyana and I touch. But the spell didn''t block my power from absorbing hers. It gave me hours of access to Illyana¡¯s power."


    "It was an opportunity we couldn¡¯t pass up. When else would we have two of us nearly able to keep up with Azazel''s teleportation? So, we assaulted Azazel¡¯s stronghold," Tyson said, his voice low but intense. "You know about how Jubilee snuck out of the institute and insisted I borrowed her ability. With your power, Jubilee, and the help of Logan and Colossus, Illyana managed to end Azazel. Afterward, she decided to stay with the sorcerers."


    Tyson continued, detailing his return to normal school life in the city, only to get pulled into an unexpected friendship with Spider-Man, battling foes like the Green Goblin and the Lizard. Jubilee, her fork paused mid-air as she listened, interjected with a grin, "Did you just say you got entangled with Spider-Man... Was that a spider joke?"


    A chuckle rumbled in Tyson''s chest. "Yup. Anyway, we became friends, and, well, the media dubbed me Mirage," he concluded, taking a sip of water from his glass.


    But Jubilee wasn¡¯t having it. ¡°You left out so much!" she exclaimed, her fork waving accusingly. "Like, you¡¯ve been training to be a ninja, and no mention of Felicia, or the hot teacher, Miss Rushman. What about going up against that crime lord? And where did all this money come from?¡± She gestured around at their opulent surroundings to emphasize her point.


    Tyson laughed again, the sound rich with amusement. "I''m Mirage," he said with a playful wink. "I have to keep some mysteries, right?"


    Jubilee rolled her eyes but couldn''t help smiling. "Not from us, you don¡¯t!"


    Jean, who had been quietly absorbing Tyson''s story up until now, finally spoke up. "It sounds like you''ve been through a lot," she said gently, her voice warm and supportive as she offered him a soft smile.


    "Yeah," Tyson agreed, his smile fading slightly as memories surfaced. "But having you guys here makes it better. Really."


    The remnants of their earlier meal were scattered across the table''s surface. Jean''s green eyes reflected a storm of emotions as she asked, "There''s one mystery I was hoping you''d explain. Why did you leave the institute? Why did you choose to finish school here in the city instead of with us?"


    "That''s a fair question," Tyson conceded as he leaned back in his chair, gathering his thoughts. He took a deep breath before delving into the story of Stryker''s assault on the institute, filling in details the girls had not been privy to.


    "You were there when Stryker''s men stormed the institute. Jean, your power was one of the reasons I was able to hold off the invaders." Tyson''s face was grim as he continued. "Stryker''s teams weren''t just there to capture mutants. They knew exactly where to go and what to take. They ransacked the lower levels, stealing equipment and data from Cerebro. The parts were later used to construct a twisted version of the machine at Alkali Lake."


    He shook his head, disgust evident in his voice. "With the help of a powerful illusionist mutant, Stryker forced Professor X to use this Cerebro to psychically locate every mutant on the planet. They intended to abuse the Professor''s powers, turning his gift into a weapon¡­ to exterminate all mutants." Tyson let out a heavy sigh, the memories still bothering him somewhat.


    "When Magneto and Mystique interfered, things got even messier," Tyson continued. "They tried to reverse Stryker''s plan, aiming instead to eradicate all humans." He paused, his hands clenching at the memory. "Illyana saved me from Magneto after he''d captured me while I was still under Stryker''s mind control. She brought me to Limbo until I finally regained control of myself. We returned just in time to reach the Professor. I unintentionally killed the mutant who was controlling Xavier and absorbed his abilities in the process." Tyson explained, "That''s where my illusion power came from. But then, while he was still vulnerable, I forced Xavier to erase the world''s memories of mutants and everything related to us."


    Tyson took a deep breath before concluding. "I left the institute because I exploited Professor X, manipulating him to enact the worldwide mind-wipe. I can''t say I regret it. At the time, I thought it was the best solution available."


    Tyson''s revelation hung in the air like a lead weight. Jean and Jubilee exchanged glances, the gravity of his words sinking in. Jean finally broke the silence. "That explains so much," she said softly. Jubilee nodded, her usual bubbly energy dimmed. "The news, the public...it''s like all the mutant hate just went underground overnight."


    "And Magneto''s been suspiciously quiet too," Jean added, her brow furrowing in thought. She hesitated before asking, "Have you spoken to the Professor since?"


    Tyson shook his head. "No. I''ve been waiting to see how things unfolded." A somber silence settled over the trio, the pressure of shared histories and secrets pressing down on them. Tyson gave a rueful chuckle, shattering the quiet. "Well, that got heavy. What do you say we lighten things up? Let''s head upstairs and check out my suite."


    Tyson, Jean, and Jubilee stepped out of the elevator into the hallway, leaving behind their finished lunches and the weight of their conversation. The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding as the trio made their way down the corridor to the door of Tyson''s suite.


    As they entered the spacious rooms, the first thing that caught their eyes was the striking figure of a woman standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was silhouetted against the panoramic view of the cityscape. At their entrance, she turned, regarding the new arrivals with a wary, measured gaze. After a moment, her wariness faded, replaced by a slight smile. Her intelligent eyes took in every detail, weighing and assessing the trio in a glance. Her hair was a deep auburn, falling in soft waves just below her shoulders, framing sharp, defined facial features that hinted at a dangerous edge beneath her beauty. She was dressed simply in a black blouse and dark jeans.


    "Nat!" Tyson exclaimed in surprise.


    "Natalie Rushman," the woman introduced herself in a low, husky voice, extending a hand with nails painted a fierce red to the girls in greeting.


    Jubilee''s eyes went wide with recognition, her mouth dropping open. "You''re the hot teacher!" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "No way!"


    Tyson let out a soft groan of mild embarrassment, but Natalie just smiled wider, a glint of humor reaching her eyes. "I''ll take that as a compliment," she said smoothly.


    "What are you doing here?" he asked. Though Tyson''s tone held warmth, there was an edge of accusation in it as well.


    "I wouldn''t miss opening night," Natalie replied smoothly.


    "She knows?" Jubilee asked Tyson, surprise in her voice.


    "Yeah, she knows," he confirmed with a nod.


    The conversation shifted to the evening''s plans and the premiere they were all eagerly anticipating. Tyson''s eyes narrowed playfully at Natalie. "You still have that dress from last time?"


    She gave him a look of mock indignation, arching one eyebrow. "A woman can''t be caught dead wearing the same dress twice," she chided, though her tone held gentle humor. Her gaze swept over Jean and Jubilee, drawing them into the conspiracy of her smile. "But don''t worry. I have something to wear."


    The conversation lulled, and Jubilee turned her attention to Tyson, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "Since you''re putting on this big show, you must have gotten pretty good with your illusions."


    Nat''s smile turned sly at her question. "Hey Jubilee, do you like Naruto?"


    Jubilee''s face lit up with enthusiasm. "Yeah, of course. Why?"


    Nat made a casual gesture toward Tyson. Jubilee followed the motion, locking eyes with Tyson. What she saw next made her gasp in surprise.


    His mismatched irises shifted, replaced by the hypnotic pattern of a three-tomoe Sharingan. The black commas began to spin around his pupils with a smooth, mesmerizing motion.


    And then the world shifted around Jubilee.


    Jubilee found herself standing within the Village Hidden in the Leaves. The sky above was a brilliant azure, dotted with lazy clouds that drifted across its flawless expanse. Fresh, clean air mingled with mouthwatering scents wafting from nearby food stalls where savory meats sizzled over open grills, sweet cakes, and spicy ramen tempted passersby.


    All around her, the village bustled with life and energy. Ninjas of all ages leaped between buildings in incredible displays of agility or gathered in lively groups near shops and stands. The structures themselves were a mosaic of traditional Japanese architecture, with sloping tiled roofs and intricate woodwork. Training yards were a further distance away, filled with targets and battered practice dummies.


    Jubilee''s gaze was drawn to the stern and imposing, yet majestic, mountain deeper in the village. The monumental visage of past village leaders was carved into its cliff face, Hokage Rock.


    But it was the sudden flurry of crows that caught Jubilee''s full attention, a chaotic, cawing cloud that swirled around a figure in an Akatsuki robe.


    Itachi, no, Tyson.


    The crows dispersed as quickly as they had gathered, and he was suddenly behind her, but not threateningly so.


    Unlike when he''d pulled the same trick with Nat, there was no weapon in his hand. Instead, Tyson''s arm wrapped securely around Jubilee''s waist, pulling her slightly back against him, while his other arm gently encircled her chest just below her neck. It wasn''t a choke, but a firm, solid hold, making her completely aware of his presence.


    Tyson''s breath was warm against Jubilee''s ear, his voice a low rumble as he asked, "Is this good?"


    Jubilee shuddered. She could feel the soft yet substantial fabric of his Akatsuki cloak against her back and the solid strength of his form behind her. The illusion was so complete, so detailed, she could even feel the slight breeze of the village, hear the distant calls of vendors and chirping of birds, and sense the vibrancy of life all around her. It was a heady mix of sensation, one that left her momentarily breathless.


    It was real. All of it felt so unbelievably real. Then the illusion shattered like glass, the crows dispersing into nothingness, and the vibrant village evaporated. They were back in Tyson''s mundane room, the stark contrast to the vivid world Jubilee had just experienced jarring.


    "Jesus, that''s intense. But so damn cool," Jubilee exclaimed, her heart still racing from the thrill of the illusion.


    Nat''s lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with a shared sense of excitement.


    Jean, however, had a furrow between her brows. "That was strange," she admitted, looking somewhat perplexed. "It was like watching a transparent movie."


    Tyson nodded in understanding. "You''re too psionically gifted, Jean," he acknowledged with a hint of respect. "My illusions just aren''t strong enough to affect you in the same way. But," he added, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes, "I have my ways."


    Jean tilted her head. "Show me," she challenged.


    "If you''re willing," Tyson replied with a casual shrug.


    Jean''s nod was resolute. Tyson instructed, "Look into my eyes, relax, don¡¯t resist," and she did so, finding herself drawn into the swirling depths of green and blue, an ocean and forest entwined. "Let me in, invite me in."


    And Jean did. She opened her mind up to Tyson completely. Suddenly, silence enveloped her.


    It was as if someone had hit the mute button on the world. The constant, whispering buzz of thoughts, the background noise of her telepathy, all of it was just...gone. Jean gasped, her emerald eyes wide with astonishment.


    Her jaw hung open in shock as the silence enveloped her mind. For years she had longed for respite from the constant whispering buzz of telepathic noise but had lost hope of ever finding true silence. Now, with a simple illusion cast by Tyson, the background chatter in her mind had been muted entirely.


    "How?" she finally managed to breathe out, her voice barely a whisper.


    "My illusions can alter more than just sight and sound," Tyson explained casually. "Once you opened yourself to my power, it was a simple matter to create the illusion of silence in your mind."


    He went on, "Since my abilities are telepathic in nature, I can easily mute psionic noise as well."


    Jean''s emerald eyes were wide with a mix of astonishment and longing. The silence in her mind was utter and complete. "How long will it last?" she asked hesitantly, almost afraid to hear the answer.


    "As long as you stay close by," he assured her. "It takes hardly any effort on my part to maintain the illusion." He gave a small shrug. "But it will fade if I''m too far away."


    Jean chewed her lower lip anxiously as a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. The idea of this silence, this complete telepathic quiet, was something she had scarcely dared to hope for after so many years of constant noise. And here was Tyson, offering it to her so easily. But he was here, in the city, while she was still back at the institute. The silence would be lost the moment she left his side.


    The moment lingered as Natalie''s practical voice sliced through the charged air. "That''s probably enough fooling around," she declared, her gaze sweeping over Jean and Tyson. Her authority was clear in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin. "We''ve got three women and Tyson here. We need to start getting ready."


    As Natalie, Jean, and Jubilee began to move, negotiating the logistics of sharing the single bathroom, but Jean found her eyes straying again and again to Tyson. Now that the constant clamor of other people''s thoughts had faded away, leaving only silence, Jean''s mind seemed louder than ever. Questions, speculation, and half-formed daydreams chased each other in circles. She wondered the extent of his psionic abilities, and if he was even now listening to the sudden riot in her head. The thought of being on the other end of the equation, with someone else knowing all of her thoughts made Jean''s cheeks flush and left her looking at the floor. But there would be time enough later to explore this newfound quiet, what it meant for her, and how she felt about Tyson. For now, she had to focus on getting ready. Jean took a deep breath and followed the other women from the room, the silence wrapping comfortingly around her.


    The black limousine glided to a stop in front of the imposing Flatiron Armory. The building''s wartime architecture loomed large, but all eyes were drawn to the gleaming new ''M'' that had been installed over the entrance.


    Tyson stepped out first, cutting a sharp figure in his understated tuxedo. His attire was rather plain in comparison to his companions, ensuring the stunning dresses they wore would capture all the attention they so richly deserved.


    Jubilee was a radiant vision in a shimmering gold dress that mirrored her vibrant personality. The fabric clung enticingly to her curves before flaring out to mid-thigh. Her lustrous black hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, with playful strands left loose to frame her lovely face. Her makeup was bold and striking, with a touch of sparkling eyeshadow that made her eyes pop brightly.


    Jean''s elegance was timeless and refined in a floor-length emerald gown that perfectly complemented her fiery red hair, styled in soft waves for the occasion. The dress''s neckline was modest, but a daring cut-out back added an element of surprise. Her makeup was understated, serving only to highlight her natural beauty, and her green eyes shone with excitement for the night ahead.


    Ever the embodiment of sophistication, Nat wore a fitted black dress that fell gracefully to just below her knees. Its simplicity was its statement, perfectly complemented by her hair''s effortless waves and minimalist makeup, save for a bold red lipstick that added a splash of vibrant color and played beautifully off her red locks.


    Together, the striking trio, escorted by Tyson, made an entrance that was sure to be remembered, each stunning and unique in their own way.


    The Armory was abuzz with exhilaration, the glimmering lights casting an elegant shine over the venue and its patrons. Tyson escorted them to the exclusive VIP section, the area lush and private compared to the excitement of the main floor. After guiding the ladies to their seats, Tyson turned and took his leave, needing to prepare for the impending performance. The trio noted with a mixture of amusement and curiosity that their seats were outfitted with cross straps akin to those found in a racecar.


    "Just in case," came Tyson''s voice unexpectedly from behind them, his sudden presence surprising the ladies given that he had walked away mere moments ago after seating them. "The straps are to keep spectators from leaving their seats prematurely, in case you become too engrossed in the show," he continued with a hint of mischief in his smile.


    Jubilee couldn''t restrain an exclamation of surprise. "Didn''t you just leave us?"


    Tyson''s grin grew wider, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. "Things here are rarely as simple as they appear. Welcome to the House of M!"


    Tyson''s illusion dispersed into a flock of butterflies that swirled through the air. One butterfly from the fading swarm fluttered down to land briefly on each woman''s hand, its wings shimmering in a color that matched her dress. The butterflies'' wings pulsed once in unison before taking flight again, dispersing into the shadows above the stage.


    Jubilee watched the butterfly that had landed on her hand until it disappeared, a look of wonder on her face. Jean ran a finger over the back of her hand where the green butterfly had been as if trying to capture the lingering traces of its touch. Nat simply smiled, unsurprised by the display.


    The three women settled into their seats, eyes bright with anticipation for whatever spectacle Tyson had in store. Around them, the rest of the audience quieted as the lights dimmed, ready for the show to begin.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Alexander Mashall, New York Times


    HOUSE OF M: SPIDERMAN - A THEATRICAL CONFLUENCE OF REALITY AND ILLUSION


    In a city that''s no stranger to the extraordinary, Mirage, one of New York''s own superheroes, offers an unparalleled spectacle with "House of M: Spiderman." This illusionary theatrical show is not just a retelling but a re-living of Spiderman¡¯s origins that captures the heart, soul, and resilience of our beloved hero.


    Entering the Armory is a dive into a realm where the lines between reality and fiction blur. The ''M'' insignia looms large, both a warning and an invitation: prepare to question everything you know about performance art. Mirage employs his superhuman abilities to craft not just illusions, but a world you can step into, a narrative you can touch, and emotions you can feel tangibly. This isn''t virtual reality; it''s Mirage''s reality.


    The story begins with the poignant portrayal of Spiderman¡¯s transformation. The show commands your empathy from the start, with the pain of loss. As Spiderman¡¯s body and life change, so too does the world around him, warping in sync with his tumultuous journey. Audience members feel the rush of swinging through the high rises of New York, thanks to the stunning illusionary prowess that defines the show. You''re not just witnessing Spiderman''s origin; you''re part of it.


    What sets "House of M: Spiderman" apart is its emotional core. It''s a roller coaster that plummets into the character''s psyche. You feel the weight of his grandfather¡¯s death, the burden of responsibility, and the internal conflict that fuels his double life. The performance doesn''t shy away from these emotional depths; it embraces them, and enhances them, making the experience cathartic for an audience enveloped in the spectacle.


    Moreover, the action sequences are nothing short of breathtaking. In one heart-stopping scene, Spiderman''s showdown with the Green Goblin plays out in an intricate ballet of combat and illusion. The audience is transported back to the chaos of the Unity Day Parade, dodging debris and feeling the heat of explosions. It''s immersive to the point of heart-pounding exhilaration, creating an adrenaline surge that''s as real as the danger is illusory.


    This is a Spiderman of New York, for New York, molded by its tragedies and triumphs.


    As the illusions fade and the Armory reasserts itself around the audience, there¡¯s a lingering sensation of having shared in something profound. "House of M: Spiderman" is more than a show; it''s a communal experience that celebrates the hero in all of us. This production is a love letter to Spiderman, penned in light, sound, and illusions.


    "House of M: Spiderman" doesn¡¯t just raise the bar for theatrical shows; it soars high above, much like the hero it honors. It''s a reminder of the resilience, strength, and hope that defines New York. For those lucky enough to secure a ticket, prepare for an experience that will ensnare your senses, captivate your heart, and perhaps, make you believe in heroes all over again.


    For Mirage and his team, the applause will reverberate long after the curtains close. They¡¯ve achieved something truly extraordinary. In the heart of New York, within the walls of the Flatiron Armory, there exists a house. A house of marvels, of dreams, of heroic tales. A house that belongs to us all. Welcome to the House of M.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    J. Jonah Jameson, The Daily Bugle


    SPIDER-MAN''S THEATRICAL MENACE: HOUSE OF M SINGS PRAISES OF NEW YORK''S RESIDENT TROUBLEMAKER


    If you''re a decent, law-abiding citizen who believes in the genuine justice system, steer clear of the "House of M: Spiderman," the latest spectacle corrupting the minds of New Yorkers. This show is the brainchild of Mirage, one of the city''s so-called "heroes." But don''t let the smoke and mirrors fool you. This production is nothing more than a blatant attempt to glorify the city''s most notorious menace, Spider-Man.


    The moment you step through the Armory doors, your senses are assaulted by the lavish grandeur Mirage has fabricated. It''s clear from the start: every dollar pumped into this extravagant charade is a dollar supporting the reckless vigilantism that''s poisoning our city''s streets. The mammoth ''M'' emblazoned above the entrance stands as a symbol of the megalomania underpinning this entire event.


    "House of M: Spiderman" doesn''t just recount the webhead''s origins. Mirage utilizes his superpowers to drag you into a world of fantasy, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. Yes, the effect is impressive. Yes, the illusions provide an adrenaline rush akin to the real-life swings through New York''s skyline that this spider nuisance is so fond of. But the spectacle serves a sinister purpose. It paints a dangerous vigilante as a misunderstood hero.


    Let''s not mince words here. This isn''t a tribute; it''s propaganda. Mirage creates a version of Spider-Man designed to tug at your heartstrings. The show focuses on loss, responsibility, and the struggle of juggling two worlds, attempting to humanize a character who repeatedly takes the law into his own hands. But a glossy coat of paint doesn''t change the fact that at its core, this is a story about a rogue individual causing as much chaos as the criminals he claims to fight.


    The action sequences, though technically mesmerizing, further contribute to this dangerous narrative. In a particularly egregious display, the audience is surrounded by mayhem and destruction during Spider-Man''s battle with the Green Goblin that occurred at the Unity Day Parade. While some might call this immersive, I call it irresponsible. It glorifies violence, not to mention being potentially traumatizing for anyone who''d been present at the event.


    The production, however, doesn''t stop at glorifying just one vigilante. Mirage himself makes several appearances, further pushing the idea that these vigilantes are our "heroes."


    Now, let''s talk about the finale. The show culminates in a spectacle that''s all flash and no substance, much like Spider-Man''s antics around New York. As the illusions dissipate and reality settles back in, viewers are left with a dangerous notion imprinted on their minds. ''Superheroes'' are here to protect them. This show is not just entertainment; it''s an indoctrination.


    It''s troubling to see resources and talent wasted on glorifying a menace to society. "House of M: Spiderman" sets a dangerous precedent, telling viewers that it''s not only acceptable to take the law into your own hands but that doing so makes you a hero. It''s a slap in the face to the hardworking law enforcement officers of this city, who put their lives on the line to protect its citizens.


    In conclusion, "House of M: Spiderman" is a sham. It''s a well-orchestrated, finely crafted hazard that uses illusion and emotion to warp the truth. Spider-Man is not a hero. He''s a menace, and this production is complicit in his antics. New Yorkers deserve better. They deserve the truth.


    This is J. Jonah Jameson, reminding you to stay vigilant. Stay informed. And most importantly, don''t let the vigilantes fool you. Not in the streets, and certainly not on the stage.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Dr. Miles Warren stood alone in the center of his secret, unmonitored laboratory. The space hummed with advanced technology that would make any science enthusiast''s heart race. Machines beeped and screens flashed with complex formulas, but Warren''s focus was on the large cylindrical tank that dominated the room. Inside, a humanoid form slowly took shape in the clear, viscous liquid.


    Warren watched the tank intently, his wiry frame draped in a fluttering white lab coat, his unkempt hair speaking to many sleepless nights devoted to his obsession. "The potential is limitless," he muttered, more to himself than to his assistant Monica, the eager postgrad who monitored the nearby computer.


    "DNA synthesis is stable, Dr. Warren," Monica reported, not looking up from her screen. "Cellular replication is optimal."


    "Excellent, Monica," Warren replied, his gaze never leaving the coalescing figure in the tank. His brilliant mind raced with possibilities not just for science but for himself. There was glory in being the creator, the pioneer. And in his eyes, no subject was more perfect than Spider-Man. After all, who wouldn''t want to replicate the strength and agility of a hero?


    The ethical conundrum surrounding human cloning, the laws and debates, seemed distant thunder to Warren as he stood in the calm, focused eye of his work. He dismissed any moral dilemmas with the casual swat one gives a bothersome fly. "They''ll understand, eventually," he assured himself. "Once they see the results, they''ll know I was right."


    The hours crept by as Warren and Monica watched the clone develop within the amniotic tank. What began as strands of genetic material slowly took shape, morphing into the unmistakable form of a young man. It was as though an invisible sculptor carved the clone''s features from living marble. Muscles rippled under skin that had yet to see the light of day.


    "It''s...it''s incredible, Dr. Warren," Monica finally uttered, breaking the hypnotic silence. Awe and apprehension warred within her. She had signed up to earn enough money to cover her graduate degree and get some real-world experience. But to witness the creation of new life left her stunned.


    Warren''s usual dour expression cracked into a rare smile, though his eyes retained their fanatical zeal. "We''re witnessing history, Monica. Today, science ascends to new heights!"


    As the clone neared physical maturity, Warren''s thoughts turned from the present triumph to the challenges ahead. If successful, the clone should possess Spider-Man''s intellect, experiences, and even superhuman abilities. But would he have the original''s heart and spirit? What invisible, intangible force makes a man who he is? Warren tucked away those philosophical riddles for another time.


    The amniotic fluid drained from the chamber, leaving the clone suspended like an astronaut in zero gravity. The glass door hissed open at Warren''s approach. With trembling hands, he reached for his inert creation.


    The clone''s eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly as if shaking off the heaviness of sleep. His gaze, still unfocused, took in the harsh fluorescent lights of the lab for the first time. "P-Parker?" he croaked, his voice rough and cracking with uncertainty.


    Dr. Warren''s heart leaped as the sound shattered the sterile silence. Success! Life! His creation was awake and aware. But as the clone searched for memories that were not his own, Warren knew he must act quickly to steer this new being''s mind.


    "No," Warren said sharply, "I''m Dr. Miles Warren. And you''re... you''re Cairn. It means landmark. Because that''s what you are."


    The clone''s brow furrowed, distorting in confusion. "Cain?" he echoed, tasting the unfamiliar name. The clone evaluated the name. Searching its memories. The name was laden with biblical significance. Cain was the first son of Adam and Eve, Cain was also the first murderer, having killed his brother Abel out of jealousy and rage.


    "Cairn," Warren affirmed, watching the name settle over the clone''s consciousness. "You are the first of your kind, unique and trailblazing in the expanse of human history."


    The newly christened Cairn searched for footing in this new identity, even as remnants of memories not his own flickered at the edges of his mind. "Kaine," he insisted. "Kaine Parker." He clung to the surname like a lifeline to a self he couldn''t fully grasp.


    Warren hesitated, then inclined his head in acquiescence. "Very well. Kaine Parker," he agreed, though unease needled at him. The persistence troubled Warren, hinting at complications to come. But for now, his creation was alive and alert. Everything else could be managed in time. Warren gazed at Kaine Parker and allowed himself a moment to bask in the magnitude of what he''d achieved.


    Upon Kaine''s awakening into consciousness, Dr. Warren recognized his creation was marred by imperfections. Though his genetic code had been meticulously copied, the final result was flawed. His skin was rough and uneven in places it should have been smooth, the texture strange under his exploring fingertips. The deformities did not hamper his movements, however. When Kaine rose from the table, his movements spoke of power and agility belying his physical flaws.


    Warren watched his creation''s first steps with awe and unease. What had he truly brought into being with his hubris? Apprehension stirred as Warren contemplated the terrifying potential of this being that now lived and breathed before him.


    Kaine was awash in a deluge of emotions, memories not his own vying for prominence. Though secondhand, the experiences felt real. Love, loss, triumph, and failures. His newly awakened senses were overwhelmed, struggling to process this psychic onslaught. It was too much.


    "I don''t understand," Kaine said, desperation and frustration warring in his voice as he turned to his creator. "What''s happening? Who am I?"


    "You''re my creation," Warren replied, a note of possessive pride creeping into his tone even through the uncertainty. "You''re the first. And you''re...magnificent." The word held a complex mix of emotions. Not just awe, but also fear of what he had wrought.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Kaine''s feelings were a tempest, unpredictable, and often terrifying in their intensity. One moment calm, the next consumed by fiery rage that manifested in shattered objects and dented equipment. Kaine''s chest heaved as he stared at the aftermath of his latest violent outburst, the broken glass and dented metal that littered the laboratory floor evidence of the destruction he had wrought.


    "I can''t...I can''t control it," he gasped, his voice ragged with desperation.


    Dr. Miles Warren surveyed the scene with growing concern, the initial awe he had felt at creating this powerful being curdling into doubt. Kaine was the clone he had crafted, the first of his kind, and though magnificent in his abilities, the doctor was realizing he had not anticipated the volatility of the emotions that raged within his creation.


    "We''ll work through this," Warren said, trying to make his tone reassuring even as his voice wavered with uncertainty. "We''ll figure this out."


    But as the days passed, Kaine''s struggles only seemed to deepen. His outbursts continued, memories and experiences that were not his own haunting him, taunting him with the life of Peter Parker that he could almost touch but never fully grasp. Soon he began to question his creator, demanding answers that Warren did not have.


    "Why am I here?" Kaine asked, searching Warren''s face intently. "Why did you create me?"


    Warren felt the weight of those questions like a physical blow. The ethics and morals of his actions, which had seemed so clear in pursuit of scientific breakthrough, were now clouded by doubt in the face of the living, suffering being before him.


    "To advance science," Warren replied at first, grasping for justification. "To create something new, something revolutionary."


    "But at what cost?" Kaine challenged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I''m not just some science project, Dr. Warren. I''m a person, aren''t I? Or was I only ever meant to be a copy? A thing?"


    The laboratory that had once been a site of triumph for Warren now seemed to close in on them, the shadows cast by the blinking console lights growing darker with every word from Kaine. Warren''s mouth felt dry, his confidence replaced by a sinking regret. He had considered only the scientific challenges, the potential for fame, and the breakthrough in human genetics. But in his calculations, he had failed to account for the soul he was replicating.


    "You''re not a thing," Warren whispered, but even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow and unconvincing. He had presumed to play at being a creator but had not truly prepared himself for his creation to demand recognition of its humanity.


    Kaine''s anger was palpable, but it was the deep pain in his eyes that truly struck Warren, an aching disappointment that could not be quantified or dismissed.


    "Then why do I feel like one?" Kaine asked, his voice thick with sorrow and loss. "Why do I hurt all the time? Why is every moment torture?"


    Warren had no answer. Regret settled bitter and suffocating in his throat. He had meant to create life but instead seemed to have inflicted a curse on his creation.


    The tension between creator and creation grew with each passing day. Kaine, the clone crafted by Dr. Warren''s hands, became ever more aware, his sense of self sharpened into painful focus. And with that burgeoning awareness came so many questions about purpose, destiny, and the true nature of the soul. Questions Warren realized, with a gut full of dread, that he could not answer.


    When Dr. Warren entered the lab, he was met with a scene of chaos. Toppled research notes, shattered beakers, and his dedicated post-grad assistant, Monica, lying lifeless on the cold floor. Her once vibrant eyes, always brimming with eager curiosity, were now dull and lightless, staring into nothingness.


    "Monica!" Warren cried, her name cracking on his lips as he stumbled toward her fallen form. His mind recoiled and rebelled against the terrible stillness that had claimed her. This could not be real. They had been on the cusp of breakthroughs, of finally unraveling the mysteries of life itself. Monica had been more than an assistant, she was a fellow dreamer, and she had become a believer in the grand possibilities that drove them.


    But the undeniable evidence of violence screamed out at Warren, drowning his futile denials in a torrent of horrific truth. His eyes found Kaine, lurking in the shadows. The clone''s inner turmoil seemed to manifest in the dangerous stillness of his posture.


    "You..." Warren started, the accusation dying on his lips as the impossible, damning realization took hold. His groundbreaking creation, his scientific masterpiece, had wrought this tragedy. "What have you done?"


    Kaine''s eyes met Warren''s. "She was afraid of me," he said, his voice a low rumble of confusion and burgeoning fury. "She looked at me like I was a monster, so I..."


    "So you proved her right?" Warren interjected, his fear and anger clashed within him. His life''s great work threatened to spiral into an unthinkable nightmare.


    Kaine''s silence reverberated through the lab, heavy with dark implications Warren could no longer avoid. This place, these experiments, they had cracked open the mysteries of life, only to toy with them recklessly. And now, there was a price. Cairn, Kaine, the clone Warren had painstakingly brought to life using carefully selected DNA strands was not the triumph he had envisioned. Instead, the clone stood as a stark reminder of the perils of hubris, and the terrible cost of mortals playing god.


    Warren sat alone in the lab, accompanied only by the lifeless hum of machinery and the accusing silence that hung heavy all around him. Monica''s presence still lingered like a ghost and Kaine¡­ What should he do about the troubled clone? He was both victim and aggressor, set on a collision course with a world that could never hope to understand his tortured origins.


    Haunted by the tragedy he had single-handedly engineered, Warren returned to his research, hands shaking as he carefully omitted the Y chromosome from the genetic sequence for his next attempt. That should reduce the violent tendencies, and hopefully correct the skin issues as well. His action was driven not by inspiration, but by desperation to correct his mistake. As the machines quietly hummed to life, initiating the genesis of another clone, Warren''s thoughts clung to Kaine and his desire to rectify his¡­ mistake.


    Warren''s reflection in the computer screen was pale and ghostly, a haunting specter he could not turn away from. He had the face of a scientist who had ventured into realms never meant for mankind. And in the heavy silence of the lab, one question echoed louder than all the rest.


    What had he unleashed upon the world, in his quest to defy nature at the behest of Harry Osborn?

 Arc 5 - Ch 1: Iron Man

    Chapter 48


    Arc 5 - Ch 1: Iron Man


    Date: Friday, May 27, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    The final act of Mirage''s illusion came to its mesmerizing conclusion on the Flatiron Armory''s show floor. As the lights brightened, the audience erupted into raucous applause, clearly spellbound by the fantastic visions they had just witnessed.


    Tyson, Mirage, stood proudly in the stage''s center. An intricate Asian fox half-mask obscured the top half of his face, leaving only his mismatched eyes, one blue, one green, and his mouth and jaw exposed. The mask lent an air of exotic mystery to the young man, whose wild hair framed its edges.


    Stepping off the stage, Tyson was greeted by the sultry voice of Felicia Hardy. "Another masterpiece, Tyson," she purred. Felicia''s porcelain skin and platinum blonde hair added a unique touch to the appearance of an elegant yet fierce businesswoman, an impression amplified by the sleek black dress that clung to her curves.


    They entered a private room where Tyson removed the fox mask, revealing his face in full. "Thanks, Felicia," he replied, the familiar warmth between them evident in his voice.


    Felicia tilted her head ever so slightly, a coy smile playing on her glossy lips. "House of M: Spiderman is a tremendous hit," she purred. "Thanks to your shows bringing in the city''s wealthiest looking for something new, our reputation has skyrocketed. My galleries are now the place to be seen."


    Tyson smiled, leaning in closer. "It''s been a joint effort." He knew she had been using the art galleries not just for legitimate business, but for more clandestine activities as well. High-end art trade was an ideal front for money laundering, after all.


    Felicia''s emerald eyes glinted with mischief. "Oh, they certainly are," she said. "And they''ve been quite useful legitimizing our inventory, shall we say." It seemed old habits died hard for the former notorious thief. Tyson had tasked Felicia with not just running House of M, but ensuring all the money from his Federal Reserve heist all those months ago was accounted for. While she enjoyed her legitimate success, a part of her still relished the thrill of less than legal activities.


    Tyson raised an eyebrow, unable to hide his amusement. "Going legit now, are you?" he teased.


    "Perhaps. I am spending inordinate amounts of time around one of the city''s heroes. Maybe he''s rubbing off on me," Felicia purred, the corner of her mouth quirking up slyly. "But it''s always wise to keep one''s options open."


    Changing tacks, Tyson leaned back and asked, "How is our financial setup coming along? Are we ready to move forward?"


    Felicia''s eyes positively sparkled at the question. "All set," she confirmed eagerly. "We can invest, play the markets, the whole nine yards. All very much above board, of course." She flashed a dazzling grin. "Our profits are about to reach dizzying new heights."


    Unable to resist, Tyson leaned in and planted a soft kiss on her glossy lips.


    "You''re doing wonderfully," he whispered.


    Tyson and Felicia had always enjoyed a comfortable, playful relationship. They had been intimate on numerous occasions when time allowed, engaging in passionate trysts together. But despite the physical intimacy, their relationship had never been clearly defined or formalized. With both still busy attending school and handling their duties for the House of M, neither had made an effort to solidify what they had into something more committed. Tyson sometimes wondered if Felicia was more interested in him or the profits they were raking in together. But he had to admit, he enjoyed being friends with benefits with the sultry Felicia Hardy. Their physical chemistry was undeniable, even if their emotional connection remained ambiguous. For now, Tyson was content to keep things casual and Felicia had made it clear they were not a couple, that she was not a house cat to be tamed. There was no need to force the issue when they were both profiting so handsomely from their current arrangement, in more ways than one.


    Of course, there was the other side of their intimacy that nagged at Tyson. The Tyson kissing Felicia was an illusion. In all the months he''d been trying, he hadn''t made any headway into controlling the life-absorbing power he inherited from Rogue when he arrived in this world. As Tyson found new ways to use his illusion power, and he ran the show for thousands regularly, his control over the illusions grew. It was immensely frustrating and confounding that his illusion power had improved by leaps and bounds, but his life absorption hadn''t made any progress.


    Tyson could experience touch through his illusions, but there was something to be said about real, physical contact.


    Any further intimacy was interrupted when a soft knock sounded at the door. Tyson''s private time with Felicia would have to wait.


    A soft voice filtered through the door, it was one of Felicia''s many assistants. "I''m sorry for interrupting, but there''s a police officer here, requesting to speak with Mirage."


    Tyson and Felicia exchanged a quick, tense glance. The timing was ironic considering they had just been discussing money laundering schemes. Without missing a beat, Tyson waved his hand and rendered Felicia invisible. The gesture was unnecessary, but it made Felicia aware of his deception.


    Tyson swiftly pulled the Asian fox half-mask over his face. He strode to the door and opened it to reveal a police officer. But she wasn''t the typical NYPD officer; he expected a mustache, short cropped hair, maybe late twenties. Instead, at the door stood a woman in a police uniform that could''ve been a model. Her brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun that matched the crisp lines of her uniform, which clung to her slender frame in a way that would make any model envious.


    "Mirage?" she inquired, though her firm tone indicated she already knew the answer.


    Tyson straightened, exuding confidence despite the unexpected visit. "That''s me. What can I do for you, officer?"


    Tyson stared at the folded piece of paper as the officer outstretched her hand.


    "It''s Marshal, actually," she corrected dryly, her eyes glinting with wry amusement as Tyson continued to hesitate.


    "Pardon?" He blinked, shaken from his surprise.


    "Marshal," she repeated, emphasizing the title with a raised brow.


    Tyson took the paper, a knot of apprehension forming in his stomach. He unfolded it to reveal an official-looking document¡­ His mismatched eyes widened as they quickly scanned the page.


    "That''s a subpoena," she explained, her voice cool and matter-of-fact. "You''re to appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee tomorrow morning."


    "Is this real?" Tyson blurted out incredulously.


    The marshal''s lips quirked into a half-smile, "You''re the one who does the illusions, not me."


    Tyson struggled to process this unexpected turn. "What would the Senate want with me?"


    The marshal leaned forward slightly, "Probably has something to do with the stolen military hardware you acquired."


    Her blunt words hit Tyson like a physical blow. He had known there might be consequences for holding onto the Goblin''s glider, but he hadn''t expected repercussions at the Federal level. The enthusiasm at his show''s success evaporated, replaced by a creeping dread. Unseen by the marshal, Felicia listened intently, no doubt already strategizing. But Tyson felt exposed.


    Drawing a breath, he met the marshal''s eyes. "Thank you, marshal," he managed, "I''ll be there."


    The marshal gave a single nod and turned to leave without another word. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound echoing with grim finality in the now silent room.


    Tyson reached for his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the right one. He selected it, listening to the rings until a crisp voice answered. "Maria Hill speaking."


    "Deputy Director, it''s Mirage," Tyson said quickly, straining to keep the worry from his tone.


    A brief silence followed, no doubt from Hill''s surprise at the unexpected call. But when she spoke again, her voice softened somewhat. "Tyson? What''s going on?"


    Tyson let out a breath, then launched into an account of the marshal''s visit, describing the subpoena and the command to appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee. When he finished, desperation tinged his words. "Look, I could use some help. Could I bum a ride to Washington D.C.?"


    Hill paused, considering his request. When she responded, her voice radiated calm competence. "Come to the RAFT. I''ll arrange transport and accompany you. As Deputy Director, I have sufficient clearance level to represent SHIELD in the hearing."


    Relief rushed through Tyson. The RAFT was SHIELD''s impenetrable mobile submarine fortress, which had been conveniently anchored near the southern tip of Manhattan since Kraven the Hunter and Norman Osborne, the Green Goblin, had become residents.


    With Hill at his side, he had a real chance to weather this crisis. Some of the dread constricting his chest eased. But uncertainty still gnawed at him. "You''re sure SHIELD has my back on this?" he asked quietly.


    "Absolutely," Hill replied without hesitation. "We''ll get through this."


    The steadfast assurance in her words finally broke through Tyson''s anxiety. "Thank you."


    "Just get here. I''m arranging for people to prep you with how to answer the committee''s questions," Hill responded briskly before ending the call.


    Tyson stared at the now silent phone, letting the conversation with Hill fully sink in. He experienced a swirl of emotions; fear at the uncertainty ahead, gratitude for SHIELD''s support, and determination mixed with trepidation at having to face the federal government.


    Turning back to Felicia, he approached her slowly. Their eyes met in perfect understanding.


    She reached up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into her soft touch. Their lips met in a kiss that lingered. As they finally pulled back, she whispered "Good luck," the words barely a sigh against his skin.


    He had no time to reply. Even as Felicia drew her next breath, the illusionary Tyson evaporated from her arms. He was already in motion, moving with haste to his suite at the Four Seasons to retrieve the glider. The time for sentiment had passed. He had a hearing to prepare for.


    Tyson rushed through the streets of New York, weaving nimbly between pedestrians and vehicles alike. The imposing facade of the RAFT soon loomed before him, its sheer walls and lack of windows indicating the high-security protocols in place within. Upon entering, he was ushered through the halls to meet with Maria Hill.


    The room he entered exuded SHIELD''s signature sleek, modern aesthetic. At its center stood Agent Hill, her gaze fixed on a large television screen that displayed the opening festivities of the Stark Expo. Even through the screen, the vibrant energy and enthusiasm of the crowd at the Expo was palpable.


    Hill''s sharp eyes flicked to Tyson as he entered, her expression neutral but assessing. "Mirage," she greeted simply. "We can head out whenever you''re ready," she added, motioning towards the exit.


    But Tyson paused. His mismatched eyes were drawn to the images on the screen. "No rush," he replied, genuine interest coloring his voice. "I don''t want to interrupt. I was hoping to catch the Expo coverage anyway." Maria raised a slender eyebrow but settled into her seat and gave him a nod of assent. Curiosity got the better of Tyson, and he casually asked, "Have you ever actually seen any of my shows, Deputy Director?"


    She shook her head, loose dark hair swaying slightly. "Haven''t gotten the chance."


    A playful smirk formed on Tyson''s lips. "Well then, consider this a gift for helping me out like this." His mismatched eyes became serious, holding Maria''s gaze intently. "But keep in mind, no matter how real it seems, it''s just an illusion. Stay in your seat."


    Hill nodded in understanding, steeling herself for whatever vivid illusion Tyson was about to conjure up.


    Before her eyes, the office dramatically transformed into a breathtaking aerial view overlooking the Stark Expo. The grandeur of the scene was impressive, with gleaming futuristic buildings and exhibits showcasing technology and innovations not yet revealed to the wider world. Though she knew it was an illusion, Maria Hill couldn''t help but feel as if she were truly soaring high over the Expo, experiencing its energy and spectacle firsthand.


    Brilliant bursts of color lit up the night sky, the fireworks stoking the enthusiasm of the crowds below as they cheered and surged toward the main pavilion. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement and anticipation.


    Maria Hill''s eyes widened with wonder, utterly engrossed in the vivid illusion. "This is incredible," she breathed.


    A sudden roar from the crowd drew their attention skyward. From above, a figure descended rapidly, wind rushing past him. It was none other than Tony Stark himself, skydiving from a jet plane in his iconic red and gold Iron Man suit. He landed smoothly on the stage amidst a blaze of pyrotechnics, the crowd erupting in deafening cheers. But Tony wasn''t finished yet. In a move that showcased his confidence, the armor began to disassemble piece by piece, revealing the man inside.


    The crowd chanted his name over and over, "Tony! Tony! Tony! Tony!"


    Bathed in spotlights, Tony Stark stood tall on the stage as the last pieces of his suit retreated, leaving him in a stylish suit.


    A man from the crowd shouted, "Blow something up!"


    Tony stood confidently on the stage, bathed in spotlights, as the last pieces of his Iron Man armor retreated. "I missed you too. Blow something up? I already did that." Tony began, drawing in the audience with his charisma. "I''m not saying the world is enjoying its longest stretch of uninterrupted peace in years because of me. I''m not saying that Uncle Sam can kick back and relax with an iced tea, certain that no one alive today has the guts to challenge me on my best day." He paused, allowing the weight of his bold statement to sink in. Behind him, a large screen displayed a graph highlighting the significant global decrease in conflicts since Iron Man''s emergence.


    A woman''s voice rang out from the crowd, "I love you, Tony!"


    He continued, unfazed by the adoration. "Please, this isn''t about me. It''s not about any one of you either. It''s not even about all of us together. It''s about legacy. It''s about what we choose to leave behind for future generations." Tony''s voice grew more impassioned. "That''s why for the next year, for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest from nations and corporations worldwide will pool their resources and vision to leave behind a brighter future. Therefore, what I''m saying, if I''m saying anything, is welcome back to the Stark Expo!"


    As the cheers died down, Tony''s tone grew more introspective. "And now, making a special guest appearance from beyond, please welcome my father, Howard."


    Tony''s late father, Howard Stark, appeared in a recording on the large onstage screen. "Everything is achievable through technology," Howard''s voice boomed. "Better living, robust health, and for the first time in human history, the possibility of world peace. So from all of us here at Stark Industries, I''d like to personally introduce you to the City of the Future. Technology holds infinite possibilities for mankind, and will one day rid society of all its ills. Soon technology will affect the way you live your life every day. No more tedious work, leaving more time for leisure activities and enjoying the sweet life. The Stark Expo. Welcome."


    Tony picked up from where his father left off as the recording ended, "We''re here to see what can be achieved when innovation meets purpose."


    With that inimitable Stark charm, he addressed the audience, "My father, Howard Stark, had a dream. He believed the Expo was a place where the best and the brightest could challenge themselves and each other, driving humanity to even greater heights."


    Tony continued, passion evident in his tone, "I''m proud to announce that, for the next year, this Expo will be a beacon, showcasing human advancement, innovation, and the pioneering spirit that refuses to say ''it can''t be done.''" Tony concluded, his voice almost breaking, "Again, it''s not about me. It''s not about my father. It''s about our future, and how we shape it, together." Tony said, his voice resonating with raw emotion. The Expo grounds filled with thunderous applause.


    The illusion faded away as Tyson ceased his psychic projection, the sights, and sounds of the Stark Expo dissolving until only the office of Deputy Director Maria Hill remained. She regarded the young mutant with an appraising look, one sculpted eyebrow raised in acknowledgment of his impressive skills.


    "That was...intense," she commented, a note of honest appreciation coloring her typically stoic tone. Maria considered for a moment before replying, "Your power is remarkable."


    He grinned, buoyed by her words. "Thanks. Means a lot coming from the deputy director."


    Maria briskly switched gears, all business once more. She stood, stepping out from behind the heavy oak desk. "Alright, let''s get to the jet. I''ll brief you on the way." Tyson nodded and followed her out.


    Back in Queens, the Stark Expo continued unfolding in its full glory. Not long after Tony Stark stepped off the extravagant stage. He pulled out a small device, checking its reading.


    Blood toxicity: 19%


    Afterward, Happy led Tony through the crowded expo. When they finally reached the parking area, a woman waited for him beside his flashy new sports car. As Tony approached with his signature playboy smirk, he remarked, "I didn''t expect my own Expo to have models handing out business cards."


    The woman gave him an cool, enigmatic smile. "I''m not here for that," she replied evenly. She extended a crisp white envelope toward Tony, who waved for his ever-present bodyguard Happy Hogan to take it.


    "I don''t like being handed things," Tony muttered before plucking the letter from Happy. His cocky smile faded as he scanned the contents. "To appear before the Senate Armed Forces Committee?" he asked, surprise coloring his voice.


    "That''s right," the woman confirmed.


    Happy''s eyebrows shot up in concern, but Tony casually waved away his bodyguard''s worry. "Do you have a badge?" he inquired of the beauty.


    In response, she produced a U.S. Marshal''s badge. Tony appraised the woman. "You''re a process server? You have the look of a runway model."


    She winked flirtatiously. "I''m two for two today."


    Tony asked, "Out of curiosity, who was the other?"


    The woman leaned in, her voice dripping with intrigue. "Mirage."


    Tony''s eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Huh. That one''s a little unexpected," he mused as he processed this new information.


    With that, Tony slid into his Audi R8, revving the engine. As he pulled away, he called over the aggressive roar, "The world is full of surprises, isn''t it?"


    From the passenger seat, Happy Hogan chuckled in agreement. "That it is, boss. That it is."


    The sports car sped off, leaving behind the dazzle and clamor of the Stark Expo. Tony Stark and Happy Hogan raced on toward Washington D.C. with the subpoena stuffed into the dashboard.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Date: Saturday, May 28, 2011.


    Location: Dirksen Senate Office Building, Washington, DC


    The spacious hearing room of the Dirksen Senate Office Building hummed with activity as staffers and attendees bustled about, settling into seats lined in rows facing the raised dais at the front. Tyson, concealed behind his alter ego Mirage, felt distinctly out of place amidst the sea of suits and skirts surrounding him. He picked his way carefully through the organized chaos, keenly aware of the curious glances and hushed whispers his presence elicited.


    As he approached the long table set before the dais, Tyson surveyed those already seated. It was a veritable who''s who of technology, industry, and government. To his left sat Maria Hill, her rigid posture and sharp gaze betraying her role as the no-nonsense representative of SHIELD. Further down, Harry Osborn shuffled through papers, looking equal parts nervous and eager as he prepared to speak on behalf of Oscorp Industries. The constant fidgeting and overly polished smile of Justin Hammer screamed overcompensation, a transparent attempt by the CEO of Hammer Industries to impress the committee.


    And directly to Mirage''s right sprawled Tony Stark, affecting an air of casual nonchalance despite the gravity of the hearing. As Tyson took his seat, Stark turned to him with a roguish grin. "So, Mirage," he began, curiosity coloring his tone, "what brings you into the lion''s den today?"


    Tyson tensed, acutely uncomfortable by the crimes he was accused of. "Illegally procured military technology," he replied evenly, meeting Stark''s gaze. "Claimed it from a guy who stole it first."


    Stark''s eyes glinted with interest as he leaned forward intently. "Is it true you can create any kind of illusion you want?" he asked eagerly.


    In response to Tony Stark¡¯s question, Tyson stood up, his movement ignored by everyone in the Senate hearing room except Tony. He walked confidently to the floor, standing squarely between the table of delegates and the row of stern-faced Senators. Suddenly, the room shifted with an unexpected spectacle. Mechanical gears and devices appeared to rise from the floor, whirring and clanking as they formed around Tyson. The components seamlessly crafted a suit of armor, mirroring the iconic design of the Iron Man suit. The illusion was so convincing that even Tony Stark leaned forward, his eyes widening in surprise and curiosity. The suit now fully formed around Tyson, he raised his arms, the repulsors on his palms lighting up with an intense glow. He fired the repulsors, launching himself upward. Instead of the expected destruction, Tyson vanished without a trace. There was no hole in the ceiling, no sign of damage. The gears and machines too dissolved into nothingness, revealing the truth.


    Tyson hadn¡¯t moved an inch. It was all an elaborate illusion.


    Tony Stark broke into a wide grin, clearly impressed. ¡°Hell of a trick,¡± he exclaimed, clapping lightly. ¡°You do impressions too?¡±


    Without missing a beat, Tyson¡¯s appearance shifted, morphing into a perfect likeness of Tony Stark himself. In Tony¡¯s own voice, he quipped, ¡°Nah, too clich¨¦.¡± His tone was playful, perfectly capturing Tony¡¯s characteristic charm and wit.


    Tony Stark shook his head. "I''ve got to admit, that''s pretty good," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.


    The demonstration had been a private showing between Tyson and Tony Stark, one that had lightened the tense atmosphere of the Senate hearing somewhat for the young mutant.


    Senator Stern rapped his gavel sharply, the sound commanding the attention of all those gathered. He fixed his steely gaze on Tyson. "Let''s bring this meeting to order," the senator''s stern tone reverberated through the chamber as he addressed the accused. "Mirage, you stand accused here today because of your involvement with illegally procured military technology."


    Tyson studied the senator''s familiar face, racking his memory. The man''s appearance aligned perfectly with Tyson''s recollections, yet something eluded him, a nagging sense that he was forgetting some crucial detail about the senator.


    A heavy silence descended upon the room as the senator summoned Harry Osborn to speak. Rising from his seat, the young heir apparent to Oscorp exuded a blend of youthful ambition and corporate gravitas. He turned to address the assembled senators. This was Harry''s first public appearance as head of Oscorp, he needed to knock it out of the park. Not only were the eyes of politicians on him, he was sure the board of directors was watching, hoping for him to stumble.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Senators, esteemed colleagues," Harry began, his steady voice conveying both respect and urgency. "The matter at hand is of great importance not just to Oscorp but to our national security interests." He paused, ensuring all eyes rested upon him.


    "The technology in question, an advanced aerial combat glider, represents the pinnacle of Oscorp''s research and development, years of tireless innovation and substantial investment from the department of defense. It is the product of our collaborative efforts with the military to maintain battlefield supremacy." Harry''s gaze flicked briefly toward Mirage, his expression one of disdain.


    "This glider has unfortunately fallen into the hands of an individual unauthorized to possess it. Its absence has created more than a logistical issue; it has jeopardized a crucial military project."


    Harry''s tone grew more earnest as he continued. "The glider was designed to be a game-changer in aerial combat and reconnaissance. Cutting-edge innovations in mobility and firepower all tailored for use by our soldiers to protect our nation''s interests." Turning his attention back to the committee, Harry''s steady, imploring gaze met each of theirs in turn.


    "The urgency of this matter cannot be understated. Each day this technology remains outside authorized hands, our nation risks falling behind in our commitment to military supremacy and national security." Concluding his appeal, Harry added, "Therefore, on behalf of Oscorp and in the interest of national security, I respectfully yet urgently request the glider''s immediate return to our custody. Its recovery is imperative to continue our development program and fulfill our contractual obligations to the military."


    With that, Harry Osborn resumed his seat, his bold statement hanging portentously in the air. The senators sat absorbed in contemplative silence, cognizant of the gravity of the situation. All eyes turned once more toward Mirage, waiting for his response.


    Mirage had listened impassively, his face an inscrutable mask. The senator''s voice rang out again, authoritative and uncompromising. "Mirage, you are hereby ordered to return the glider to Oscorp at once."


    With a casual shrug, Mirage rose smoothly from his seat. The room watched him intently, on edge. In one fluid motion, he reached behind himself, astonishing the onlookers as he produced the glider as if from thin air. Its sudden appearance was surreal, the glider obviously wider than the table, yet completely concealed from view by Mirage''s illusions.


    He placed the glider gingerly upon the table before a surprised yet relieved-looking Harry Osborn.


    Harry Osborn ran his fingers over the glider''s smooth metallic surface as he inspected it for any damage. Around the room, attendees murmured among themselves, exchanging glances and hushed whispers. Tony Stark, no stranger to dramatic entrances, leaned back casually in his chair, seemingly impressed by Mirage''s nonchalant display of power.


    As Mirage sat back down in his seat, his movements were calm and measured despite the charged atmosphere in the room. Senator Sterns turned to Mirage, "Did you bring a military weapon to a Senate hearing?" he asked sharply. "How did you get it past security?"


    Tyson''s response was immediate, his tone hinting at irreverence. "My mistake, sir. I assumed since you called me here about it, you wanted me to return it. How I got it past security should be evident." He adjusted the microphone before him, ensuring everyone could hear him clearly. When Mirage spoke next, his voice was laced with a tone of sincerity that commanded the room''s attention.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, Senators, I understand how this looks," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room to meet the eyes of those gathered. "But let me assure you, my actions were not those of a thief."


    The room fell silent as all ears tuned to Mirage''s voice. "The Oscorp glider unfortunately found its way into the possession of the Green Goblin, someone who, frankly, had no business wielding such power," he continued. "Whether Oscorp lost it to him or created it for him, that''s a distinction I''m not qualified to make. What I do know is that it was in the wrong hands, and I stepped in."


    Mirage paused, letting his words sink in. "I acted to end a crisis. Many died at the hands of the Green Goblin, Norman Osborne, including the military officials overseeing its development at Oscorp. My only goal was to keep it safe, to ensure it didn''t become a tool of destruction for another madman."


    In the audience, people exchanged thoughtful glances, some nodding in understanding while others still seemed skeptical. Mirage leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest as he pressed his case.


    "Today, by turning it over to Oscorp under government instruction and oversight, I am doing what I believe is right," he continued, his voice ringing with conviction. "This absolves me of any further responsibility for the glider and its future use. I''m not the villain here. I stopped the villain."


    Mirage''s words seemed to ripple through the chamber, causing a stir among the audience and prompting Senators to consult quietly with their aides as they considered his defense.


    The atmosphere in the room had shifted; many attendees now viewing Mirage not as a rogue element but as someone who had taken a stand for the greater good. It was evident that Mirage''s speech had struck a chord, challenging the narrative of the hearing and painting him in a different light.


    Senator Stern cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the proceedings. "That settles one matter," he declared, attempting to cloak his surprise with a veneer of formality. "Let''s move on with the agenda."


    Shifting in his seat, Senator Stern turned his gaze toward Tony Stark, regaining his composure. "Now, Mr. Stark," he began.


    Seated casually, Tony exuded a sense of superiority, clearly unimpressed by the formality and gravity of the situation.


    Senator Stern''s voice echoed through the spacious room as he asserted, "We believe the Iron Man technology is a matter of national security. This isn''t just a piece of advanced machinery; it''s a weapon, one that should not be in private hands."


    Tony Stark sat casually in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, clearly amused by the senator''s grandstanding. He replied, "It''s a prosthesis, Senator. I hate to burst your bubble, but the suit and I are one. Turning over the Iron Man suit would be equivalent to indentured servitude, or prostitution, depending on the state."


    Murmurs and chuckles rippled through the audience at Tony''s cheeky response. Senator Stern''s face tightened, his jaw clenching almost imperceptibly as Tony''s flippancy clearly aggravated him. "We will hear from an expert witness, the government''s primary weapons contractor, Mr. Justin Hammer," Stern announced, unable to fully mask the eagerness in his tone to move on from the frustrating exchange with the unpredictable Stark.


    As Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, stood up from his seat, there was a noticeable shift in the energy of the room. Hammer straightened his suit jacket and approached the microphone, ready to give his testimony. "Senators, let''s face it," began Hammer, his voice steady yet underlaid with opportunistic undertones. "Having one man monopolize this kind of technology is not only dangerous, it''s anti-American."


    "Let the record reflect that I observed Mr Hammer entering the chamber, and I am wondering if and when any actual expert will also be in attendance," Tony interrupted dryly, eliciting a scowl from Hammer.


    Hammer spread his hands, the picture of deference. "Absolutely. I''m no expert. I defer to you, Anthony. You''re the wonder boy. Senator, if I may?" He turned, addressing the room. "I may well not be an expert, but you know who was the expert? Your dad. Howard Stark." Hammer shook his head, as if overcome with emotion. "Really a father to us all." Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes.


    "We all know why we''re here," Hammer continued, "In the last six months, Anthony Stark has created a sword with untold possibilities. And yet, he insists it''s a shield." Hammer tsked, shaking his head in mock regret. "He asks us to trust him as we cower behind it. I wish I were comforted, Anthony, I really do. I''d love to leave my door unlocked when I leave the house, but this ain''t Canada. You know, we live in a world of grave threats, threats that Mr Stark will not always be able to foresee." Hammer spread his hands wide, the consummate showman. "Thank you. God bless Iron Man. God bless America."


    With a final smile for the cameras, Hammer took his seat. Despite Hammer''s confident words, his demeanor betrayed his underlying ineptitude and transparent self-interest. His gestures appeared overly rehearsed, and his argument seemed more focused on taking down his rival than any real concern about national security. In stark contrast to Tony''s easy charisma and genius, Hammer came across as a businessman looking for any angle to exploit the situation to his own advantage.


    "That was well said Mr Hammer," Senator Stern replied, "The committee would now like to invite Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes to the chamber."


    Tony Stark looked up in surprise as Colonel James Rhodes strode purposefully into the senate hearing room, the colonel''s polished shoes clicking sharply on the tiled floor. Stark started to rise from his seat to greet his friend, a quip already forming on his lips, but Rhodes silenced him with an abrupt wave of his hand.


    "Don''t start, Tony," Rhodes said, his tone brooking no argument. "I''m here, let''s leave it at that."


    Stark settled slowly back into his chair, eyebrows raised. He opened his mouth as if to respond, then seemed to think better of it and simply nodded.


    Senator Stern, who had been observing this exchange with interest, now spoke up in his reedy voice. "Colonel Rhodes, I have before me the full report you prepared on the Iron Man weapon. For the record, would you please read paragraph four on page 57?"


    Rhodes turned toward the senator, his expression neutral. "You want me to read specific excerpts, sir? I was under the impression I''d be testifying in a more comprehensive manner."


    Stern waved a hand dismissively. "Plans change, Colonel. Just read the paragraph, if you would."


    Rhodes'' jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his tone remained polite. "With respect, Senator, reading a single paragraph out of context does not accurately convey the summary findings of my full report."


    Stern''s eyes narrowed. "I''m well aware of that, Colonel. Read the paragraph."


    "Very well," Rhodes acquiesced after a brief pause. His gaze dropped to the report on the desk before him as he read in a clear voice, "As he does not operate within any definable branch of government, Iron Man presents a potential threat to the security of both the nation and her interests." Rhodes looked back up at the senator. "However, if you''ll permit me, I do go on to summarize that the benefits provided by Iron Man far outweigh any liabilities, and recommend that it would be advantageous to fold Mr. Stark''s operations into the existing military chain of command."


    Stern held up a hand. "That''s sufficient, thank you Colonel."


    Rhodes pressed on stubbornly. "In order to fully understand my position, Senator, I believe it is important to consider my full statement on..."


    "That''s enough," Stern interrupted testily.


    Stark, who had been watching the exchange with mounting amusement, now spoke up. "Well, I''m not really the ''fall in line'' type, but I''ll think about Secretary of Defense if you ask nicely." A ripple of laughter passed through the spectators. "Maybe we can negotiate on the hours a bit," Stark added with a roguish grin.


    Stern''s craggy features darkened at the flippant response. He ground out, "I¡¯d like to go on and show, if I may, the imagery that¡¯s connected to your report."


    Colonel Rhodes'' jaw tightened further as he responded stubbornly, "I believe it is somewhat premature to reveal these images to the general public at this time."


    Stern''s eyes flashed with impatience. "With all due respect, Colonel, I understand. And if you could just narrate those for us, we¡¯d be very grateful. Let¡¯s have the images."


    Rhodes'' shoulders tensed, but he nodded sharply. "Intelligence suggests that the devices seen in these photos are, in fact, attempts at making manned copies of Mr Stark¡¯s suit. This has been corroborated by our allies and local intelligence on the ground, indicating that these suits are quite possibly, at this moment, operational."


    While Rhodes was speaking, Stark had picked up a Stark Industries tablet and was tapping away, an intent look on his face.


    Rhodes finished his narration with a wary glance at Stark. "That''s all for now, Senator."


    Stark looked up from his tablet, eyes glinting. "Hold on a second buddy. Let me see something here."


    Stern''s craggy features creased in anger. "What is he doing?" he spat.


    Starked tapped a few more times. Before replying, "I commandeered your screens. I need them. Time for a little transparency." Stark connected his tablet to the screens displaying the classified images. "Now, let''s see what''s really going on."


    Stark just grinned. "If you will direct your attention to said screens, I believe that¡¯s North Korea." The screens changed to show shaky video footage of a robotic suit. It promptly fell over. The technology was clearly not operational.


    Stern''s face flushed an angry red. "Can you turn that off?" he barked. "Take it off."


    Justin Hammer had risen from his seat during the commotion. He now stood by the screens, frantically looking for the off switch.


    Stark was unfazed. "Iran," he announced, as the screens switched to show a different suit. This one managed a few seconds of unsteady flight before smoke started pouring from it. The image cut to the suit crashing in a ball of flame.


    "No grave threat here," Stark commented drily.


    Then the screens switched again, showing Justin Hammer himself posing with a crude robotic suit. Stark raised an eyebrow. "Is that Justin Hammer? How did Hammer get in the game?"


    The video footage showed Hammer''s suit attempting to move, but only managing an uncoordinated stumble. Stark called out, "Justin, you''re on TV. Focus up."


    The video Hammer looked around confusedly. "Okay, give me a left twist. Left''s good. Turn to the right." The robotic suit twisted completely around and the pilot let out a strangled scream. Hammer could then be heard over the yelling, "Oh, shit. Oh, shit."


    Stark winced theatrically. "Language, Justin."


    Just then, the real Hammer managed to unplug the screens, cutting off the feed. Stark shrugged, unconcerned. "Wow. Yeah, I''d say most countries, five, ten years away. Hammer Industries, twenty."


    Hammer piped up defensively, "I''d like to point out that that test pilot survived."


    Stern cut him off angrily. "I think we''re done is the point that he''s making. I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any reason to continue this display."


    Stark leaned forward, his expression intense. "The point I''m making is you''re safe. America is secure. You want my property? You can''t have it." His words brooked no argument. "I''ve successfully privatized world peace," he concluded, his bold declaration resonating through the room.


    The frustrated senators exchanged uneasy glances, disbelief warring with grudging acceptance on their faces.


    Senator Stern, having failed to corner the infuriatingly flippant Tony Stark, turned his attention back to Mirage. Stern''s voice took on a prosecutorial tone as he began to question the illusionist.


    "Let''s discuss your powers, shall we Mirage?" Stern began, a predatory glint in his eyes. "These little magic shows of yours, how can we be sure they''re safe? Shouldn''t the government have some oversight on the potential danger your abilities could pose to the hardworking citizens who elected us to protect them?"


    Mirage sat calmly, an air of quiet confidence surrounding the young hero. He responded without hesitation, unfazed by the Senator''s attempt at intimidation. "If you truly thought I was a danger, Senator, why invite me here today? This feels more like political grandstanding than genuine concern for public safety. Your words and actions don''t seem to match."


    Stern, unshaken by the retort, continued his line of questioning, grasping for any thread to unravel the composed young man in front of him. "All young men are required to register with the Selective Service upon turning eighteen. Are you registered, young man? And while we''re on the subject, why don''t you tell us your real identity and the source of these illusory powers of yours?"


    Mirage''s reply came just as cool and collected as before. "I am not registered, Senator."


    Stern pounced on the admission, launching into a stern lecture, wagging his finger like a principal disciplining an unruly student. "That''s a felony. You could be looking at up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000 for failure to register. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"


    "I haven''t registered because I''m not eighteen yet."


    A hush fell over the room as Mirage delivered his simple, yet shocking response. Every eye in the room focused on Mirage, who sat calmly, almost nonchalantly dropping this bombshell. The attendees, from senators to journalists, began to fully comprehend the meaning behind his words. This young man, not even an adult, had single-handedly stopped a bomb-wielding madman armed with advanced military technology. He had faced down an enormous mutated lizard capable of tossing cars with ease. And he likely did all of this while still attending high school, keeping up with homework and tests. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd, a mixture of awe, respect, and disbelief. Stern glanced around, his annoyance written on his face. His line of attack had crumbled in an instant upon learning Mirage''s age. In a room full of powerful adults, Mirage now revealed to still be a teen, suddenly seemed larger than life. His bravery cast the entire debate about superheroes in a new light that gave even the most cynical senator pause. Stern and his colleagues exchanged uneasy looks, some clearly reassessing their stance.


    ''As for the source of my powers, I''m a mutant." At Tyson''s admission, the crowd began to murmur. The press in particular looked intrigued, leaning forward in their seats, pens poised over notepads.


    Senator Stern plastered a skeptical, dismissive look across his face. "Mutants aren''t real," he scoffed. "This is a hearing based on facts, not science fiction."


    Tyson met the senator''s gaze evenly. "You should know mutants are real, Senator. I was attacked by a government agency led by William Stryker. As a member of the defense committee, I''m sure you''re informed of such agencies and operations."


    Stern''s eyes narrowed briefly before he responded, "Colonel William Stryker was killed recently, and his death and actions while in command of that defense division are under investigation. The details of that department and its investigation are classified and shall not be discussed any further as this is a public hearing."


    Tyson considered how suspicious the senator''s quick retort was. He stared hard at the man, noticing details that jogged his memory. Stern''s face, his mannerisms; Tyson realized why the senator seemed familiar. This man was HYDRA. Why did he keep running into these guys? Tyson tamped down a flare of anger. Then there was the revelation that Stryker was dead. Tyson thought Stryker had escaped Alkali Lake, but it seemed he assumed incorrectly.


    There was nothing he could do about it now. Keeping his voice steady, Tyson continued, "I have connected with S.H.I.E.L.D. If the government needs me, I''ll answer the call. I''m not your enemy, Senator. I help stop those in my neighborhood who pose a threat that the police can''t handle. I kept a military weapon out of the hands of the bad guys. You wanted me to give it back, and I have... but like Mr. Stark¡­ I''m not your weapon."


    As Tyson finished, the room fell into a tense silence peppered by soft murmurs.


    As the hearing wound down, Tyson watched as the last of the senators filed out of the room. He was left with Tony Stark, the two heroes having a moment away from the grilling before the press closed in.


    "That was nicely done," Stark said, clapping Tyson lightly on the shoulder. Though his tone was casual, there was an uncharacteristic sincerity to the words.


    Tyson blinked in surprise but quickly composed himself. "I was just following your lead," he replied modestly. In truth, watching Stark stand before the hostile committee had emboldened him in his own testimony.


    Stark''s smile widened. "Maybe I''ll stop by for one of your shows sometime," he said. "I could use a few tips on showmanship from a master illusionist."


    Tyson laughed lightly. "You don''t need any tips, you''re already a master. But you''re welcome anytime. And hey, if you ever want me to tell your story, like I do Spider-Man''s, I''d be more than happy to. Though I doubt you need the money."


    At this, Stark''s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. For a brief moment, his smiling facade cracked, revealing a flicker of somber seriousness. "Actually, I might take you up on that," he said slowly. Though his tone was still casual, there was a sudden weight to the words that hinted at something deeper.


    Tyson watched as Stark turned and walked toward the exit, mulling over the strange exchange. As Stark reached the door, he glanced back with a wave. "Catch you later, David Blaine," he called out with a flash of his signature grin before disappearing down the hall.


    Tyson found his thoughts returning to that brief, serious moment of reflection on Tony''s face. He knew the reasoning behind that brief glimpse of solemnity, the hidden battle the billionaire genius was facing. It was a reminder that behind the swagger there was a man facing his own private struggles¡­ A man living on borrowed time. Stark only had days left to live from palladium poisoning, caused by the arc reactor in his chest.


    Tyson sighed, lost in thought. Even if he wanted to help Tony, Tyson didn''t have the scientific knowledge to solve the Palladium problem, but maybe he could drop a hint.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Happy tapped Tony on the back of the head with a light punch, not enough to truly hurt the man but certainly enough to get his attention. Tony reacted quickly, kicking out and sending Happy crashing into the corner of the boxing ring. Tony stepped back, dropping his fists. "That''s it. I''m done," he announced.


    He turned to the woman who''d grabbed his attention when she walked in with Pepper. "What''s your name, lady?"


    "Rushman. Natalie Rushman," she replied smoothly.


    "Front and center. Come into the church," Tony directed, beckoning her forward.


    Pepper shot him a look. "No. You''re seriously not gonna ask..." she began warningly.


    "If it pleases the court, which it does," Tony interrupted with a roguish grin.


    Natalie glanced at Pepper apologetically. "It''s no problem," she assured the other woman before stepping into the ring.


    Pepper shook her head in exasperation. "I''m sorry. He''s very eccentric," she explained to Natalie.


    Tony took another swig from a bottle filled with a strange green liquid as Natalie entered the ring. "Can you give her a lesson?" he asked Happy.


    "No problem," Happy agreed readily, though his expression showed he was still smarting a bit from the kick.


    Tony stepped out of the ring and sauntered over to sit by Pepper. "Pepper," he began.


    "What?" she asked flatly, clearly annoyed.


    "Who is she?" Tony wanted to know, nodding his head toward Natalie.


    Pepper let out an irritated huff. "She is from legal. And she is potentially a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit if you keep ogling her like that."


    Tony waved a hand dismissively. "I need a new assistant, boss," he declared.


    Pepper''s eyes flashed. "Yes, and I''ve got three excellent potential candidates. They''re lined up and ready to meet you."


    "I don''t have time to meet. I need someone now. I feel like it''s her," Tony insisted stubbornly.


    Pepper shook her head in disbelief. "No, it''s not."


    Meanwhile, Happy was sizing Natalie up. "You ever boxed before?" he questioned.


    "I have, yes," Natalie confirmed.


    Happy looked skeptical. "What, like, the Tae Bo? Booty Boot Camp? Crunch? Something like that?"


    Natalie''s face flickered with brief annoyance before Tony''s voice distracted her again.


    "How do I spell your name, Natalie?" Tony called out.


    "R-U-S-H-M-A-N," she spelled out for him.


    Pepper threw up her hands. "What, are you gonna google her now?"


    Tony smirked. "I thought I was ogling her." He tapped on the table they were sitting at, bringing up Natalie''s file. The table surface doubled as a high-tech computer screen. Tony had computers integrated into everything.


    "Wow. Very, very impressive individual," Tony murmured appreciatively as he scanned through Natalie''s information.


    Pepper let out a bitter laugh. "You''re so predictable, you know that?"


    Tony murmured appreciatively as he scanned through Natalie''s information, his eyes darting back and forth across the page. "I need her. She¡¯s got everything that I need. Tony focused entirely on the projected file. "She''s fluent in French, Italian, Russian, Latin," he mused aloud. "Who speaks Latin?"


    "No one speaks Latin," Pepper said flatly, her tone brooking no argument.


    "No one speaks Latin," Tony echoed absently, his mind clearly elsewhere.


    Pepper gave him a withering look, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. "It''s a dead language. You can read Latin or you can write Latin, but you can''t speak Latin."


    Tony continued on, his next question explaining his absent-mindedness "Did you model in Tokyo? ''Cause she modeled in Tokyo," he said, his gaze glued to Natalie''s pictures rather than her resume.


    Pepper threw her hands up in exasperation, letting out an aggravated huff. She was plainly fed up with Tony''s single-minded focus on the new assistant.


    Happy circled Natalie on the mat, "Rule number one, never take your eyes off who you''re fighting," he cautioned. He threw a punch, but Natalie reacted instantly. She grabbed his outstretched arm and used his momentum to flip him in one smooth motion. Happy''s legs flipped up and over as he crashed heavily onto his back on the mat.


    Pepper''s eyes went wide with shock as she watched the quick takedown. "Oh my God, Happy!" she exclaimed.


    Tony''s face lit up with an eager grin as he watched Natalie dispatch his bodyguard. "That''s what I''m talking about!" he exclaimed approvingly.


    Happy let out a pained groan from his position flat on his back on the mat. "I just slipped," he claimed unconvincingly as he struggled to catch his breath.


    Tony''s grin only grew wider with skepticism. "You did?" he asked, his voice dripping with doubt.


    "Yeah," Happy confirmed, though the discomfort written plainly across his face told a very different story.


    Tony clearly did not believe him for a second. "Looks like a TKO to me," he pronounced decisively. He rang the bell signaling the end of the match as Natalie stepped away from the mat, leaving Happy groaning in pain behind her.


    Natalie turned to Tony, her expression neutral. "I need your impression," she requested briskly.


    Tony considered her for a moment, rubbing his chin. "You have a quiet reserve. I don¡¯t know, you have an old soul," he mused thoughtfully.


    "I meant your fingerprint," Natalie clarified in a businesslike tone.


    "Right," Tony said, looking mildly embarrassed as he pressed his thumb to the scanner she held out.


    Pepper stepped over, hands on her hips, "So, how are we doing?" she inquired.


    "Great. Just wrapping up here," Tony replied breezily, handing the scanner back to Natalie. "Hey. You¡¯re the boss," he added.


    Natalie''s expression remained impassive. "Will that be all, Mr Stark?" she asked coolly.


    "No," Tony responded immediately, his eyes trailing over her appreciatively.


    "Yes, that will be all, Ms Rushman," Pepper cut in sharply. "Thank you very much."


    Natalie inclined her head and exited the room. Tony turned to Pepper, an eager light in his eyes. "I want one," he declared.


    "No," Pepper refused flatly, her mouth set in a firm line.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The Senate hearing behind him, Tyson found the thrum of the jet''s engines oddly comforting as the plane flew back to New York. The trip was blessedly short, just under an hour in the air, but his mind continued churning through the events of the past day. When they touched down, he thanked Maria Hill for the ride and for the counsel she had provided in preparation for the hearing. Though she had not needed to speak on his behalf before the politicians, her insights shared en route had contributed greatly to his success. Agent Hill graced him with the barest nod, acknowledging his words before striding from the plane.


    Tyson grabbed his helmet and made his way outside, to his waiting motorcycle. He swung a leg over the machine, settling onto the leather seat. He thumbed the starter and felt the engine rumble to life beneath him. Tyson twisted the throttle, savoring the throaty roar as the bike surged forward. The wind tore at his clothes, the familiar smells and sounds of the city rising around him. It was good to be back in New York. Back home. He cruised through the streets, weaving amongst taxis and delivery vans.


    Tyson strode through the lobby of the Four Seasons. He was brought up short when the woman at the front desk hurried over, "I''m so sorry to bother you, sir," she apologized profusely, wringing her hands. "But an important letter arrived for you earlier today. It was hand-delivered and marked urgent."


    Tyson paused, frowning slightly. His mismatching eyes narrowed as he considered this unexpected development. Who would be sending him urgent correspondence here at the hotel? After a moment he nodded, extending a hand.


    "Let''s have a look then," he said, his voice a low rumble.


    The woman bustled behind the counter and returned swiftly, pressing a crisp ivory envelope into Tyson''s waiting palm. He noted the heavy texture of the paper, the wax seal on the back. Who still used wax seals? Tyson slid a finger under the flap and extracted the letter within. For a long moment, he simply stood, letter in hand, deaf to the flow of people around him checking in and out. Tyson focused on the meticulous script flowing across the page. It was from the Ancient One. His eyes flicked back and forth as he quickly read the contents.


    Saturday, May 28, 2011


    Tyson Smith, Mirage,


    Leader of the House of M


    Dear Tyson,


    I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I have been keeping an eye on your recent endeavors, both the shows that captivate so many and your recent appearance at the Senate hearing. It is heartening to see someone of your unique talents engage in such pivotal societal discourses. Your ability to engage both audiences is truly admirable.


    It strikes me that it has been some time since our last conversation. To this end, I would like to extend an invitation for breakfast at the New York Sanctum, tomorrow morning. I believe a face-to-face meeting would provide a conducive atmosphere for the exchange of thoughts and experiences of events that have emerged since we last spoke and those yet to come.


    The Sanctum will provide an assortment of culinary delights. However, I do find myself hoping that you might bring along some of that exquisite tea you shared during our last meeting. Its unique blend and aroma were quite lovely, and I have found my thoughts wandering to its comforting warmth on more than one occasion.


    I anticipate our meeting with a keen sense of expectation. Your journey, Tyson, is one that holds much promise, not just for you but for the many threads of destiny that you touch.


    The Sanctum is ever a place of welcome for those who tread the path of knowledge and understanding, and your presence will be a valued addition to its halls.


    In anticipation of our meeting,


    Ancient One,


    Sorceress Supreme


    PS. On a slightly more cryptic note, I suggest you bring flowers. I realize this may sound peculiar. However, I assure you there is a purpose to this request, one that will become clear during our meeting. Let us just say, that sometimes the simplest of gestures can have the most profound of meanings.

 Arc 5 - Ch 2: Not My Girlfriend

    Chapter 49


    Arc 5 - Ch 2: Not My Girlfriend


    Date: Sunday, May 29, 2011.


    Location: 177A Bleecker St., Greenwich Village, Manhattan, NY


    The sun had barely begun to light up the New York skyline when Tyson started his day. His first stop was McNulty''s Tea & Coffee Company on Christopher Street, a cozy shop with a warm, inviting aroma. Here, he picked up a special blend of tea, one the Ancient One had taken a liking to. It seemed odd to him that she would ask him to bring it considering its proximity to the Sanctum. Along with the tea, Tyson also picked up a large, beautifully potted bouquet of roses on the way, wondering about the significance of the Ancient One''s peculiar request.


    As he approached the New York Sanctum, Tyson couldn''t help but remember his first visit. The memory of Master Drumm denying him entry brought a slight smile to his face. Entering the Sanctum, Tyson was greeted by an unexpected sight. The sitting room was arranged with a lavish spread of food; a breakfast buffet with dishes from all corners of the globe. Despite the array of choices, only two chairs were set up, one of which was occupied by the Ancient One.


    The Ancient One stood up as Tyson entered. She extended her hand in greeting. Normally, Tyson avoided handshakes due to his life-draining ability, but he knew the Sorcerer Supreme had the means to circumvent his deadly touch. As he accepted her hand, there was no flinch from her, nor did he receive the usual rush of memories and power from the contact.


    "Thank you for coming, Tyson," she said, her voice holding a tone of both warmth and wisdom. "I see you brought the tea... and the flowers. How thoughtful."


    As Tyson set the potted roses on the table, he reached behind his back and produced a single yellow-orange rose, handing it to the Ancient One. "For you," he said. "It matches your robes."


    The Ancient One accepted the rose, "As I wrote, the simplest gestures hold more meaning than we realize," she said, her eyes reflecting a hint of something hidden beneath the surface.


    They sat down to eat, and as they began their meal, the Ancient One engaged Tyson in casual conversation. "How is your schooling going, Tyson?" she asked.


    Tyson replied, "I''m keeping up with my grades. All A''s so far."


    "And your hobbies?" she continued, sipping her tea gracefully.


    "I''ve been taking Martial Arts lessons at Chikara Dojo in Chinatown. My instructor, Colleen, has been great," Tyson explained, "She''s taught me a lot."


    The Ancient One nodded, "You know the secret of their scholarships?" she inquired with a hint of curiosity.


    Tyson answered confidently, "Yes. I rejected their scholarship but had an altercation with them last month. They tested me. Now they''re keeping an eye on me, and I''m keeping an eye on them. Nothing to worry about."


    Their conversation shifted to Tyson''s show. The Ancient One mentioned that she had read great reviews about it. Tyson''s expression lit up, "Yeah, it''s been an experience putting it together, and it helps my friend, Spiderman."


    "Ah yes, a Spiderman," the Ancient One remarked, her voice taking on a peculiar tone.


    Tyson was intrigued by her phrasing. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering if there was more to her words than a grammatical error. The Ancient One¡¯s knowledge was vast, and her use of "a Spiderman" rather than "Spiderman" hinted at a deeper knowledge of the world than Tyson had expected.


    Tyson ventured, "You know about Cindy Moon?"


    The Ancient One answered cryptically, "I know a great many things."


    As they continued their meal, the atmosphere was casual with an ever-present undertone of unspoken knowledge. "Now that our breakfast has concluded, our other guest should be arriving."


    Tyson heard the sound of the heavy doors that sealed the portals between the sanctums opening with his heightened senses. Footsteps echoed down the stairs until another figure appeared at the room''s threshold.


    Illyana Rasputin.


    Tyson''s ex-girlfriend.


    Illyana wore form-fitting robes that accentuated her lithe, yet undeniably strong figure. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and around her neck hung a simple pendant.


    "Tyson," Illyana greeted, Russian accent lent an exotic edge to her words.


    Tyson experienced a complex cocktail of emotions. His eyes briefly traced the familiar contours of her face, memories surfacing unbidden, both sweet and painful. The Ancient One observed their exchange silently. She seemed to understand the history and emotion at play, yet remained detached.


    Illyana''s voice pierced the heavy emotions painting the room. ¡°So, I hear from Jubilee about your escapades,¡± Illyana began, a teasing glint in her eyes. She leaned against the doorframe, ¡°She says you have a new girlfriend.¡±


    Illyana''s comment drew a surprised look from Tyson. He mumbled, "Not my girlfriend¡­"


    ¡°Jubilee says she''s a platinum blonde,¡± Illyana continued, ¡°It¡¯s almost like you¡¯re trying hard to keep some memory of me alive.¡± She raised an eyebrow, her playful smirk softening slightly.


    Tyson opened his mouth to respond but then closed it, opting instead to smile sheepishly. He recognized Illyana¡¯s teasing for what it was.


    Illyana let out a soft chuckle. ¡°You should have just dated Jubilee. She¡¯s cute, single, totally infatuated with you, and she¡¯s Asian. If I remember correctly that¡¯s your type, yes?¡± Her words were laced with humor and affection.


    At this, Tyson couldn''t help but laugh. Standing up, he crossed the room and pulled Illyana into a hug. It was a warm, genuine embrace. Illyana returned the hug, her body relaxing into him. For a moment, they stood there, finding peace in each other''s arms.


    The Ancient One watched them, her expression softening ever so slightly.


    As they stepped back from the embrace, the atmosphere in the room felt lighter. Illyana''s sincerity shone as she said, ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Tyson.¡±


    ¡°Good to see you too, Illyana,¡± Tyson replied genuinely.


    Tyson grabbed the flowers from the table and extended the potted bouquet to Illyana, glad for the Ancient One¡¯s suggestion to bring them. Illyana accepted the bouquet. ¡°They''re beautiful, Thank you." Turning to the Ancient One, who was still seated and sipping her tea, Illyana explained, ¡°Initiates like myself aren''t normally allowed to use the portals. I¡¯ve been progressing with my training, so she¡¯s given me a free day.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you want to do on your day off?¡± Tyson asked.


    Illyana placed the flower pot on the table before answering, ¡°I¡¯d like to see Jubilee, and meet your new girlfriend.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not my girlfriend. Felicia is just a friend, and we¡¯re business partners,¡± Tyson clarified, but Illyana just continued, undeterred.


    ¡°And after that, let¡¯s go to the beach,¡± Illyana suggested.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be a tight schedule, even with your teleporting,¡± Tyson noted, considering the logistics. ¡°Felicia isn¡¯t far, but Jubilee is in Scarsdale and the beach¡­ Maybe Rockaway? Probably Rye, it''s closer but small.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t be a problem,¡± Illyana said confidently. Illyana gestured dismissively, opening a portal to Limbo with her mutant powers. The lights in the sanctum dimmed and took on a red hue, reminiscent of a warning beacon or siren.


    "How many times must I ask you not to open portals to other dimensions within the wards?" the Ancient One sighed in exasperation.


    "My mistake, Sorcerer Supreme," Illyana apologized insincerely.


    Tyson turned to the Ancient One and said, "Thank you for your hospitality." He shared an anticipatory look with Illyana before stepping through the portal, leaving the sanctum behind. In the span of a few portals and jumps, they emerged into the lavish suite at the Four Seasons Hotel.


    Illyana glanced around, commenting, "The place hasn''t changed much. Could use a woman''s touch."


    Tyson replied without thinking, "You are the only woman who has lived here."


    Her playful skepticism was evident as she responded with a simple "Uh huh." Illyana''s gaze softened. "I just wanted a moment to look around," she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "Good memories, you know." She stepped closer to him, entering his personal space. Her voice lowered, intimate and probing. "How much did you miss me?"


    He didn¡¯t back away, meeting her advance. "A lot," Tyson admitted. "The first month was rough, but I got through."


    Her voice was a whisper now, close enough that he felt her breath. "Have you made any progress at controlling your power?"


    He sighed, frustration was mixed with regret in his eyes. "I¡¯ve gotten better with illusions. But my touch... I haven''t improved since we last saw each other."


    "That¡¯s too bad," she said playfully. Illyana gave him a quick kiss, then stepped back, a hint of disappointment in her expression. "I was hoping for more fun, but I can''t reward you for not making progress."


    Tyson, who had been leaning into their closeness, felt a sudden sense of deflation as she pulled away. "Fair enough," he conceded, trying to mask his disappointment. "So, do we go see Jubilee first, or Felicia?"


    Illyana reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small, intricately designed object. Tyson¡¯s eyes narrowed as he observed the item. It was a ring, but not just any ring. The metal was a dull gold, aged yet well-crafted. Intricate patterns and symbols were etched into its surface.


    ¡°It¡¯s called a sling ring. It allows me to open portals nearly anywhere.¡± Illyana twirled the sling ring on her finger, ¡°Ready for a magical day out?¡± she asked as her eyes sparkled with excitement.


    Illyana tossed the ring to him. "You choose who we visit first," she said casually. Holding the sling ring, Tyson felt uncertain. "If you can''t learn to control your power, you might as well get a head start on learning magic," she suggested.


    "Are you sure this is okay?" Tyson asked, his brow furrowed in concern. In his mind, he recalled the Ancient One''s words about not starting his magical training until after the Battle of New York. He tried to remember the exact details. Was it that he couldn¡¯t learn at all, or just that he couldn¡¯t go to Kamar Taj? The specifics of the Ancient One''s mandate eluded him. Illyana was unaware of this restriction and believed he would start learning magic in less than a month, at the end of the school year.


    "It''s not like they keep trackers on the things." Illyana shrugged, "Well, it''s either you figure it out, or we''re staying in this hotel room all day."


    Tyson appeared behind Illyana. He wrapped an arm around her and whispered playfully in her ear, "I wouldn¡¯t mind staying in the room with you all day."


    But Illyana was quick to react. In a blink, she teleported to the other side of the room, breaking free from the illusion''s embrace. "No touching," she said firmly. "Not even with illusions."


    Tyson''s illusion faded away. Illyana simply gestured towards the sling ring in his hand, prompting him to focus on his assigned task.


    "Fine, I''ll give it a shot," Tyson said grudgingly.


    "Focus," she instructed in a tone reminiscent of a teacher guiding a student. "The sling ring channels your will. Visualize your destination clearly in your mind."


    Tyson briefly recalled how Dr. Strange had struggled to learn this skill. If he recalled correctly, the doctor had failed to utilize magic initially because he failed to accept that magic could be real, and had difficulty in dismissing his years of education for the esoteric. Unlike Dr. Strange, Tyson already knew without a doubt that magic was real. He slipped the ring onto his finger, feeling a strange tingle of energy. Closing his eyes, Tyson focused on visualizing the arena at House of M. The detailed memory of the place filled his mind, every corner and shadow clear in his mental image.


    "Now, wave your hand," Illyana instructed, "Make a circle in the air." Illyana''s presence was both reassuring and commanding as she continued her guidance. "Your movement must be smooth," she added, demonstrating with her own hand. "Imagine drawing a door in the air. The ring responds to intention, so your desire to reach the destination must be strong and clear."


    Tyson watched her movement, trying to mirror it in his own attempt. He extended his hand, and as he moved, he tried to keep his thoughts focused, remembering the texture of the walls and the feel of the air in the arena.


    "Concentration is key," Illyana emphasized, "You can''t be distracted. Imagine every detail of the place. Feel as if you''re already there." Tyson sharpened the image of the arena in his mind. "Good, keep going," Illyana urged him. "Feel the energy of the sling ring. It''s a bridge between your will and the fabric of reality. You''re bending that fabric, connecting where you are and where you''re visualizing."


    The notion of bending reality seemed overwhelming, yet the tingling sensation from the sling ring made it feel possible, even natural. He continued to move his hand, more confidently now, his mind wrapped around the idea of pulling the distant location closer with each circular motion. As he focused, Illyana''s presence seemed to fade into the background, his entire being concentrated on the task at hand. His hand moved with more purpose, his mind locked onto the vision of the arena.


    As Tyson continued, something remarkable happened. Tiny sparks began to appear in the air where his hand moved. They grew brighter, coalescing into a shimmering circle. The sparks danced and twirled, creating a swirling vortex that grew in size.


    Illyana watched as Tyson''s will brought the magic to life. Through the portal, Tyson could see the armory''s arena, just as he had visualized it.


    "Well done," Illyana said, her tone carrying a hint of pride. "I didn¡¯t expect you to pick it up so fast." Though she didn''t voice it, she felt a twinge of jealousy. She had struggled with the sling ring initially. Seeing Tyson master it so quickly sparked both envy and hope for his magical talents.


    "Using illusions is all about visualization. Picturing where I want to go is child''s play at this point," he explained.


    As they stepped through the portal, Tyson''s excitement was evident. "Welcome to the House of M," he declared, his eyes sparkling with a sense of achievement.


    Illyana scanned the empty arena, her expression shifting from anticipation to mild disappointment. "I was expecting more," she admitted.


    In that moment, the arena transformed.


    The emptiness gave way to a bustling cityscape. They stood on a rooftop in midtown, the skyline stretching around them. The wind tugged playfully at Illyana''s hair, bringing with it the distinct smells of the city below; a mixture of food, asphalt, and the faint, underlying scent of the river. The sounds of traffic, distant conversations, and the rhythmic beat of the city filled her ears.


    Beside them, Spider-Man swung onto the roof.


    Illyana''s eyes widened in amazement, her senses overwhelmed by the authenticity of the illusion. "You have gotten better," she acknowledged, her voice laced with genuine surprise.


    "Yeah, he gets a lot of practice," Spider-Man chimed in.


    "It''s like second nature now," Tyson said. The ease with which he had created this vivid, immersive world was a testament to his growing control and mastery over his powers.


    Illyana looked around, taking in every detail.


    The feel of the rooftop beneath her feet, the chill of the wind against her skin, the intricate web patterns on Spider-Man''s suit.


    This wasn''t just an illusion; it was a piece of Tyson''s world, brought to life with remarkable clarity.


    Tyson suggested, "Come on, let''s go meet Felicia."


    He confidently walked towards a door on the roof and passed through it. Illyana followed, stepping into a long hallway that seamlessly transitioned into a staircase.


    The illusion maintained its grip on reality, altering only slightly as they moved.


    Curiosity colored Illyana''s voice. "How are you doing this?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the surroundings, intrigued.


    Tyson explained, "Part of it is a trick of the mind," he began. "The rest is about shaping the illusion to fit the real building¡¯s structure." As he relaxed his focus, the illusion partially faded, revealing it as an overlay upon the actual hallway. The spectral images of Tyson''s illusion covered over the walls. Letting Illyana see both the illusion and reality at the same time, giving her insight into how he was tricking her senses.


    Tyson then shared a key detail. "This level of immersion," he said, "it''s much easier because we made eye contact and you¡¯re not resisting. It''s more taxing with someone who is fighting." He mentioned, "Jean wasn''t fooled by my illusions until we made eye contact and she allowed me in. So, powerful psychics might be unaffected or easily see through the deception. And you remember how they flat out didn''t work on some of the demons in Limbo." he added.


    Illyana''s voice held a note of confusion as she questioned, "I don''t understand how you''ve grown so adept with illusions, yet seem unable to restrain your life drain even for a moment."


    Frustration seeped into Tyson''s reply. "It''s not as if I haven''t tried. I''ve been visiting a pet store and purchasing boxes of live crickets. While some are intended as food for my pet spider, I use most of the insects to practice reining in my power. Despite the hundreds of dead crickets, I haven''t made any progress in holding back."


    Illyana''s tone softened slightly as she responded, "Don''t give up. When I first started learning to use the sling ring I struggled too. Remember how upset I was when I returned from Kamar Taj last summer? Each time I tried to use the sling ring, I would teleport instead. It took practice before I was able to separate my power from magic." She paused. When she continued, a hint of admiration tinged her tone, "I suspected you might have a similar problem. I expected you would conjure an illusion, not open a portal with the ring. Yet you surprised me."


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Tyson''s eyes flashed with accusation, "Wait¡­ So you assumed I wouldn''t be able to use the ring?"


    Illyana brushed off his comment dismissively. "Don''t take it personally."


    Tyson knocked on a door at the end of the hall. From the other side, a beautiful voice beckoned them, "Come on in."


    The door swung open, revealing a hidden room untouched by Tyson''s illusions. Illyana found herself stepping into a stylish lounge, its ambiance chic and intimate. The space catered to private conversations and discreet meetings with its arrangement of plush chairs and secluded booths.


    Felicia Hardy lounged against the bar, exuding relaxed confidence and charm. Her elegant attire accentuated her casual magnetism. Felicia assessed Illyana with playful curiosity. Illyana met Felicia''s look with a cool, guarded expression. She acknowledged the other woman''s presence but revealed nothing. While Felicia appeared completely at ease, Illyana remained alert, taking in details of the room and its sole occupant.


    Tyson stood between the two women. He cleared his throat, breaking the tension that crackled in the air. "Felicia, I''d like you to meet my friend, Illyana," he began cautiously, thinking through each word before speaking. "Illyana, this is Felicia Hardy, a friend, classmate, and business partner. She manages the House of M, while I run the performances."


    He emphasized the word ''friend'' equally for both women, hoping to maintain calm and generate goodwill between them. Though he called them both friends, Tyson and they both knew there was far more complexity below the surface.


    "Tyson always manages to find interesting company," Felicia remarked casually, her gaze moving between Tyson and Illyana. It was a subtle test, intended to get a reaction from the other woman.


    Illyana''s expression remained cool, "I can see that," she replied, her voice taking on a sarcastic edge. "He does seem to have a type. Blondes, yes?" She flicked her eyes pointedly at Felicia''s platinum hair, then briefly at Tyson.


    Unfazed, Felicia leaned back against the bar, the picture of relaxed confidence. She ran a hand lazily through her alabaster locks, arrogance and challenge evident in her posture. "So it seems," she purred, her tone unmistakably defiant.


    Though the conversation appeared polite on the surface, the two women''s body language revealed the growing tension. Felicia stood relaxed and flirtatious, while Illyana was rigid with her shoulders squared. Their tones exposed their intentions. Felicia''s was smooth and melodic, every word selected to tease and test her rival. Illyana''s responses were more direct, and blunt yet layered with subtle meaning. Tyson watched the exchange with fascination. He knew both women well enough to detect the undercurrents of rivalry flowing between them.


    The tension in the room thickened subtly as Felicia Hardy shifted the direction of the conversation, "You know, Tyson. I''ve been managing your business affairs lately. Keeping the books balanced, the money flowing..." She let her words trail off leadingly as her emerald eyes flicked toward Illyana, standing firm across the room. "Funny thing is, I haven''t seen you around before. And I''ve been... close with Tyson for months now."


    Illyana held her ground, expression unchanged. "Mirage isn''t the only one here with powers," she stated bluntly. As a demonstration, she disappeared from where she stood, only to reappear an instant later several feet away. It was a subtle display, but effective; a clear showcase of her capabilities.


    "I''ve been away," Illyana continued, "But Tyson wouldn''t be standing here now if it weren''t for me." Her ice-blue eyes remained locked on Felicia''s as she spoke, "I saved him from a villain once. Who knows where he''d be without me."


    Felicia reassessed the woman. "Teleportation? Quite the trick," she remarked finally, "Handy for making dramatic entrances...or hasty exits."


    Illyana''s response was blunt. "It''s more than a trick," she said steadily. "It''s about being there when it matters. Like I was for Tyson."


    Tyson had enjoyed the cattiness between the two women to a point, but they were quickly reaching the line. He stepped between them, and when he reached the midway point, his image split. Using his illusions, one of him approached each woman. He said through both bodies, to both women simultaneously, "You both mean a great deal to me."


    Felicia arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the Tyson illusion standing before her. "Is that so?" She reached out, trailing a finger along the illusion''s jawline. "And just how much do I mean to you, hmm?"


    The Tyson addressing Illyana spoke with sincerity, "You''re right. I wouldn''t be here without you." His eyes shone with genuine affection and gratitude. "You might be the only person who could''ve rescued me from Magneto. Not only that, but you helped me through being controlled, and supported me when I proposed that crazy idea about Cerebro."


    Illyana regarded the illusion warily. After a moment, she replied coolly, "I''m glad you recognize that." The edge to her voice softened, shifting to a fond challenge. "Just be sure you don''t forget it."


    Across the room, Felicia laughed lightly at the Tyson before her. "You always did have a way with words," she murmured, trailing her fingers along his chest now. Her touch was light, teasing. "And I know that''s not all you can do with that pretty mouth."


    The Tyson with Illyana continued, "You know how I feel about you," he said, reaching out to take her hand. His touch was warm and reassuring. "I hope you can trust that."


    Illyana''s expression flickered, a brief glimpse of vulnerability crossing her beautiful features before she schooled them back into an impassive mask. Across the room, the illusion of Tyson faded away as Felicia stepped around where it had been. The other illusion, of Tyson speaking with Illyana, dissolved as well, leaving the real Tyson alone between the two women.


    Tyson''s hands flexed at his sides, "I have to keep the world at arm''s length, literally," he said, his voice low and rough, "because my power is so dangerous. But I''ve let both of you in. I care about you both and you have played important roles in my life."


    Illyana and Felicia stood nearly within arm''s reach of Tyson now. Felicia spoke first, addressing Illyana, her usual sultry nature taking a backseat to earnest honesty. "Before we hooked up, he told me his whole story. He didn''t leave anything out, including about you and how you saved him." Her voice took on a note of wonder. "The way he talked about you, you seemed larger than life. Like this superhero ex-girlfriend that I would never be able to measure up to. I was..." She hesitated, then pushed on. "I am jealous because, on top of that, you''re gorgeous too. It''s not even fair, how''s a girl supposed to compete? But I''m also thankful. Because if you hadn''t saved him, he never would have found me. He saved me from a bad situation. So thank you, Illyana."


    Illyana stood for a moment in stunned silence. When she spoke, her tone shifted to one that bordered on camaraderie. "Tyson can be a handful," she said, "Seems like he needs people like us around." Her gaze held a glint of understanding as she regarded the other woman. "People who can handle themselves, and him."


    Felicia smiled at Illyana''s concession. "Well, looks like we both have our ways of... managing Tyson."


    Illyana''s lips quirked upwards slightly. "Tell me about it," she murmured. She gave Felicia another considering look, reassessing the woman. There was more steel in her than Illyana had first realized. Perhaps she was worthy of him after all. She gave a small nod, a flicker of respect flashing in her eyes. "Takes a certain type to keep up with him."


    Felicia replied, "Keep up? I almost beat him in a race in gym class once. I didn''t know the cheater had superpowers at the time."


    Felicia''s remark drew a laugh from Illyana, though there was an edge to it that spoke of old memories. "I almost killed him during gym class once," she said.


    Felicia''s eyes lit up, intrigued. "Ooh, tell me more about that one," she insisted, leaning forward. She had to hear whatever story lay behind Illyana''s words.


    Illyana recalled the memory, "It was during a basketball game," she began. "I touched him and felt his life drain. At that moment, I was convinced he had used his powers against me intentionally."


    Her words dripped with remembered anger. "So I retaliated. I opened a portal and banished him straight to Limbo. Dropped him from a good height too."


    Tyson let out a low chuckle. "And then I spent the next month with you hunting demons, which you paid me for by modeling lingerie." His nonchalance only seemed to amuse Illyana.


    Illyana''s words held a teasing lilt as she regarded Tyson, "I don''t know which is your greatest weakness. That metal skeleton of yours against someone like Magneto, or a pretty girl needing your help?" She clicked her tongue and shook her head in mock disapproval. "Lord have mercy if you ever come across a villain that just so happens to be a pretty woman."


    Tyson''s eyes narrowed slightly, "I''m not that bad," he protested after a moment, a hint of laughter in his voice.


    Both Illyana and Felicia responded in unison, their words overlapping. "Yes, you are." Tyson let out a hearty laugh at their gentle ribbing and agreement.


    "Alright, I''ll be sure to watch out for any sexy villains that cross my path," he conceded easily, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.


    Felicia shook her head, her white hair swaying with the motion. "Please don''t," she implored, "Just close your eyes. Don''t look."


    "Make the illusion of yourself being blind if you must," Illyana added. Though her words were lighthearted, there was an undertone of genuine concern in her voice. She knew all too well how soft-hearted Tyson was when presented with a pretty face.


    In the silence that followed, Tyson turned his attention to Felicia. His amusement vanished, replaced by intent. "Before I forget, I need you to contact our financial manager. I want to short Oscorp stock, to put all of our available capital into puts against them."


    Felicia stared back at him, confusion evident. "Puts?" she asked uncertainly. Her lack of familiarity with the financial term was clear in her tone.


    "Puts are essentially a bet that a stock price will fall. I have reason to believe Oscorp is in for a steep decline very soon." Tyson explained, "I publicly undermined Oscorp''s reputation during that Senate hearing. And I saw in the schedule for the Stark Expo that one of Oscorp''s scientists, Dr. Octavius will be making a clean energy presentation. My instincts are telling me it will be a disaster for them."


    Comprehension dawned in Felicia''s eyes. Though unfamiliar with puts, she trusted Tyson''s judgment implicitly. She knew Tyson would not make a large gamble with their money without good cause. "Alright then, consider it done," Felicia declared, resolve steeling her voice. "I''ll call the finance manager as soon as we finish here."


    The subtle undertone of rivalry between Illyana and Felicia had softened as their conversation progressed. As they prepared to part ways, Felicia extended a hand toward Illyana, "Until we meet again, Illyana. It seems we have more in common than we initially thought."


    Illyana clasped the offered hand. Her pale fingers encircled Felicia''s, "Until next time, Felicia," she replied, her accented voice low. "And yes, maybe we do."


    Turning away from Felicia, Illyana strode confidently towards Tyson. Her eyes, reflecting a complex mix of boldness, desire, and unspoken emotions, locked onto his. With an almost theatrical motion, she wrapped one arm around his waist and the other gently around the back of his neck. Tyson allowed himself to be pulled down to her level, their lips meeting in a deep kiss that was as much Illyana claiming her territory as it was a moment of intimate connection. The kiss lingered, intense and hungry. Tyson felt caught up in the moment, a surge of conflicting emotions washing over him as thoughts of his past mingled with the passion of their embrace, and Illyana''s feelings and memories rushed into his own.


    Wanting to get the last word in, Felicia called out, "So much passion between you two, it''s kinda hot. Mind if I join in?"


    Illyana broke the kiss, though kept her body pressed close to Tyson''s. Casting a final, smoldering glare back at Felicia, she breathed, "Not this time."


    Illyana''s mutant power came to life, enveloping her and Tyson. With a flash, the pair vanished, teleporting away. Their abrupt departure left a tangible void in the room. Across the lounge, Felicia watched them go, her expression a carefully crafted mask of indifference, yet her eyes betrayed a flicker of grudging respect, rivalry, and perhaps a hint of kinship. As a connoisseur of dramatic exits herself, she could appreciate Illyana''s flair.


    "Maybe next time then," Felicia murmured to herself with a chuckle. Alone now, Felicia shook her head, smiling. "So dramatic," she said under her breath as she turned to call their financial manager.


    Tyson found himself back in the familiar arena of House of M, still reeling from the sudden portal jump and the heated kiss with Illyana that preceded it. He processed the rush of her power and her memories that flowed into him. He tried to use those insights to decipher the meaning behind her words and actions.


    "What was that about?" he asked, thinking he understood, but wanted to hear her explanation.


    Illyana staggered, the lingering kiss having drained her more than she cared to admit. Though Tyson''s power didn''t cause her the agonizing, soul-sucking pain that others felt, it still took its toll. Her already fair skin looked paler now, and she leaned heavily against Tyson for support as she gathered herself to answer.


    "It was a reminder," Illyana declared. "A reminder of our past, what I''m capable of, and what she''s up against." She met Tyson''s gaze unwaveringly despite her weakness. "Don''t forget, we''re not ordinary people. And if Felicia intends to remain close to you, she cannot remain ordinary either."


    Illyana drew a shaky breath, summoning her strength. "She must understand what she will contend with if she wants to stand at your side." Her eyes flashed with conviction. "I will not see you hurt again as you were before. If Felicia cannot handle the truth of us, cannot embrace the fullness of who we are, then she is not worthy of you."


    She stood up straighter and extended her slender hand towards him, palm upturned in expectation. "Now, give me the ring."


    Still perplexed, Tyson retrieved the ring from his pocket and placed it in her waiting hand. He mumbled, "I don''t know if I''d call Felicia ordinary." But he couldn''t help asking, "Are you mad at me?"


    Illyana rolled her eyes, a hint of exasperation creeping into her voice. "You''re such a boy. No, of course not. I like your new girlfriend. I just know you''re going to be difficult about this, so I''m taking matters into my own hands."


    "She''s not my girlfriend", Tyson reiterated, reflexively. Comprehension slowly dawned across his features. "Wait...you like her?" he asked incredulously. He shook his head in disbelief. "That was you liking her?"


    Illyana gave a small shrug, amusement glinting in her eyes. "I do."


    "But you''re always so..." Tyson trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand as he searched for the right word.


    "So¡­" Illyana continued, "I was so¡­ What?" she asked threateningly.


    Tyson winced. "I was going to say intense."


    With every woman Tyson touched, he gained flashes of insight into their lives. He gained their memories, thoughts, feelings, and experiences, albeit temporarily. Despite all the things that he''d felt and lived through their memories, things no normal man could understand¡­ Women continued to elude him. He shook his head ruefully. "I''m never going to fully understand women, am I?"


    Illyana shrugged, "Probably not. But I suppose that''s part of what makes us interesting."


    "Hold on..." he trailed off as he processed the rest of what Illyana had said earlier. "Why would I be difficult? What are you going to do that I''m not going to like?"


    Without answering, Illyana spun a circle with her hand wearing the sling ring and conjured a swirling portal. She grabbed Tyson and pulled him through the gateway. The portal snapped shut behind them, leaving no time for Tyson to gain his bearings or recognize their new surroundings.


    Tyson found himself in a small dormitory room divided neatly in two by the contrasting personalities of its inhabitants. One half was tidy and orderly. Fairy lights cast a warm glow over stacked textbooks and notebooks, while highlighters, and pens were arranged in a rainbow of colors along the desk''s edge. The other half was its opposite. Posters haphazardly adorned the walls, displaying anime characters and fantastical scenes. A well-worn gaming chair faced a monitor flashing with colors, controllers strewn across the floor amidst discarded clothes and snack wrappers.


    As Tyson took in the dichotomy, realization struck. He knew this room, he''d spent days hanging out here, relaxing, playing videogames.


    This was Jubilee and Jean''s room.


    He was back at Xavier''s Institute.


    Panic flared within him and he hissed in a low, urgent tone, as if trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. "Illyana, what the hell? I thought we were going to meet Jubes at the train station or something. You know I can''t be here after what I did!"


    Before Illyana could respond, a surprised "Eeep!" drew Tyson''s attention. He turned comically slowly to see Jubilee in the doorway. She stood frozen, clutching the towel tightly around her petite frame. She''d just stepped out of the shower, her short black hair was damp and tousled, tendrils curling against her slender neck. The last thing she expected was to find Tyson and Illyana in her room, uninvited and unannounced.


    "Jubes!" Illyana exclaimed, seemingly unfazed by Jubilee''s state of undress, as if their sudden appearance was perfectly normal.


    "Illyana, what the¡ª?" she started, but her protest was cut short as Illyana embraced her in a tight hug. Jubilee''s arms hung limply at her sides for a moment, her mind struggling to process the situation. Slowly, she returned the hug, her confusion and annoyance melting into a reluctant amusement.


    As Jubilee stepped back from Illyana''s embrace, her eyes flicked to Tyson''s imposing form. The realization that she stood before him in nothing but a towel hit her. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the heat spreading across her face and down her neck.


    "Uh, Tyson?" Jubilee stammered, her voice faltering as she struggled to find the right words. She''d always harbored a crush on him. But now, caught off guard and vulnerable, she found herself torn between the desire to shy away and the yearning for his attention.


    Tyson shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the room. But before he could even conjure the thought of escaping, Illyana''s authoritative voice halted him in his tracks. "I know you''re thinking about teleporting away. Don''t you dare," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.


    Illyana turned to Jubilee, "You know if he leaves, he isn''t coming back," she explained. Jubilee''s gaze flicked between Illyana and Tyson, curiosity and apprehension warring within her. She knew Illyana was right. Tyson had explained why he left the institute to her and Jean. If Tyson left now, he might never return.


    "Uhh... fine, but what are you doing here?" Jubilee asked, her bewilderment clear. She couldn''t fathom why they''d decided to drop in unannounced, especially when she was in such a compromising position.


    Illyana, rummaging heedlessly through Jean''s drawers, answered, "We''re going to the beach. Get a bathing suit," she stated matter-of-factly, as if planning an impromptu beach trip was the most ordinary thing in the world.


    Jubilee blinked, her mind struggling to keep up with Illyana''s proclamation. A beach trip? Now? The thought sent a thrill coursing through her body, though it was quickly chased by a swell of nervous energy. She couldn''t deny her attraction to him, nor the allure of spending time together at the beach, and maybe catching his eye. Yet the history between them gave her pause. She and Illyana had not always been friends. Their bond had formed only after Jubilee offered the use of her powers against the demon, Azazel. Since then, even with Illyana halfway across the world, the two spoke regularly and had quickly become close. From the beginning, Illyana had known of Jubilee''s feelings for Tyson. And after their touch, when her memories flooded into him, there was no doubt Tyson knew as well.


    As Jubilee''s thoughts continued to race, she took a deep, steadying breath. This impromptu trip had clearly been Illyana''s idea. If she was initiating it, despite their complicated history, she must be comfortable with the situation. Jubilee felt herself begin to relax. Illyana would not have suggested this if she had any concerns. And while the circumstances were far from ideal, the opportunity to spend time with Tyson was too tempting to pass up. Jubilee made up her mind; she would go to the beach.


    As Illyana continued to rifle through her roommate''s belongings, Jubilee''s initial trepidation began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of excitement. This was an opportunity, she realized. A chance to be near Tyson, to show him a different side of herself. She glanced down at the towel wrapped around her body, a sudden burst of confidence surging through her. She had nothing to be ashamed or shy about.


    Tyson stood awkwardly, his back partially turned as Illyana rummaged unabashedly through Jean''s drawers.


    "Why are you going through Jean''s things?" Tyson asked, a note of reproach entering his voice.


    Illyana didn''t even glance up, her focus intent on the contents of the drawer. "I''m getting a bathing suit," she replied, her tone brooking no argument.


    Uncertainty flickered in Jubilee''s eyes as she glanced between Tyson and Illyana. The situation felt surreal. Sensing, yet misinterpreting Jubilee''s hesitation, Illyana added lightly, "Don''t worry, he''s honest. If he peeks, I''ll drop him in Limbo again." Her words sounded playful but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that made it unclear if she was joking or not.


    Hearing the thinly veiled threat, Tyson obediently turned his back fully. With a wave of his hand, an illusionary brick wall materialized, separating him from the girls.


    "I know you can see through that wall," Illyana called out, her voice a mix of teasing and warning. "No peeking!"


    Tyson was abashed at being called out. He hadn''t intended on peeking at the girls, but couldn''t fault Illyana for threatening him for Jubilee''s sake. He made no move to dispel the illusion and would respect their privacy despite his ability to circumvent it.


    The room filled with the sounds of rustling clothes and muffled conversation as Jubilee hurried to grab her own swimsuit. She still cast occasional glances at the illusory barrier, torn between amusement and exasperation at the bizarre situation unfolding in her bedroom.


    Tyson turned around to face the two young women once they were dressed. His eyes were immediately drawn to their striking figures. Jubilee stood in a sunny yellow one-piece swimsuit that hugged her athletic build, showcasing her toned physique. Illyana presented a stark yet alluring contrast in her bold, black two-piece. The simple yet elegant swimsuit perfectly suited her fair, porcelain-like skin.


    Tyson''s gaze lingered on Jubilee, taking in the new, shorter hairstyle that framed her face. "I see you''ve cut your hair. It looks nice," he said.


    A faint blush rose on Jubilee''s cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Though they had not seen each other for some weeks, he had recalled such a minor detail about her appearance. She ran a hand self-consciously through her dark locks, pleased that he had noticed the change. "Thanks," she said, offering him a shy smile.


    Illyana watched the exchange with muted amusement, her pale blue eyes moving between the two of them. She wondered if Tyson realized the effect his praise had on her friend.


    Jubilee tried to shake off the effects of his complement. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked between Tyson and Illyana. "So, what''s next?" she asked, her voice bubbly with anticipation.


    Illyana nonchalantly removed the sling ring from her finger and casually tossed it to Tyson. "Pick a beach. I haven''t been to any good ones," she stated flatly with a shrug of her shoulders.


    Tyson deftly caught the ring, rolling the metal band between his fingers thoughtfully as a realization dawned on him. He recalled a special event happening this very day, that was conveniently close to the beach. Grabbing the remote from Jubilee, he turned on the television and flipped through the channels until he found the broadcast he sought.


    An aerial view of the picturesque Mediterranean coastline and a winding race course.


    "Have either of you been to Europe before?" Tyson asked. Keeping his focus on the image on the screen, he filled in the gaps in the destination with memories from the Marvel movie of his past life. He swirled his arm, conjuring a shimmering, oval portal. The rift revealed a sunny beach with sparkling azure waters.


    Stepping through the portal, the three were greeted by warm, salty sea air. The beach was a breathtaking panorama of golden sands and sapphire waters, bustling with the lively energy of a sun-kissed paradise. The soothing sounds of waves gently lapping at the shore mingled with the distant chatter of beachgoers. The revving of powerful engines could be heard emanating from the distance. Tyson spread his arms wide, turning to the two young women with a grin. "Welcome to Monaco!" he announced.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    AN: If you havent voted in Tyson¡¯s next power poll on the Pat re on, you should do that this week. Fair chance i¡¯ll finish Arc 6 before next week¡¯s chapter update, at which point the poll will close. Doesn¡¯t cost anything to vote. Only 1 vote separates the top two choices as of this posting!


    Behind the scenes


    - In my outline, this was the shortest chapter, and I thought I''d have to combine this day with one of the others. But just kept going, and going¡­ and ended up being the longest chapter I wrote for this story. Ultimately I had to split it into two chapters, and it still ended up being a decent length.

 Arc 5 - Ch 3: Monaco

    Chapter 50


    Arc 5 - Ch 3: Monaco


    Date: Sunday, May 29, 2011.


    Location: Larvotto Beach, Principality of Monaco


    Larvotto Beach was a postcard-perfect scene nestled between the sparkling Mediterranean waters and a line of stately hotels. The sun''s golden rays bathed the soft, warm sands that stretched invitingly along the shoreline, where the clear, turquoise waves gently lapped. Amidst this vibrant scene, Tyson, Jubilee, and Illyana emerged from a shimmering portal, stepping onto the warm sands. The instantaneous transition from the institute to the beach left Jubilee''s eyes sparkling with delight, her signature bubbly attitude amplified by the atmosphere. Even the usually reserved Illyana couldn''t suppress a small, contented sigh as she absorbed the idyllic surroundings. They believed Tyson selected the perfect beach for a day trip and scanned the area for an ideal place to settle.


    The group chose a spot not far from the water''s edge, where the soothing sounds of the waves gently breaking on the shore provided a calming backdrop. Unfolding their towels, they claimed their small slice of paradise. The sun''s warmth enveloped them, tempered by a pleasant breeze that offered a welcome respite from the heat.


    Unable to contain her excitement, Jubilee exclaimed, "This is incredible!" turning to Tyson with wide-eyed wonder, she asked, "How did we even get here? I thought Illyana''s portals had limited range, and that was all sparkly and gold, not shimmering and silver."


    Tyson laughed then shrugged, casually replying, "Magic."


    Illyana seemed to relax as she gazed out over the glistening water. "This is nice," she admitted.


    The trio took a moment to immerse themselves in the warm glow of the sun and the feeling of sand under their toes.


    Jubilee leaped to her feet. "Come on, let''s hit the water!" she urged, already bounding towards the inviting waves, her enthusiasm infectious. Tyson rose to follow her lead.


    Illyana stayed in the sand, watching them with an amused expression. "I''ll join you shortly. Try not to drown each other," she called out playfully teasing.


    Jubilee and Tyson plunged into the sea. They swam and frolicked like carefree teenagers, her laughter mingling with the crash of the waves.


    Jubilee, radiant in her yellow swimsuit, flashed Tyson a mischievous grin. "Bet you can''t catch me, Tyson!" she declared.


    Tyson met her challenge with a boyish smirk. "You''re on!" he exclaimed.


    Jubilee believed that in the water, Tyson''s immense strength and dexterity would be countered by his dense adamantium skeleton weighing him down. However, she quickly realized her miscalculation. Even while consciously moderating his superhuman abilities to maintain a fun and fair atmosphere, Tyson displayed astounding physical prowess. Jubilee gracefully darted through the water with skilled strokes, but Tyson effortlessly closed the distance between them.


    Instead of simply catching her, Tyson veered ahead, positioning himself directly in her path. Jubilee came to an abrupt halt, finding herself mere inches from Tyson, their faces close enough to feel the warmth of each other''s breath.


    Amidst the charged moment, Illyana''s voice cut through the tension. "Showing off a bit much, aren''t we, Tyson?" she called from the shore teasingly, her tone light yet laced with amusement.


    After an invigorating swim, Jubilee, Tyson, and Illyana found themselves lounging on the warm, golden sands.


    Illyana reached for the sunscreen. She turned to Tyson, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tyson, would you be a dear and apply this to our backs?" she asked, her voice dripping with playful sweetness.


    Tyson raised his hands in a gesture of resignation, "Really? Think you could handle it?"


    Illyana let out a dramatic sigh, "Your loss then," she declared, turning to Jubilee with a conspiratorial wink. "I suppose we''ll just have to help each other."


    Jubilee snatched up the sunscreen bottle. She squirted a generous dollop onto her palm. The creamy lotion was cool against her skin. She positioned herself behind Illyana, who had already swept her hair aside, revealing the smooth expanse of her back. Jubilee''s hands, coated in the lotion, began their gentle ministrations. Her fingers moved in soothing, circular motions, gliding over Illyana''s skin. The sunscreen glistened under the sun''s rays, creating an eye-catching sheen as Jubilee''s hands worked their magic, spreading the lotion evenly across Illyana''s back. Illyana closed her eyes as she surrendered to the gentle ministrations. Jubilee''s touch was both tender and attentive. Once she had completed her task, it was Illyana''s turn to reciprocate. She took the sunscreen bottle from Jubilee, and she turned around, granting Illyana access to her own back. Illyana began applying the sunscreen in long, smooth strokes, her touch equally gentle and thorough.


    Illyana, now lying face-down on her towel, spoke up, her voice laced with a playful, flirtatious tone. "You know, Jubilee''s hands felt absolutely divine," she remarked. Jubilee''s face gained a faint blush, but before she could formulate a response, Illyana continued, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tyson, you should treat us both to a massage. Since your touch is off-limits, why not use your illusions instead?" She delivered the suggestion with a casual air.


    Jubilee, caught up in Illyana''s playful mood, chimed in enthusiastically. "Ooh, that sounds nice! With your illusions, you could probably do us both at the same time." She barely finished speaking when she realized the unintended implication. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide with embarrassment. "You know what I mean!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of laughter and mortification.


    Tyson raised an eyebrow. Illyana, not missing a beat, added, "Don''t tease her, Tyson. You''ve been mean enough to her today. First trying to peek at her, then picking on her in the water, and now this. Just indulge us, and do it in an anime style to make amends." Her tone was light and teasing, yet there was an underlying hint of authority in her words.


    Jubilee''s enthusiasm was infectious, filling the air with a playful energy. "Yeah!" she exclaimed. She bounced up and down, as she jumped, her yellow swimsuit clung to her form in a flattering manner, accentuating her figure and highlighting the gentle curves of her toned legs and hips.


    Tyson gestured for the girls to settle down on their towels. "I didn''t do any of those things¡­ But alright, one anime-style massage coming right up," he declared, his voice revealing his good-natured acceptance of the request.


    As Jubilee watched, Tyson''s appearance began to transform before her eyes.


    Three lines appeared on each side of his face, resembling a blend of cat scratches and whiskers. His normally mismatched blue-green eyes now matched in a striking blue hue. His hair changed, taking on a spikier appearance and a more golden color.


    Raising his hands, Tyson extended his pointer and middle fingers, crossing them in a t-position. "Shadow Clone Jutsu," he declared with a theatrical flair.


    Puffs of smoke appeared, and suddenly two duplicates of Tyson stood beside him, each mirroring his transformed appearance.


    Jubilee couldn''t help but giggle at the sight, her eyes wide with delight. As one of the Tyson clones approached her, she felt a tickling sensation at her nose and reached up to touch it, only to find a small trickle of blood. Embarrassed, she mumbled, "Oiroke Gyaku Harem no Jutsu." Her hands slapped against her mouth as if to prevent the words from escaping.


    "I didn''t actually say that! You''re using your illusion to mess with me! My nose isn''t bleeding!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of mock annoyance and laughter. She quickly wiped away the imaginary blood, trying to hide her flushed cheeks.


    All three Tysons laughed together, the sound echoing around them playfully. The lead Tyson illusion asked, "Are you going to lay down for a massage, or what?"


    Jubilee pointed at him, trying to appear stern but unable to hide the sparkle in her eyes. "No more funny business," she declared, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.


    She lay down on her towel, still chuckling, her eyes following the trio of Tysons as they prepared to start the illusionary massage. Illyana, who had been watching the whole exchange, shook her head in amusement. Tyson, or rather, his three illusionary clones, got to work. Jubilee let out a relaxed sigh, closing her eyes and allowing herself to sink into the sensation. Despite the playful and absurd nature of the scenario, the illusionary massage was surprisingly effective. The tension in her muscles seemed to melt away under the skillful, nonexistent touch of Tyson''s clones.


    Illyana observed Tyson masterfully wielding his powers to create a blissful experience for herself and Jubilee. Her thoughts wandered to Tyson''s journey. His life had been a series of trials. Pursued by Magneto and later captured by Stryker, Tyson had endured more than his fair share of adversity. Illyana knew he deserved a break, a chance to live without constant danger and conflict. Yet, the past year had not been as simple for him as she''d imagined. Despite her hopes for normalcy, Tyson''s days had still been punctuated by extraordinary events.


    Jubilee sensed the shift in Illyana''s demeanor. "You okay, Illyana?" she asked, her voice laced with gentle concern.


    Turning her attention to Tyson, Illyana asked, "Hey, could you grab us some water and snacks from one of the vendors?"


    Tyson, his clones dissipating into wisps of smoke, nodded in acknowledgment. "Sure thing," he replied, already rising to his feet.


    Illyana''s gaze followed him as he made his way toward the cluster of beach vendors lining the boardwalk. Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Jubilee, her expression turning more pensive. "Why didn''t you ask Tyson out on any dates or anything during the past year?"


    Jubilee''s eyes widened slightly, her cheeks flushing with a hint of sheepishness. "I mean, I tried to drop hints here and there," she admitted, her voice trailing off. "But there just never seemed to be a good opportunity, you know? And with school, training, and all the supervillain stuff he was dealing with, I didn''t want to add any extra pressure."


    Illyana arched an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on Jubilee. "So, what, you were just going to wait around forever?"


    Jubilee''s expression turned defensive, her brow furrowing slightly. "Hey, it''s not like he was exactly capitalizing on any of my hints, either," she retorted, her tone tinged with frustration. "I wanted to say something when we met up for the premiere of his show, but Jean was there, then we met Felicia, and his hot teacher Natalie showed up too! Besides, we were away from each other for most of the year. It''s not exactly easy to go on dates when you''re at different schools and I''m not living in the city."


    "It''s less than an hour by train." Jubilee shot her a glare. Illyana held up her hands in a placating gesture. "I''m just saying."


    "But why are you trying to push this, anyway?" Jubilee''s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I don''t get it. He''s your boyfriend?"


    Illyana''s expression grew somber, her gaze shifting towards the distant horizon. "He hasn''t been my boyfriend for months," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, at her blatant admission. She knew of course that Tyson and Illyana hadn''t been dating, but Jubilee assumed they would be getting back together.


    Before she could formulate a response, Illyana continued, "Look, Jubilee, I care about Tyson deeply, but our relationship has been... complicated, to say the least. We''ve been through a lot together, and there''s a bond there that won''t ever truly go away. But I wasn''t always the best girlfriend." Jubilee remained silent, her expression a mix of confusion and concern as she listened to Illyana. "I''m not trying to force you towards him or anything," Illyana clarified. "I just want him to be happy, and if that means finding happiness with someone else, then so be it. He deserves that much, after everything he''s been through."


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed in confusion as she asked, "What do you mean you weren''t the best girlfriend? You saved Tyson from Magneto, didn''t you? That''s pretty amazing."


    Illyana let out a heavy sigh, her eyes downcast. "Yes, but I''ve also nearly killed him. Twice, in fact. Once that first day in Limbo, and again later with my soulsword when we fought Azazel." She paused, shaking her head ruefully. "And even before we started dating, I used him as fodder to hunt demons in Limbo. I was selfish and reckless with his life." Steeling herself, Illyana continued, "There won''t be much time before Tyson leaves New York. Maybe for years. If I hadn''t interfered at the institute, you two would have gotten together." She looked earnestly into Jubilee''s eyes. "Tyson loves me, but I''m not sure it''s for the right reasons. There''s a piece of me inside him, a sliver of my dark soul that I passed to him."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened. "That can''t be," she blurted out in denial. "Tyson doesn''t hold onto other people''s powers or personalities unless he kills them."


    Illyana shook her head adamantly. "No. I don''t care what he says, he''s wrong. There is a piece of me inside him, I can feel it. I''ve always felt it." Her voice grew more intense. "Remember, you took that train and left the institute and were attacked by Magneto. How did the Professor know you were gone? Because I told him. Everyone else forgot, even Tyson. But how did I know you all were gone? It''s because I can sense that shard of Limbo, that fragment of my soul that still resides within him. It never faded."


    The revelation left Jubilee momentarily speechless as she processed everything Illyana had disclosed. Before she could formulate a response, Tyson returned, oblivious to the weighty conversation that had just taken place between the two girls. He carried bottles of water and sandwiches for the trio, a cheerful smile lighting up his face.


    Keenly aware of Tyson''s enhanced hearing, Illyana quickly shifted topics in hopes that he had not overheard too much of their private discussion. She turned her gaze towards the glittering ocean in an exaggerated gesture, hoping Jubilee would follow her lead. "Days like this remind me there''s more to life than powers and problems," she said wistfully. "We can still have moments of normalcy, even with everything else going on."


    Jubilee went along with the change in subject, also uninterested in Tyson catching on to the true nature of their conversation. She stretched her arms overhead with a contented smile, the warm sun washing over her skin. "Sun, sand, friends...and no supervillains in sight. I could definitely get used to this."


    Tyson chuckled nervously at Jubilee''s words. It was the sound of someone hiding a guilty secret. Illyana''s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Oh no, I know that laugh. You''re not telling us something. What''s going on?"


    Before Tyson could respond, the tranquil atmosphere was gradually disrupted by the growing rumble of engines in the distance. The noise increased in volume and distinction, drawing the trio''s attention.


    "What''s happening out there?" Jubilee asked as she searched for the source of the commotion. "It sounds like Forza."


    Tyson''s eyes sparkled with excitement, even as his answer held a hint of hesitance like he was reluctantly revealing a secret. "Well, there is a Formula One race being held here today," he explained, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. "Monaco is pretty famous for hosting it."


    "Formula One? Here?" Jubilee''s interest was ignited, her eyes wide with wonder.


    "Yeah, the Monaco Grand Prix," Tyson continued. "One of the most prestigious car races in the world. Monaco may be small, but once a year, its streets transform into a racing circuit. The cars navigate through narrow roads, right by the harbor. It''s incredible."


    As the revving engines filled the air, Jubilee''s face lit up with excitement. "That''s pretty cool," she exclaimed, her attention drawn towards the commotion. "Can we check it out?"


    Tyson chuckled, but there was a hint of nervousness in his laugh. Illyana noticed it immediately, sensing there was more to this race than met the eye.


    The Principality of Monaco was not large, with the harbor and beach just a short walk from the streets that now served as the Formula One racetrack, the roar of the engines transformed the tiny country. As the cars whipped around the tight corners, engines screaming, Illyana decided her friends needed a better view of the iconic race. With a subtle gesture, she opened one of her portals, the glowing ring crackling with eldritch energy. In an instant, the trio stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the course, just as the race leaders came screaming around Casino Square.


    "Wow, this is amazing!" Jubilee shouted, eyes wide as she took in the spectacle below. The cars streaked. Each driver exhibited extraordinary skill and precision with every turn.


    The crowd packed along the barricades cheered wildly. Jubilee''s grin was electric, reflecting the energy and excitement of the event unfolding before them.


    Stolen story; please report.


    As the Monaco Grand Prix unfolded, an unexpected and dramatic scene played out on the track below. The crowd''s cheers suddenly turned to gasps of shock as a man stepped onto the track with a determined and dangerous look in his eyes. Illyana leaned forward, "What''s he doing?" she murmured.


    The man, seemingly unfazed by the speeding cars, strode confidently onto the track. "He''s going to get hit!" Jubilee cried out, fear lacing her words.


    But the man showed no concern for the oncoming cars. Instead, he deployed a strange technology; a harness that unfolded around his body, creating glowing, electrically charged whips in each hand. It was a terrifying sight, the whips crackled with deadly energy, and the clothing around the man''s chest disintegrated amid the scintillating electricity.


    A massive crash erupted as the man swung his whips, slashing one of the cars which broke apart under the assault. The crowd erupted in panic, screams mixing with the sound of the crash.


    On the track, Tony Stark, driving one of the racing cars, seemed to realize the danger too late. The man lashed out with his whips, aiming for Tony''s car.


    Illyana prepared to use her powers. "I''ll get us down there," she said. But Tyson held out his hand, stalling her intervention. From their vantage point near the chaotic scene, Jubilee, Illyana, and Tyson watched intently as Tony Stark emerged from the wreckage of his car. Shaken but mostly unharmed, his eyes focused on the man, whom Tyson knew was Ivan Vanko. Vanko stood menacingly with his electric whips crackling in the air.


    A black luxury car barreled down the track. Happy Hogan, Tony''s bodyguard, maneuvered the car, slamming it into Vanko and pinning him against the barrier of the track. He backed the car up and rammed Vanko several more times. But Vanko began attacking the car with his electric whips. Sparks flew as the whips sliced through the metal, dangerously close to Happy and Pepper Potts who was also in the car.


    Pepper reached out of the car and threw a metallic suitcase toward Tony. It skidded across the ground, coming to a stop at his feet.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, "A suitcase? What?" she questioned.


    Tony grabbed the suitcase, and in a matter of seconds, it transformed. It unfolded and attached itself around Tony, morphing into the iconic Iron Man suit. The transformation was a technological marvel, the suit wrapping around him, piece by piece until he stood fully clad as Iron Man. With the suit now on, Tony turned his attention to Vanko. He kicked the car, sliding Pepper and Happy away from danger. Vanko lashed out with his electric whips, deflecting Iron Man''s attacks.


    Jubilee, Illyana, and Tyson watched in awe as Iron Man and Vanko engaged in a fierce battle. Vanko swung his whips, wrapping Iron Man and flipping him through the air onto the hood of the car.


    "Iron Man suit in a suitcase! I can''t believe this is happening!" Jubilee shouted.


    The battle raged on, with Iron Man using every tool at his disposal. Vanko wrapped his whips around Stark again, but instead of trying to escape, Tony stepped closer. Seizing the moment, he lunged forward, wrapping the whips around him as he closed in. Grappling with Vanko and using the suit''s strength to overpower him, he unleashed a barrage of punches on Vanko''s unarmed body.


    The villain was left bloody and battered as Stark ripped the arc reactor from his chest.


    Jubilee could barely contain her excitement, "Did you see that? It was unbelievable, like something straight out of an action movie!" She threw her arms wide, miming punches and slashes. "Iron Man versus... Steel Whip¡­ The Whip Master... Cool Whip!" She grasped for the right name.


    Tyson supplied the name tonelessly. "Whiplash."


    Jubilee pointed at him, a grin splitting her face. "Yes! Whiplash! That''s perfect!" She laughed, adrenaline and joy bubbling out of her. "Iron Man versus Whiplash!"


    Tyson just shook his head. Jubilee was too caught up in the thrill of the moment to notice, gaze fixed on Iron Man where he stood surrounded by authorities and spectators, arc reactor clutched triumphantly in one metal gauntlet. The armored hero raised his other hand in a reassuring gesture, signaling that the danger had passed. The crowd roared their approval, but Jubilee''s cheers rose above them all.


    Beside her, Illyana turned to Tyson, suspicion written plainly on her face. "You knew something was going to happen, didn''t you?" she accused, her gaze searching his face for any hint of confirmation.


    Tyson shuffled his feet, looking slightly uncomfortable under Illyana''s scrutiny. "Well, I had a hunch," he admitted reluctantly.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in surprise. "You mean you sensed all this was going to happen? Like you did before the institute was invaded?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.


    "I, uhh... Yeah. I had a feeling this week was going to be big," Tyson answered lamely, looking apologetically at both of them. He latched onto the explanation that Jubilee had conveniently offered. It was better than anything he came up with on the fly.


    Illyana crossed her arms. "This week? I''m not here for a week, I only have the day," she said, concern evident in her tone.


    "We should probably head back," Tyson said finally. With one last look at the beautiful vista behind them, he waved his arm, opening a portal back to the institute.


    Jubilee stepped back into her room, still buzzing with excitement from the day''s events. "Did you see how Tony Stark handled those whips? That suitcase suit is seriously cool," she gushed, her voice thick with awe.


    In contrast, Illyana wasn''t so easily impressed. She turned to Tyson, her eyes narrowing slightly. "This was supposed to be a relaxing day, Tyson. Instead, you took us straight into a showdown between Iron Man and some villain," she chided.


    Tyson rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I know, I know."


    Jubilee, ever the peacemaker, jumped in to ease the tension. "Hey, come on, Illyana. It was actually pretty awesome to see it all go down," she said, trying to lighten the mood with her usual cheerful demeanor. "For once it wasn''t one of us fighting the bad guy. It was cool to just be a spectator."


    But Illyana was firm. "That''s not the point, Jubilee. Tyson, you need to make this up to us," she stated, looking expectantly at Tyson.


    Caught off guard, Tyson asked, "Um, okay. How?"


    Illyana pondered for a moment, then her eyes lit up with an idea. "How about you take us out again?"


    Tyson shrugged. "Sure."


    Illyana watched Tyson closely to gauge his reaction as she suggested, "You can take Jubilee out soon. I''ll be expecting my night out when you join me."


    Jubilee''s words tumbled out in a rush, her eyes bright with a mix of excitement and nervousness. "It wouldn''t be a date, date. Just us hanging out," she clarified hastily, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual. Her hands moved animatedly as she spoke. "Maybe we can go to a club after graduation. I''ll plan it. It''ll be fun." As she spoke, a blush crept up her cheeks, a rosy tint that betrayed her effort to downplay the outing as something casual. The idea of spending time with Tyson, alone on a date, filled her with a giddy kind of happiness.


    Illyana couldn''t help but agree encouragingly. There was a warm, knowing look in her eyes. "That sounds like a great idea, Jubes," she said supportively. Her words were meant to reassure, to make Jubilee feel more at ease with her proposal. Illyana was more than happy to give her friend the nudge she needed.


    Tyson caught the nervous energy radiating from Jubilee and saw through her attempts to label the outing as just a friendly gathering. Yet, he chose not to call her out on it, finding her enthusiasm and the flutter of nerves endearing.


    "That sounds like a plan," Tyson agreed, his tone light and teasing. "Even though I live next to a club, I haven''t been to one. Might be fun to see what the fuss is all about."


    Jubilee''s eyes sparkled at his response, her heart skipping a beat. She quickly composed herself, though, not wanting to appear too eager. "Yeah, just something chill. Nothing fancy," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Inside, however, she was already wondering what she would wear, what she should do with her hair, and how the night would unfold.


    Illyana nodded, satisfied with the plan. "Alright, it''s settled then. A night out to celebrate your graduation. And Tyson, you''re paying," she declared.


    Tyson laughed, accepting the friendly ''punishment''. "Deal. It''s the least I can do after today''s surprise adventure," he said, his tone light and friendly.


    Jubilee clapped her hands in excitement. "This is going to be epic! Just wait, I''ll find the perfect place for us to celebrate," she said, her mind already racing with ideas.


    Tyson asked, "Hey, Jubes. Before we leave, I need a favor¡­" He began whispering conspiratorially.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Jubilee strolled through the halls of the Xavier Institute, a mischievous gleam in her eye as she searched for her target. She found Logan lounging in the common room, idly flipping through a motorcycle magazine.


    "Hey Logan, you''ve gotta come see this awesome new game I got!" Jubilee exclaimed.


    Logan glanced up and muttered something unintelligible about teenagers. "This ain''t another one of them Old West games, is it? I told you, I don''t remember the 1800s. I don''t know if it was actually like that."


    Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Quit being such a grump and just come check it out. It''ll be fun, I promise!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, wearing down Logan''s gruff exterior. He sighed and tossed the magazine aside.


    "Alright, I''m coming. But this better not be a waste of time." He pushed himself up and grudgingly followed the beaming girl. As they passed the gym, Jubilee called out, "Hey Colossus, you should come too! It''s gonna be epic!"


    Piotr glanced up from his weight bench, quirking an eyebrow. "Very well, I suppose a short break would be agreeable." He set down the barbell with a resounding clang and fell in step beside them.


    Jubilee practically skipped back to her room, the two men trailing behind. "Prepare to be amazed!" She threw open her door with a flourish and gestured for Logan to enter.


    He tilted his head as he caught a familiar scent. But no sooner had he crossed the threshold than the floor suddenly vanished beneath his feet. Logan barely had time to let out a startled curse before he found himself plummeting through a swirling portal, the Xavier Institute disappearing above him.


    Disoriented, Logan landed hard on a craggy obsidian surface. He rolled to his feet, instantly alert, and took in his new surroundings. A crimson sky roiled with unnaturally dark clouds, split by jagged forks of purple lightning. Geysers of green flame erupted from fissures in the onyx ground, casting an eerie glow. The wind carried the distant shrieks of demons.


    Limbo.


    Logan extended his claws with a sharp snikt, adamantium gleaming. His eyes darted around the hellish landscape, seeking threats, but only one figure stood nearby.


    The hulking silhouette stepped out from behind a crag, revealing a leering fanged smile and feline eyes glowing with malice.


    Sabretooth.


    "Happy birthday runt," the beast rumbled. "Time for your yearly ass-kicking."


    Understanding dawned and a slow grin spread across Logan''s face. Jubilee had set him up. He chuckled darkly and slid into a battle crouch, claws at the ready. "Bring it on, kid!"


    They traded blows in a whirlwind of violence, blood spraying the shattered obsidian. Their wounds healed as quickly as they were opened.


    During a break in the combat, they separated, staring each other down.


    Suddenly, Sabretooth shimmered and vanished.


    Tyson was revealed in his place. "I was nice this time old man, giving you a heads up. Next year won''t be so easy!" He surged forward to renew the battle.


    Logan''s bark of laughter cut through Limbo''s screaming winds as he met the charge head-on, his grin mirroring the younger mutant''s. "You got stones, kid, I''ll give you that! But you still got a lot to learn!"


    They clashed again in a tornado of adamantium. Each man pushed the other''s healing factors. Logan snarled, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of battle. He lunged forward, claws slicing through the air, but Tyson had spent the year training under Colleen. He twisted away from the deadly blades, his talons raking across Logan''s chest, shredding flesh and drawing a grunt of pain from the older mutant.


    "Not bad, kid," Logan growled, "But you''re gonna have to do better than that!" He launched himself at Tyson, a whirlwind of adamantium and fury.


    Tyson met him head-on, his fanged smile a mirror of Logan''s savage joy. He parried the flurry of strikes with preternatural speed, his talons deflecting the adamantium claws in a dazzling display of skill. Sparks flew as the indestructible metals ground against each other, the screech of their collision rising above the wails of the demons. They danced back and forth across the blasted hellscape, neither giving quarter nor asking for it. Logan''s experience and cunning were matched by Tyson''s ferocity and fighting styles, the two mutants pushing each other to new heights.


    Suddenly, Logan feinted left and then lunged right, his claws seeking to impale Tyson. But the younger mutant had anticipated the move. He sidestepped the deadly blades and seized Logan''s wrist, his bare skin making contact with the other man''s flesh.


    Logan''s eyes widened in shock as he felt his strength being drained away, his healing factor faltering. Tyson''s power sapped his vitality and brought him to his knees. The adamantium claws retracted as Logan slumped forward.


    Tyson released his grip. After a moment, he reached down and grasped Logan''s hand, pulling the older mutant to his feet. "You almost had me there, old man," Tyson said, his voice tinged with respect. "But I''ve learned a few tricks since we fought in that bar."


    Logan chuckled wearily, shaking his head. "Aye, you have at that, bub. I reckon I''m gonna have to up my game for next year." He clapped Tyson on the shoulder.


    A slow clap echoed through the infernal realm, drawing their attention. Illyana stepped out from behind a towering spire of obsidian. "Boys will be boys," she drawled, her sapphire eyes glinting with mischief. "Always have to prove who''s the alpha, don''t you?"


    Colossus emerged from the shadows behind her, his metallic form glinting in the eerie light. Tyson''s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Piotr? What are you doing here?"


    "What, you thought you were the only one I wanted to see? It''s been nearly a year since I''ve laid eyes on my dear brother." Illyana walked over to Logan and enveloped him in a hug, "Thank you again, Logan, for your help with Azazel. I couldn''t have done it without you."


    Logan returned the embrace, a rare softness in his eyes. "Anytime, darlin''. You know I''ve always got your back." They separated, and he turned to Tyson, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "So, kid, how have you been getting along?"


    Tyson''s face split into a wide grin. "Pretty good. Stopped some supervillains, and started a business. You know¡­ How are things going with Ororo these days?"


    Logan''s look of surprise was quickly masked. "Just fine, bub. Just fine indeed."


    "I knew it!" Tyson crowed, pumping his fist in the air. He strode over to Illyana and took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers briefly. With his other hand, he slashed through the air, opening a shimmering portal back to Jubilee''s room. "Hey Jubes!" he called out, his voice echoing through the rift. "Logan and Ororo got together! I told you!"


    Jubilee''s peeked into the portal, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Doesn''t change the fact that you''re living vicariously through Logan, you big dork!" she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.


    Tyson scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving his hand dismissively. The portal collapsed in on itself, cutting off Jubilee''s laughter. He turned back to the others, shaking his head. "Women. They just don''t understand the sacred bonds of male friendship."


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with suppressed mirth. "Oh really? And what would you know about the sacred bonds of male friendship? You just proved your idea of male bonding involved beating each other senseless."


    Tyson clutched his heart in mock affront. "You wound me, Lyana! I''ll have you know that there''s a rich tradition of men settling their differences through the time-honored method of pummeling each other into submission. It''s a cornerstone of civilization! Etched into the stone of Guy Code."


    Piotr chuckled, the deep rumble of his laughter echoing through the hellish landscape. "He''s not wrong, sister." He clapped Tyson on the back, the heavy metal hand forcing him to stumble forward a small step to balance. "You fought well today, my friend. You have grown much since I last saw you."


    Tyson grinned up at the metal giant, rubbing his shoulder ruefully. Tyson having to look up at someone was novel. "Thanks, big guy. You''re not so bad yourself. We''ll have to go a few rounds sometime, see if I can put a dent in that shiny hide of yours."


    Logan watched the byplay, shaking his head. "Alright, runts, as much fun as this little reunion has been, what say we head back? I''ve got a birthday to celebrate, and I''m pretty sure Chuck''s got a bottle of scotch with my name on it back at the mansion."


    Illyana nodded, her eyes flashing with the silver of her power. "Agreed. As delightful as Limbo is this time of year, I think we''ve all had our fill for one day." She waved her hand, and a shimmering portal sprang into existence, offering a view of the Xavier Institute''s lush grounds. "After you, birthday boy."


    Logan sketched a mock bow, a grin playing on his rugged features. "Don''t mind if I do, darlin''." He strode through the portal, followed closely by Piotr.


    As the group emerged from the portal, Tyson turned to Logan, "Hey, old man, I almost forgot. For your birthday, you''re welcome to bring Ororo to my show if she''s interested and you''re looking for a date night. VIP seating, on the house, of course."


    Logan responded, "That''s generous of you, kid. I might just take you up on that offer. ''Ro''s been asking for a night out on the town."


    Tyson''s expression sobered slightly as he addressed the gathered mutants. "Listen, there''s something you all should know. Yesterday, I was called into a Senate hearing as my Mirage identity, and I ended up admitting that I''m a mutant." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. We''re going to be making our way into the spotlight, whether we like it or not. You should probably give Professor Xavier a heads up if he isn''t already aware."


    Illyana frowned, her sapphire eyes troubled. "The humans are always looking for an excuse to fear and hate us."


    Piotr placed a comforting hand on his sister''s shoulder, "We have faced adversity before, Illyana. We will weather this storm as we have all the others, together."


    Tyson gathered his thoughts. "In my show, I tell Spider-Man''s story. But I''d like to start including some mutant stories as well. Give people a glimpse into our world, help them see us as individuals, not just powers." He looked around at the group, "If any of you are interested in sharing your stories, I''d be honored to tell them. We can split the profits from the ticket sales, of course."


    Illyana asked, "Why not tell your own story, Tyson? I''m sure it''s far more interesting than any of ours."


    Tyson chuckled, shaking his head. "I''ve considered it, but I''d have to leave out so much. As far as the world knows, I''m just an illusionist. Can''t go giving away all my secrets now, can I?" His expression turned serious once more. "But if any of you want your story told, I''d hide any vulnerabilities, and focus on the person behind the powers. I want to change the narrative, make people see the human side of us."


    Logan grunted in approval. "You know my story better than I do, kid. Feel free to use it if you think it''ll help the cause. Just leave out the bits about the birthday beatdowns, eh?"


    Tyson grinned, sketching a mock salute. "You got it, old man. Your sordid past is safe with me."


    A flicker of discomfort crossed Illyana''s features. "I''m sorry, Tyson. I''m not ready for my story to be told. Not yet." She wrapped her arms around herself as if warding off a chill despite the warm breeze.


    Tyson''s expression softened, and he reached out to take her hand, "Hey, it''s okay. Your story isn''t nearly written yet. There''s still so much more to come, so much more for you." He pulled her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Whenever you''re ready, I''ll be here to help you tell it. But until then, you just keep writing it."


    Piotr cleared his throat, "As touching as this moment is, perhaps we should continue it inside? I believe Jubilee is rallying the troops to create an impromptu birthday celebration, and it would be a shame to keep the others waiting."


    Logan chuckled, clapping the metal giant on the back. "Aye, Petey''s right. Let''s head in and get this party started."


    Tyson hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his features. "Sorry guys, I''m not ready to head back into the institute yet," he said apologetically.


    Logan clapped him on the back. "I get it kid, I''ll see you soon. Try to stay out of trouble."


    Tyson laughed, ruefully. "You know how that goes."


    Logan grunted in wry acknowledgment. Illyana commented dryly, "He''s a trouble magnet."


    Tyson shot the blonde mutant a sheepish look before turning back to Logan. "Happy birthday man," he said sincerely. Logan nodded.


    Illyana shared a quick hug goodbye with her brother Colossus. The other mutants turned and walked back toward the institute. Tyson raised his hand and with a flick of his wrist, used the sling ring to open a glowing portal back to his suite.


    "Lyana?" she asked, unprompted.


    "It took me months, but I finally figured out a nickname for you," Tyson said as they stepped through the portal.


    Illyana looked pleased. "You thought about me that much? I like it." The portal closed behind them, leaving the two alone together in Tyson''s living room.

 Arc 5 - Ch 4: Darkchylde

    Chapter 51


    Arc 5 - Ch 4: Darkchylde


    Date: Sunday, May 29, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson and Illyana found themselves back in his suite just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky a kaleidoscope of warm hues. Tyson turned to her, the sling ring clutched in his hand. He extended his arm, offering her the powerful artifact back, but Illyana gently pushed his hand away.


    "You should hold on to that," she said seriously, her voice carrying a weight that he hadn''t heard outside of when they''d been in dangerous situations.


    Tyson hesitated, "Illyana, I don''t want to cause you any trouble. You should take it back," he insisted, attempting to press the ring into her hand.


    But Illyana was having none of it. She crossed her arms, "I''m not taking it back," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.


    Tyson searched her face, trying to discern why she was so adamant. There was a seriousness in her eyes, concern that went beyond mere stubbornness. Seeing his hesitation, Illyana sighed, her features softening ever so slightly. "Look," she began, her voice tinged with worry, "You mentioned that you sensed this week was going to be big. Jubilee said earlier, the last time you had a feeling like this, the institute was attacked."


    Tyson fought back a frown. He knew that their reasoning wasn''t entirely accurate. It hadn''t been a feeling or a vision that had prompted his actions, but rather a recognition of the events unfolding around them. He couldn''t outright explain his meta-knowledge to them. This was the closest he''d come.


    "I won''t let you be taken. That won''t happen again. Not if I can help it." Illyana''s plea was stuffed within a promise. "You need to be prepared, have an option, a way out, if things go south," she pressed on, taking a step closer. "I can''t always be there. As much as I want to, I won''t be there to save you next time." The admission was tinged with regret.


    The weight of her words settled on Tyson''s shoulders. He understood the lengths she was willing to go to keep him safe. This was her way of ensuring he survived.


    "I''ve only been getting wins since you''ve been gone," he said defiantly.


    Illyana raised an eyebrow, a hint of sarcasm colored her words. "Maybe. But victories against who? A guy with a flying skateboard and a small dinosaur?" She scoffed, "What if Magneto comes back? Take the ring. Use it if you need to. Just... be safe, okay?"


    Tyson wanted to argue, to assure her that Magneto wouldn''t come for him, but the words died on his tongue. The truth was, he couldn''t be certain what the future held. Changes had already occurred from what he knew before. He couldn''t predict exactly what was in store. Plus, a part of him wanted to hold onto the sling ring. If he remembered correctly, and his meta-knowledge held, Thor would be arriving on Earth soon. The Ancient One had been adamant that Tyson couldn''t prevent the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge. If she was right, and he tried to interfere anyway, there was a possibility he could end up stranded on Asgard. If that happened, the sling ring might be his only way back to Earth.


    Tyson let out a resigned sigh. As much as he wanted to believe he could handle whatever came his way, Illyana had a point. The threats here were minor compared to what he had faced before. The Green Goblin and Lizard were child''s play compared to the likes of Magneto. Tyson pictured the master of magnetism in his mind, and a chill ran down his spine. He was making moves toward protecting himself from the dangerous mutant but remained woefully unprepared to stand against such power.


    "You''re right," he said finally.


    Relief filled Illyana''s eyes as she pressed the sling ring into his palm, curling his fingers over the smooth metal. "Just promise me you''ll be careful. I know you want to help people, but remember you can''t save everyone. You''re important too."


    Tyson nodded, tucking the ring safely into his pocket. "I''ll do my best. And I''ll use this if I need to escape."


    She pulled him into a fierce hug, and Tyson returned it gratefully. They stayed that way for a long moment. When they finally pulled apart, he still felt uneasy about it, but he didn''t push the issue further.


    "Trust me, Tyson. Everything will work out," she said reassuringly. "Now, let''s head back before my time is up."


    With a flick of her wrist, she accessed her mutant power and a portal swirled to life. Hand in hand, Tyson and Illyana stepped through the series of shimmering vortexes, emerging onto the stone steps of the New York Sanctum.


    Her voice was gentle as she asked, "Are you looking forward to your date with Jubilee?"


    Tyson frowned, "I don''t understand. Why are you pushing this date?" he countered.


    "Jubilee cares for you deeply. Deeply enough to risk her life fighting by your side against the demons. She gave you her power to aid me, but we both know it was truly for you," Illyana responded. She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "If I hadn''t been there... if you hadn''t helped me battle the demons in Limbo when you first arrived at the institute, you likely would have ended up with her."


    A sad, regretful look crossed Illyana''s face. "And that first day, everyone downplayed me banishing you as a schoolyard fight. I could have killed you. I did not deserve your help then."


    She went on, her voice heavy with regret. "Before that moment, I didn''t know about the demons in Limbo. It''s easy to look back now and see the way I acted¡­ That was the first sign of the influence the demons being in Limbo had on my soul. But that''s no excuse. At times, I still wonder if I deserve you even now. Without you, I would''ve ended up corrupted or killed by demons, or captured by Azazel and forced to be his queen. Either way, my life would have been over. Instead, I''m safe, learning to become even stronger, and taking my future into my own hands. All because of you leading me to the sorcerers."


    Illyana met Tyson''s gaze steadily. "But Jubes... she has earned her chance at happiness with you, even if only for a day." her voice grew solemn. "I wanted to give you a year to experience a normal life. Things did not unfold that way. Such is often the case for people like us. But this may be the last carefree time you spend with Jubilee. You will be coming to Kamar Taj soon to begin your training."


    Tyson opened his mouth, ready to respond, to share the disappointing secret he''d been holding on to. "Illyana..." he began, but before he could finish she interrupted him.


    Illyana''s expression hardened, leaving no room for argument. "Don''t try to convince me otherwise. You will do this. For her, and me, and yourself." Her tone brooked no disagreement, making it clear she would not be swayed.


    Tyson felt a flicker of annoyance at being shut down so completely. When he spoke, his tone carried a slight edge of accusation. "So, you met Felicia. And it seems like I''ll be going on a date with Jubilee," he said slowly, "Have you been seeing anyone?"


    Illyana''s gaze drifted down the street before returning to meet his. "There was this one guy," she admitted, her words laced with a hint of something unspoken.


    A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy twisted in Tyson''s gut. He fought to keep his voice even, to mask the sudden surge of emotion. "Who was he?" he asked, aiming for casual but falling short.


    Illyana''s eyes sparkled with a teasing glint. "Jealous?" she asked, her tone playful in contrast to Tyson''s seriousness. She paused, letting the question hang between them before finally offering a name. "His name is Victor."


    "Victor?" Tyson echoed, the name unwelcome on his tongue. He was about to delve deeper, to probe for more information, when Illyana continued, her words cutting off his train of thought.


    "He won''t matter when you join me at Kamar-Taj."


    Tyson said hesitantly, "About that¡­"


    But then he was interrupted yet again.


    This time it wasn''t by Illyana, it was the heavy door of the Sanctum creaking open.


    The Ancient One stood in the doorway projecting an aura of disappointment. "You have broken the rules, Illyana Rasputin," she stated.


    Illyana''s brow furrowed in confusion, then her eyes sparkled with defiance. "How? I''ve only just returned, and not a day has passed," she countered, her tone carrying a note of challenge.


    "You stole a sling ring and taught Tyson magic. That is against our laws."


    "But teaching him to use a sling ring barely counts as magic," Illyana argued. Her words were rushed and defensive as she attempted to downplay the severity of her actions.


    The Ancient One''s gaze shifted, settling on Tyson. "And where, exactly, is the sling ring now?" she inquired, her voice deceptively calm.


    Illyana gestured towards Tyson, who raised his hand, holding the ring outstretched. "It''s right here," he said steadily despite his nervousness.


    "You attempted to steal a magical artifact," The Ancient One accused.


    Tyson''s heart sank. He rushed to explain, to salvage the situation. "No, I didn''t. That wasn''t my intention," he protested, but the words rang hollow, even to his ears.


    "There will be consequences for this," The Ancient One declared.


    Illyana stepped forward, placing herself between Tyson and the Sorcerer Supreme. "It was my choice to give it to him," she said, "Punish me."


    But The Ancient One remained unmoved in the face of Illyana''s defiance. "Tyson will not be accepted to Kamar-Taj this year. He may be considered again next year," she delivered the verdict, each word a hammer blow, shattering the hopes that had taken root in Illyana''s heart.


    Illyana''s protest was fierce and immediate, "But he has the potential! You don''t understand. He used the sling ring on his first try. You can''t¡­" she began, her words tumbled over each other in a desperate bid to change the Sorcerer Supreme''s mind.


    "The decision is made," The Ancient One interrupted, her voice cut through Illyana''s objections, leaving no room for further debate.


    Illyana''s face flushed with anger, her hands clenching into fists at her sides, trembling with barely contained fury. "This is unfair," she said.


    But the Ancient One''s expression was unchanging. "Fairness does not govern the law. Adherence does," she explained in a chiding tone reminiscent of a parent reprimanding a child.


    Tyson remained silent, understanding with a sinking realization, that this was likely the outcome the Ancient One had expected. He wouldn''t have been accepted into Kamar-Taj anyway, not until after the Battle of New York. But now, the Sorcerer Supreme had a justification, a concrete reason to bar his entry.


    Her invitation to the Sanctum had been a trap. Set up to lead to this very moment.


    Illyana glared at the Ancient One, her disappointment and frustration palpable, "This isn''t right," she declared, refusing to accept the decision that had been handed down.


    The Ancient One shook her head, a gesture that held both finality and warning, as she said, "The matter is closed."


    As The Ancient One turned away, reentering the Sanctum, the finality of her words hung in the air. Illyana looked at Tyson, her sapphire eyes shimmering with guilt and apology. He could see the blame she placed squarely on her shoulders, though he longed to reassure her that it was not her fault. Tears threatened to spill from Illyana''s eyes as she turned to face Tyson fully, the guilt etched into every line of her face, a silent accusation against herself. Without hesitation, Tyson stepped forward, closing the distance between them and enveloping her in a hug.


    "I''m so sorry," Illyana whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of her emotions. She seemed smaller somehow with her usual confidence deflated. "We should''ve just stayed back in the hotel room like you suggested," she murmured, a weak chuckle escaping her lips in a feeble attempt to lighten the atmosphere.


    Tyson responded with a chuckle of his own, a soft, reassuring sound that vibrated through his chest. "Hey, no, no. This is not your fault. Listen, this one is on me. I should have seen this coming. I was being selfish when I accepted the ring¡­" he said, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes.


    Illyana shook her head, her golden hair swaying with the motion. "But this isn''t right. This isn''t how things were supposed to go," she said, her voice laced with a sorrow that cut straight to Tyson''s heart. "I just... I can''t wait another year," Illyana confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, the words hung heavy between them.


    The weight of her admission settled on Tyson''s shoulders. "We''ll figure this out," he reassured her.


    Illyana paused, uncertainty flickering in her eyes like a candle in the wind. "I don''t know if I should go back," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her doubts.


    "No, you need to stay," Tyson said firmly as his hands moved to grip her shoulders, "You''re meant to be a sorceress. And you... shouldn''t be defined by this. By me. You''re talented, Illyana. And not just that. Learning magic is your best chance to close the portals in Limbo, to stop the demons."


    Her gaze held his, searching the depths of his eyes, seeking the truth in his words. And perhaps she found it. The familiar determined glint returned to her sapphire orbs.


    "Okay," she finally agreed, "I''ll stay. Not for you, but for me. Because you''re right, I have things to do and learn." Illyana, for once, spoke hesitantly, "But I did do something for you. Or rather, I learned something, for us." She paused, glancing down as she gathered her thoughts. "I wanted to show you when you got to Kamar Taj, but since that''s not happening..." Her voice trailed off and she looked up at Tyson almost sheepishly. "Promise you won''t judge me too harshly. And create an illusion so no one can see us."


    Tyson affirmed with a nod, "I promise.


    Illyana said slowly, "Remember when the Ancient One said I could channel the Limbo dimension as a power source?" Tyson nodded, recalling the conversation from months earlier. Illyana continued, her words coming faster now, "Well it turns out that has allowed me to learn magic far beyond what I should be able to do at this stage."


    As she spoke, Illyana began casting a spell, her hands weaving mystical gestures that led to the creation of sparks that hovered in the air. The sparks took on a distinct shape, forming a complex spellform.


    Tyson warily watched her movements. He remembered the conversation with the Ancient One as he watched her casting, "Didn''t the Ancient One say that channeling Limbo would be like letting the demons in...corrupting you?" Realization crossed Tyson''s face as the implications sunk in.


    Illyana began to chant in an ancient tongue, the words flowed from her lips like a haunting melody. Tendrils of crimson energy swirled around her fingers, their intensity grew with each syllable.


    As the chant reached its crescendo, Illyana''s body began to change. Her platinum hair darkened slightly. Her once fair skin took on an ashen hue as if the very essence of Limbo was seeping into her pores.


    Tyson watched in awe as Illyana''s transformation continued, her features shifting and morphing before his eyes. Her eyes, once a brilliant blue, now glowed an eerie yellow with the pupils reduced to slits. Horns, curved and sharp, erupted from her forehead. Clothing dissolved into nothingness, the fabric unraveling like smoke on the wind, replaced by a suit of armor that molded itself to her body. The dull silver metal clung to her curves, hugging the swell of her hips and the gentle slopes of her breasts, accentuating her feminine physique. As the transformation neared its end, a leathery tail unfurled from the base of her spine, and the appendage whipped through the air with a sinuous grace.


    Illyana''s chant reached its final note, the sparkling energy around her pulsing and thrumming as the sorcerous spellform mixed with the demonic magic of limbo. The entwined magics settled across Illyana''s skin.


    She stood before Tyson, her very presence radiating an aura of danger and allure. He couldn''t help but stare as he took in the sight of Illyana''s transformed state. She was a vision of demonic beauty.


    Illyana opened her eyes, facing him, her yellow eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. "Demons corrupt, but Limbo is mine."


    "So, what do you think?" Illyana asked, her voice a throaty purr that sent shivers down Tyson''s spine. She cocked her hips to the side, waiting for his response.


    Tyson swallowed hard, his eyes roaming over Illyana''s transformed body. "You''re... incredible, Lyana," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Illyana''s smirk widened, showing off sharpened fangs. "Good. Because my spell allows us to touch," she stepped closer to Tyson. "And when I''m channeling Limbo, and you''re basking in my dark majesty¡­ Call me Darkchylde."


    Tyson''s eyes widened in surprise as he processed her explanation. "You learned that spell?" he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.


    Illyana closed the distance between them, her body mere inches from his. "For one minute, I''ll be unaffected by your death touch," she explained. Her breath was warm and tickled his skin.


    Tyson''s mind reeled. "I don''t know what to say," he mumbled.


    Illyana smiled a genuine, warm smile that seemed at odds with her demonic appearance. "Don''t say anything," she whispered, leaning in closer. "Just kiss me."


    And with that, their lips met in a passionate, searing kiss. Tyson''s hands roamed over Illyana''s armored body, marveling at the sensation of touch that had been denied to him for so long. He could feel the power coursing through her, the dark energy of Limbo that flowed through her veins. As the kiss deepened, Tyson''s mind was flooded with images and sensations from Illyana''s memories. He felt the weight of her burdens, the darkness lurking within her soul. But he also felt the strength of her spirit. They were lost in each other, their bodies and minds intertwined. And when the spell finally ended, and they reluctantly pulled apart, Tyson had touched the darkness within Illyana, and it touched him in return.


    Illyana''s eyes widened as she took in Tyson''s transformed appearance, the result of absorbing her demonic powers during their passionate embrace. His skin, previously a light brown, had taken on a reddish tint. Tyson''s eyes now glowed an eerie mismatched green and blue, the pupils reduced to mere slits. Horns had sprouted from his forehead. His face had taken on a sharper, more angular appearance. As her gaze traveled down Tyson''s body, she noted the changes in his physique. His frame seemed even more powerful. His clothing had been replaced by a form-fitting suit of plate armor, not unlike her own. The metal hugged his contours, accentuating the raw power that his presence emanated.


    "Darkchylde," Tyson breathed, his voice taking on a deeper, more resonant tone. "We have to do that again."


    Tyson began to chant, his words echoed with power. Glyphs and sigils glowed around him, swirling with eldritch light. She could feel the hairs on her arms standing on end as the spell took form.


    With a final utterance, Tyson thrust his hand toward her, and the spell sank into her body. Illyana''s heart pounded as Tyson''s lips met hers once more. His kiss was hungry, passionate, demanding more. She yielded to him, her body melted against his armored form. Tyson''s gauntleted hands slid over her armor. Piece by piece, he stripped away her protections, baring more of her flesh to his seeking mouth.


    Far too soon, their stolen minute ended. The spell dissipated in a shimmer of light, leaving them breathless and wanting. She gasped as his fingers trailed fire across her skin. Illyana gazed up at Tyson, eyes dark with desire. Her face was flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and she felt a thrill at the evidence of his need for her pressing against her side.


    "More," he growled, voice rough with arousal.


    A hint of concern flickered across Illyana''s features. "Tyson, we need to be careful. Pulling too deeply upon Limbo''s power can be dangerous."


    But Tyson was undeterred, and spoke with a wild, almost feverish enthusiasm. "I can handle it. I''ve never felt so alive, so powerful. We could go to Limbo, cast the spell again, and make love like before."


    Illyana''s heart ached at the longing in Tyson''s voice, the desperate desire for a connection that he had been denied since their last encounter. She understood the temptation, the allure of losing oneself in Limbo''s raw, primal energies. But she also knew the risks, and the toll that such an act could take on their humanity.


    Reaching out to cup his cheek, her thumb traced the sharp contours of his newly transformed face briefly before retracting as she felt the drain on her life force. "I know how much you want this. How much you crave the touch and connection you have been deprived of. But we have to be strong."


    Tyson''s eyes had fluttered closed for a moment as he savored the sensation of her skin against his. "But why? Why deny ourselves this pleasure, this opportunity to be together?"


    Illyana smiled sadly, her heart heavy with the weight of her next words. "Because, my love, if we pull too deeply upon Limbo''s power, we risk losing ourselves entirely. We could become consumed, our humanity stripped away until nothing remains but the demons. Search my memories and you''ll understand. The demonic influence of Limbo tempts you and pulls at your base desires. It''s like Sabertooth. But you''ve gotten so good at controlling your impulses, your influences. This is no different."


    Tyson delved into Illyana''s memories, seeking understanding. He learned that the demonic appearance they had taken on was not a physical transformation like Dr. Connors experienced. Rather, it was a side effect of channeling too much of Limbo''s dark magic. When drawing upon that tainted power, the corruption of the demons seeps into the magic itself and infects the caster. Tyson had already received a double dose; once from kissing Illyana, and again from casting the portal spell, tapping directly into Limbo''s energies. The transformation was not something that enhanced the magic; it was a symptom of pulling too deeply from that demonic dimension to fuel arcane spells. Draw too greedily, and the bleed-off could warp Tyson or Illyana into full demons, potentially even binding them permanently to Limbo.


    The revelations left Tyson shaken. He knew now the seductive danger of Limbo''s power. Like an addictive drug, it could transform the user beyond recognition if abused. Tyson understood he would need to exercise restraint when wielding magic tied to this realm, lest he lose himself to corruption, a price that neither of them could afford to pay.


    With a heavy sigh, Tyson pulled away. "You''re right," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can''t risk it, no matter how much we might want to."


    Illyana''s mouth curled into a bittersweet smile. "I know it''s hard, Tyson. But we have to be strong, for each other and ourselves. I''ll get stronger and be able to cast this spell without the downsides, I promise."


    The two lovers stood in the shadow of the New York Sanctum in their demonic forms. "You should think about college," Illyana suggested.


    Tyson was caught off guard by the statement and shifted uncomfortably. "My guidance counselor made me send out a few applications, but I haven''t followed through..." he admitted with a hint of guilt.


    "You should," Illyana insisted, her voice brooking no argument. "Keep living your life. We''ll see each other next year." Her words carried a note of finality.


    Without warning, she swirled her arm in the air, and a portal appeared with a whoosh. Tyson''s eyes widened, "Wait," he said quickly, urgently.


    "It''ll just make it harder," she said as she avoided his gaze, unable to bear the pain lurking in its depths. "And have fun with Jubilee. I like her. She''s got spunk. Felicia''s...acceptable, I suppose."


    Tyson''s voice was tinged with desperation as he pleaded, "Darkchylde¡­ Illyana, slow down."


    But Illyana''s expression hardened with solemn resignation. "This is better. For both of us." Her voice was barely audible as she stepped through the swirling vortex and disappeared, the portal snapping shut behind her.


    A sinking feeling settled in Tyson''s gut, a sense of foreboding as the empty silence echoed Illyana''s departure. He stood there, heart heavy with the knowledge that she was gone. Sorrow welled up within him, but receded as fragments of Illyana''s memories surfaced. Thoughts about their relationship, her feelings towards him. Inevitably, they turned to Jubilee and the man she had mentioned, going on a date with. Victor.


    Curiously, Tyson delved into her memories around this¡­ Victor. But he only got as far as his surname before he froze.


    Von Doom.


    Tyson rolled the name around in his mind, lost in contemplation at its familiarity for less than a heartbeat.


    Then rage flooded through him like a lightning strike, scouring away all traces of melancholy. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists, nails biting into his palms. His jaw clenched, breaths coming in sharp, harsh bursts through flared nostrils.


    Victor Von Doom.


    Dr. Doom.


    Fury coursed through Tyson''s veins as he stormed towards the door of the Sanctum. Blood dripped from where his adamantium nails had dug into his skin. He cocked his arm back to slam the door, but before he could strike, it swung open. The Ancient One stood there, her voice as smooth as silk, contrasting the boiling rage within him. "Tyson, please come in."


    A growl rumbled in his throat, a primal sound that spoke of the depth of his emotions. "Skip the pleasantries." His words were sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He wanted answers, not courtesies, and his voice rose with each passing second.


    "Inside, please," The Ancient One said, a note of firmness underlined her calm demeanor, a subtle reminder of the authority she wielded.


    Tyson decided against making a scene on the street. He stormed in, his steps heavy with the weight of his frustration. The door closed behind them, sealing them off from the outside world. The lights within the Sanctum dimmed red as Tyson''s demonic form triggered the wards. But he paid them no mind as he exploded, the name bursting from his lips. "Victor Von. Fucking. Doom!"


    "No more games! I played along with your plans, but this is too much. No more."


    The Ancient One listened silently, her expression an unreadable mask. When she finally spoke, her words carried the weight of inevitability. "I am going to die. You know this."


    Tyson''s anger wavered, and a flicker of uncertainty broke through the storm of his emotions. But it was short-lived, his rage wasn''t so easily quelled. He pointed at her angry and accusing, "You don''t get to pull that card. You were the one that made me promise not to interfere with that," he shot back, his voice a mix of betrayal and desperation, "And why shouldn''t I? I could take down Kaecilius, and stop Doom before he''s a real threat!"


    The Ancient One held Tyson''s gaze, her eyes boring into his soul, as if she could see the very fabric of his being. Her voice carried the weight of her position, "Because I cannot see past my end. The next Sorcerer Supreme must protect the Earth and the time stone. It transcends me, it transcends you, Tyson, and it certainly transcends any feelings you harbor for Illyana."


    Tyson stood silent, his posture stiff, his mind racing with the implications of her words. He knew a possible future, but it was only one. There were already so many small changes. Despite what he thought he knew, and what his metaknowledge granted him, the future was unknowable. Illyana going on a date with fucking Dr. Doom was proof of that.


    The Ancient One continued, "There are many who might succeed me, but things keep changing." She began to count off on her fingers, each name a possibility, a potential path that the future might take. "Steven Strange, Kaecilius, Karl Mordo, Wong, Illyana Rasputin, Victor Von Doom, several others whom I cannot say, and..." She paused, a hint of something that might have been amusement in any other situation crossed her face.


    "Tyson Smith."


    Tyson''s reaction began as a low, rumbling chuckle, but quickly died into something more manic, a sound of frustration and disbelief.


    "Don''t patronize me. The whole ''You''re the chosen one'' bullshit might have worked back when I first arrived at your doorstep," Tyson said, his voice raw with emotion. "If I''m truly a candidate to succeed you, let me begin training now. I''ll work harder than anyone. I''ll protect the Earth, the Time Stone, the Sanctum, Illyana, all of it." He was nearly begging now, pleading with everything he had. The depth of his conviction was clear in every word, in the set of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze. This was more than a request. It was a vow.


    The Ancient One shook her head, her expression unchanging, "No, Tyson. There is a price to pay first." A growl of frustration tore from his throat, it was a sound that spoke of the weariness that came from being told of costs and consequences that he could not fully understand. The Ancient One remained calm as she faced his anger, though it did little to quell the fire burning within him. "If I let you into Kamar-Taj now, your anger will lead you to confront Victor Von Doom, and likely Kaecilius too, altering the future I strive to protect."


    Tyson''s hands clenched into fists, his adamantium talons slid out involuntarily in a physical manifestation of the rage that consumed him. "It''s not Kaecilius and Doom you should be worried about," he declared.


    Suddenly, the world around them shifted, the walls of the Sanctum gave way to an illusion created by Tyson''s powers, a manifestation of the fury that coursed through his veins.


    They stood by a window in a hospital room, gazing out at a river as a solitary bolt of lightning branched across the stormy sky. Time slowed to a crawl, and the lightning bolt spread as slowly as molasses.


    The Ancient One recognized this scene with a heavy heart. It was the furthest point in the future her eyes had been permitted to see, a limitation imposed by the Time Stone itself. She took in the view of her final vision, knowing what it represented.


    The moment of her death.


    Tyson''s voice cut through the silence, colder than the air outside the illusionary window.


    "You act all wise, you think you know what''s best," Tyson said, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. "You. Know. Nothing." He drew out each word for emphasis. "Nothing beyond this point."


    He stalked closer, looming over her though she did not retreat. "You''re trying to direct a play when you haven''t finished reading the script. How could Kaecilius be a candidate when you know what he''ll do?" His lip curled in a sneer. "Is Ned on your list too? Or America?" He laughed mockingly. "No, they wouldn''t be. Because you don''t know who they are. Because you can''t see past this point and have no idea who I''m talking about!"


    The Ancient One said nothing, her placid expression betraying not a hint of the turmoil Tyson''s words stirred within her. She had known this confrontation was coming, though she had hoped that possibilities would align to avoid it.


    With deadly calm, he spoke, each word a promise, a threat that hung heavy in the air. "If anything happens to Illyana. You won''t live to see this day."


    The vision around them dissolved, and the walls of the Sanctum reappeared as the lights returned to their normal brightness. Tyson had teleported away, leaving the Ancient One alone with the weight of a future clouded by uncertainty.


    She stood alone in the Sanctum, the burden of her knowledge weighing heavily upon her. But the Ancient One held fast to the belief that there was still hope, that the future was not set in stone.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    When Tyson materialized, the ground beneath his feet was a scorched, barren wasteland, littered with jagged rocks and pools of bubbling, noxious liquid. The sky above was a swirling maelstrom of reds and blacks, punctuated by flashes of sickly green lightning that illuminated the hellish scene in brief, disorienting bursts.


    Tyson''s eyes, still held the demonic form as he scanned the horizon, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. The Ancient One''s words echoed in his mind as a taunting reminder of his limitations. He could feel the anger within him, a seething, boiling fury threatened to consume him entirely. In the real world, Tyson knew he couldn''t give in to his darker impulses, and couldn''t unleash the full extent of his powers without devastating consequences. But here, in Limbo, the rules were different. This was a realm where the strong thrived and the weak were consumed.


    Tyson''s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turned white with the force of his grip. He needed to unleash his rage, to find an outlet for the fury that burned within him like a raging inferno. And thanks to Illyana''s gift, he had the perfect hunting ground. In the distance, he could see the twisted, malformed creatures that inhabited this hellish realm, their bodies were a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and bone, and their eyes glowed with a feral, hungry light.


    Tyson smiled a cold, predatory grin that held no trace of humanity. These were the perfect targets for his rage, the ideal victims upon which to unleash the full extent of his powers. Tyson manifested the armor around his hands and arms, leaving only his adamantium claws uncovered.


    He stepped, and the borrowed teleportation power allowed him to close the distance. Tyson approached the first of the creatures, a hulking, misshapen beast with razor-sharp claws and a maw filled with jagged, needle-like teeth. The creature lunged at him, a blur of teeth and claws, but Tyson was ready. He sidestepped the attack with inhuman speed, his wickedly sharp talons, sliced through the beast''s flesh like a hot knife through butter. The creature howled in agony, its blood splattering the ground in a spray of crimson.


    But Tyson wasn''t finished. He unleashed a flurry of blows. The creature stood no chance against the onslaught, its body sliced and eviscerated with each strike.


    The creature''s body hit the ground with a heavy thud, its limbs twitching sporadically as the last vestiges of life drained away. Tyson turned to the horizon and the expanse of Limbo that stretched before him. His eyes glinted with a wild, predatory light, feral instincts rose to the forefront of his mind. This hellish dimension was his playground now, a landscape ripe for unleashing the full fury of his rage and darkest desires.


    He intended to take full advantage of the time he had allotted himself. One hour in which restraint and mercy would be cast aside, his inner demons given free rein to mete out destruction. One hour to visit every ounce of pent-up misery he harbored onto the inhabitants of this nightmarish realm. The thought stirred his blood, primal anticipation flooding his veins. His claws flexed at his sides, razor-sharp talons aching to rend flesh. Tyson bared his teeth in a savage grin and broke into a loping run, his powerful limbs eating up the ground, bolstered by occasional teleports, as he raced toward his next victim. For one hour¡­ the hunt was on.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Nearly two hours later, Tyson found himself sitting in a lab at the House of M, his mind reeling from the aftermath of his impulsive rampage through Limbo. The lab was a mess, a chaotic jumble of papers strewn haphazardly across every available surface.


    Tyson sat hunched over a large, wooden table, he rested his elbows on the surface with his head cradled in his hands. He was kicking himself mentally, cursing his stupidity and lack of control. He had been given an incredible gift, a chance to wield Illyana''s power for an extended period, and what had he done with it? He''d wasted most of his allotted time on a meaningless rampage through Limbo.


    The last time Tyson had been granted access to Illyana''s abilities, he had used the opportunity to amass a fortune through a single heist. It had been a risky, stupid, fool-hearted move. It had put him in the crosshairs of multiple government agencies. But it had set him up for a comfortable existence, free from financial worry. But this time, he had squandered his chance, allowing his baser instincts to take control, to guide him down a path of destruction.


    Tyson sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had allowed his anger, his frustration, to cloud his judgment. And now, he was left with the consequences of his actions, the bitter taste of regret lingered on his tongue.


    But even as he berated himself, Tyson knew he couldn''t afford to wallow in self-pity. He had to make the most of what little time he had left, to use Illyana''s power to its fullest potential. And so he turned his attention to the pages that spread out before him, the fruits of his labors from the remainder of his time with her knowledge.


    The table was littered with sheets of paper, each covered in an array of arcane scribbles and rough translations. Tyson had been working feverishly, his hand flew across the pages as he sketched out the intricate runes and symbols needed to cast the Death Ward spell. It was a complex incantation that required an understanding of the mystical arts, ancient languages, and an unwavering focus.


    Tyson had none of those things. Yet, for now, he had all those things, thanks to the temporary, borrowed knowledge he had absorbed from Illyana during their kiss.


    But Tyson would only have true understanding, for the next few minutes until Illyana''s power and memories faded. And now, as he stared down at the pages before him, he could see the fruits of his efforts taking shape. The runes and symbols were intricate, each one carefully crafted to channel the mystical energies needed to cast the Death Ward spell. The translations were rough, hastily scribbled in the margins, but they were enough to guide him through the complex incantation.


    Tyson''s eyes flicked across the pages ensuring that every detail was correct. He knew that even the slightest mistake could have catastrophic consequences, and as soon as her knowledge faded Tyson would be unable to recognize any mistakes he''d made.


    But as he reviewed his notes, Tyson felt a sense of growing confidence, a certainty that he had done everything right. The Death Ward spell was within his grasp; the ability to touch, the freedom and normalcy that had eluded him for so long, was within his grasp.


    Tyson felt the last wisps of Illyana''s borrowed knowledge slipping away as his connection to Limbo faded. He took a deep, steadying breath, he shut his eyes to gather his resolve.


    When he opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon the transcribed spell. A flicker of disappointment twisted his features as the runes and symbols danced across the page, their meanings slipped away like grains of sand through his fingers. Expectantly, the understandings and insights that had guided his hand during the transcription had vanished, leaving behind a jumbled mess of gibberish.


    Yet, a glimmer of hope remained. His notes scrawled in plain English, remained clear and legible.


    Without Illyana''s mystical expertise to guide him or her connection to Limbo, achieving the Death Ward casting would be impossible. Though the intricate incantation was now far beyond him, the completed spellform and hasty notes were securely in his possession. He had documented every detail he could. But with the spellform fully transcribed and hints at how to acquire the necessary foundational arcane knowledge, Tyson had a base to build upon. The road ahead would be difficult without a mentor to lead him through the intricacies of the mystic arts. But with his substantial financial resources and connections, Tyson was determined to begin the journey on his terms, rather than wait at the Ancient One''s whim.


    It would be a long, solitary road of study and experimentation. But Tyson now possessed the tools to take the first steps. He tightened his jaw in quiet resolve. The reward would be worth whatever the cost. The ability to touch others, to truly connect with them on a physical level, was a gift beyond measure.


    And so, with a final, determined nod, Tyson pushed himself to his feet, his hands swept the pages into a neat stack before him. The spell he now possessed was only one of the avenues he planned on pursuing. He had work to do. And nothing, not the lingering regret of his impulsive actions in Limbo, nor a powerful sorceress who could see the future, would stop him.

 Arc 5 - Ch 5: Wreckage

    Chapter 52


    Arc 5 - Ch 5: Wreckage


    Date: Monday, May 30, 2011.


    Location: Stark Expo, Flushing, Queens, NY


    Tyson settled into his seat inside the Stark Expo Hall between Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy. Today, Oscorp promised to unveil a revolutionary breakthrough that would change the world. And Tyson had invested all his money on the bet that things would go disastrously bad for the company.


    Dr. Otto Octavius strode onto the stage with a presence that commanded attention. As he reached the podium, the eager murmuring of the audience died down to an expectant hush. Octavius gripped the sides of the podium and leaned forward.


    "My friends," he began, "today dawns a new era in clean, sustainable energy. An era where humanity''s reach extends to the very power of the stars themselves!" The man spoke with the zeal of a true visionary. He stepped out from behind the podium and paced the stage. "For years, the greatest scientific minds have sought to harness the potential of nuclear fusion. And now, we stand on the cusp of this monumental achievement."


    Tyson glanced at his companions. Peter scribbled furiously in his notebook while Gwen watched with rapt attention.


    Octavius gestured grandly to the imposing metal monolith dominating the stage. "Behold, the Oscorp fusion reactor prototype! It shall be the crucible in which we forge a brighter future."


    The reactor thrummed to life on cue, emanating a haunting blue glow. Awed whispers ruffled through the audience.


    "But how will you control such a powerful reaction?" a skeptical voice called out.


    Octavius smiled knowingly as if he had hoped someone would ask. "An astute question. Manipulating matter at the subatomic level requires tools of exceptional precision, durability, and control."


    With a showman''s flourish, he unveiled four gleaming mechanical arms nested beside the reactor. Octavius reverently ran a hand along a segmented limb. "These beauties are equipped with a sophisticated artificial intelligence, they shall serve as extensions of my genius and will. They will allow me to conduct the delicate fusion reaction with all the control and mastery of a virtuoso." As he spoke, he donned the harness, the servos clasped as the arms integrated with Octavious''s body. Then, the arms came alive, rising and twisting with serpentine grace, weaving mesmerizing patterns in the air. The arms suddenly stilled and Octavius tapped the side of his head. "And have no fear. This inhibitor chip will ensure my mind remains the master and the machine the servant. There will be no HAL 9000 scenarios unfolding here."


    The crowd chuckled, the tension broken. Octavius sobered and his voice dropped to a reverent hush. "My friends, the road ahead may be long. But today we take the first step into a brilliant tomorrow. A tomorrow where clean, abundant energy empowers humanity to reach glorious new heights."


    He raised his arms, both the organic and the mechanical limbs, lifted in triumph, "I stand ready to be the herald of this new age. Will you stand with me?"


    The audience surged in a standing ovation, Tyson and his friends among them. As the applause washed over him, Octavius basked with arms spread wide.


    The crowd collectively held its breath as Dr. Otto Octavius engaged the fusion reactor. The machine thrummed to life, its lights pulsing like a living heart. A miniature sun burst into existence within the containment field, its brilliance casting the entire Expo hall in an ethereal glow.


    Gwen stared, transfixed by the artificial star. Beside her, Peter Parker''s camera clicked rapidly, immortalizing the historic event.


    On stage, Octavius threw his arms wide in triumph. "Behold, the power of the sun, tamed by man!" His voice boomed through the hall, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.


    For a glorious, shining moment, it seemed science had achieved the impossible. The audience erupted into thunderous applause. Gwen Stacy beamed with pride, though she hadn''t worked on Dr. Octavious''s project, after the fiasco with Dr. Connors, seeing Oscorp succeed brought a smile to her face.


    But the celebration was cut short for Tyson as he felt a faint tug deep within his bones. This wasn''t metaphorical from his meta-knowledge whispering of the danger he knew was coming. It was a literal sensation. His adamantium skeleton felt the pull of the shifting magnetic fields before anyone else noticed.


    It began subtly. The sound of metal chairs scraping across the floor spread through the hall, causing the applause to falter. Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd as seats were drawn toward the stage. Octavius, lost in the euphoria of his success, seemed oblivious to the growing danger.


    Tyson leaned close to Peter, "Something''s wrong. We need to act now."


    Peter nodded, his eyes already scanning for a discreet place to change into his alter ego. "I''ll find a spot. Can you cover me with your illusions?"


    Peter slipped away into the shadows, his eyes scanning the grand hall for a discreet place to change into his Spiderman outfit. Tyson grabbed Gwen suddenly in a bridal carry, causing the girl to let out a surprised yelp.


    "Things are going south, time to go," Tyson said urgently as he sprinted towards the exit, Gwen securely in his arms. Illusionary doubles of himself and Gwen appeared in the seats they had vacated, ensuring that to the outside world, it would seem as if they had never left. Gwen did not protest being whisked away so abruptly, trusting that the two heroes had good reason for suiting up. She knew that if both Peter and Tyson were preparing then the danger was certainly imminent.


    As Tyson dashed through the crowded aisles concealing Gwen with his powers, Peter slipped into a small maintenance room he had spotted earlier while scoping the layout. Moving quickly, he peeled off his civilian clothes to reveal the familiar red and blue Spiderman suit underneath. After donning his mask, Spiderman crept back out into the main hall, climbing stealthily up the walls and ceilings to gain an aerial view. As he observed the room from this hidden vantage point, his spider-sense began buzzing in warning, confirming that Tyson''s intuition was correct.


    On stage, the fusion reaction began to spiral out of control. The containment field flickered ominously, struggling to restrain the energy within. Alarms blared, their shrill cries barely audible over the rising panic of the crowd. Octavius frantically manipulated the controls, but it was too late. The miniature sun had grown unstable.


    Metal began hurtling towards the reaction. Finally realizing the danger, the audience scrambled for the exits.


    Amidst the chaos of the retreating crowd, a figure clad in red and blue swung into action. Spider-Man landed on the stage with the agility of an acrobat. His masked eyes took in the scene, assessing the best course of action. Tyson, now fully costumed as Mirage, stood at the edge of the stage, his metallic skeleton preventing him from getting closer. He focused his powers on guiding the fleeing crowd.


    Illusions of Mirage appeared around the pavilion. He shouted and gestured at the spectators, directing them away from the danger.


    Spider-Man leaped towards the fusion reactor, his webbing flying as he sought to contain the unfolding disaster. But the magnetic fields had grown too strong. Metal fragments pelted him from all angles, forcing him to twist and dodge with superhuman reflexes.


    Octavius, his face a mask of desperate concentration, fought to shut down the experiment. His mechanical arms strained against the magnetic pull. The sun within the containment field had become a raging inferno, its surface roiling with reds and oranges. The Expo hall began to tear apart, metal support beams groaning as they were wrenched from their moorings. The ceiling buckled, raining dust and debris down upon the stage. Spider-Man webbed up the largest pieces, preventing them from crushing Octavius and the reactor.


    Mirage felt the tug of the magnetic fields grow stronger with each passing second. His skeleton vibrated within his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the discomfort.


    Octavius shouted desperately, "I can''t shut it down! It''s not responding!"


    Spider-Man landed beside him. "Keep trying, Doc! We''ll buy you time!"


    The fusion reaction had become an unleashed beast with an insatiable hunger. The miniature sun pulsed; its surface now a blinding white that seared the eyes. Metal shrieked as it was consumed, drawn into its heart, the magnetic pull strong enough to condense it down, molding it into the star''s core. The noise was deafening, as the very foundations of the Expo hall shook.


    The magnetic field churned violently, its unseen force warping the metal frame of the enclosure around Rosie Octavius, Dr. Octavius''s wife, shattering the protective glass. Shards flew toward her like deadly rainfall, but Mirage having been forced further from the artificial sun by its pull, leaped in front of her. He shielded her body with his own, the glass embedding itself into his back as he wrapped his arms around Rosie protectively.


    Spider-Man spun thick webs, creating barriers that protected the fleeing attendees from the relentless barrage of debris. He worked tirelessly to whisk person after person to safety. With each thrust of his arm webs shot out, rescuing an attendee from being harmed by the flying metallic debris.


    Dr. Octavius battled to stabilize the fusion reaction, his mechanical tentacles thrashing like the limbs of a maddened kraken. Two metal appendages anchored themselves to the floor, preventing the intense magnetic forces from dragging him into the budding artificial sun. The other two tentacles worked feverishly to contain the reaction.


    But then, the miniature star flared with blinding intensity, a burst of energy slamming into Octavius''s body. The force of the explosion hurled him backward, unconscious. As he flew through the air, a piece of shrapnel found its mark. A surge of energy followed as the inhibitor chip on his spine was struck, sparking and fizzling out.


    Peter watched in horror as Octavius''s unconscious form began sliding toward the containment field, the limp tentacles no longer anchored to the ground. Spider-Man reacted quickly, firing streams of webbing to pin the unconscious doctor safely in place, preventing him from being drawn into the miniature sun.


    Oblivious to the change in her husband, Rosie''s eyes were wide with shock, her hands trembling as she looked up at Mirage protecting her and asked, "Is it over?"


    Mirage reassured her, "Not yet. Hopefully, we''ll have it under control soon. Quickly, get out of here." He ordered.


    Pushing himself to move faster, Spider-Man was a blur as he web-slung, across the hall, saving several more from being consumed by the out-of-control star on his way. He reached the power controls, his hands a blur as they worked to shut down Dr. Octavius''s experiment. The device refused to shut down, fighting his every effort. Gritting his teeth, Spider-Man resorted to grabbing the thick power cords and pulling with all his strength.


    But the miniature sun only pulsed brighter. Its magnetic strength increased, dragging Tyson inexorably closer. Adamantium claws burst from Tyson''s hands as he scrabbled for purchase, raking furrows in the ground. For a moment he held fast, anchored only by those indestructible talons.


    A ghostly image of Tyson flickered into being beside Peter. "Spider-Man! I need your help! I''m being sucked in!"


    "That shouldn''t be happening," Spider-Man quipped back, still wrestling the cables, "not unless you''re hiding a big metal belt buckle under that skintight suit. Just drop the jewelry and help me shut this thing down!"


    Then Tyson''s adamantium claws tore free from the ground. Unable to fight the sun''s irresistible pull, he was dragged through the air. The illusion''s shout matched Tyson''s fear-filled admission, "My whole skeleton is metal! I need you! NOW!"


    Spider sense screaming a warning, Spider-Man spun to see Tyson hurtling toward the blinding heart of the reactor.


    Time froze, the moment stretching into an eternity as Spider-Man''s enhanced perceptions took in every detail. With movements as precise as scalpel cuts, he fired weblines from both wrists. The silk strands shot across the room and adhered to Tyson''s chest mere moments before the mutant would have reached the incandescent sphere. The webs stretched taut, fighting against the pull of the artificial sun.


    Tyson screamed, a sound more primal and animal than human. For a single heartbeat, he hung suspended, silhouetted against the impossible brightness. Then, with agonizing slowness, Spider-Man began to haul him back, muscles straining against the tremendous forces at play.


    But the rescue did not come without cost.


    As Tyson''s lower legs slid free of the reaction''s grip, Spider-Man saw with horror that the tremendous heat had seared away his shoes, skin, and muscles. Only the metal bones remained from ankle to toes, glowing red-hot in the aftermath.


    "Hold on!" Spider-Man anchored himself and pulled with every ounce of his prodigious strength. Tyson slid further away from the sun, inch by pain-wracked inch. The farther he came, the weaker the sun''s pull became, the balance of forces slowly tilting. With a final mighty heave, Spider-Man dragged Tyson clear and hauled him across the room to collapse beside the control panel.


    Spider-Man could only watch in astonishment as flesh rapidly regenerated over the glowing metal bones of Tyson''s ruined legs. Muscle fibers, tendons, and skin flowed back as if time had suddenly reversed its flow. Tyson released another muffled scream as his body healed over the superheated adamantium endoskeleton. The stench of charred flesh permeated the air around him. But within seconds, each new layer of tissue that was formed was seared away, only to heal once more in an endless cycle of regeneration.


    The healing acted to cool the metal and before long, Tyson stood before Spider-Man whole and unharmed, as if the horrific damage had never occurred. He did not even appear short of breath. Then with a slash, Tyson effortlessly parted the cables that had resisted Spider-Man''s prodigious strength. The reinforced bindings split before Tyson''s talons like paper yielding to the cut of scissors.


    Spider-Man could only look on, shocked at the casual display. As the power cords severed, the room shuddered. A deep, resonant throb heralded the end of the catastrophe. The miniature sun began to collapse in on itself.


    The implosion of the fusion reaction sent a shockwave blasting through the hall, shattering glass and sending dust and debris flying outward.


    Mirage''s illusions had guided the audience to safety. Most stood outside the Expo hall, their faces etched with awe and terror. In the aftermath, silence descended like a heavy shroud, broken only by the soft settling of dust.


    In the sudden silence, Tyson quipped, "Guess you could say that I put my foot in it this time."


    Spider-Man groaned. "Leave the jokes to the professionals. You may have one of the most popular shows in the city, but trust me, it''s not because of the comedy." He paused for a second before asking, "You okay?"


    Tyson answered that he was fine, though his top was torn his shoes were missing and his pants shredded from below the knee with the fabric melted at the endings. His wounds had already knit closed.


    Spider-Man cocked his head, confusion evident even through the mask. "I didn''t know you could heal like that. And I don''t understand how the gravitational forces inside that star didn''t crush your metal skeleton. And why do you have a metal skeleton anyway?"


    Tyson gave a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. "It''s not just metal, it''s adamantium. A nearly indestructible alloy. I have other powers too. I''m surprised you didn''t already know."


    "How would I know you had more powers?" Spider-Man asked, puzzled.


    "When we fought the Lizard at the high school, I used my claws and took on his appearance for a bit, remember?" Tyson said. "I pierced him right through with them."


    Spider-Man nodded slowly as the memory came back. "That''s right, I do remember that now. At the time I thought it was just an illusion. I didn''t realize that transformation was real." He shook his head in wonderment. "You probably don''t realize this, but it can be hard to separate what''s real from what isn''t when you''re around."


    Tyson gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, I''ll tell you all about my powers later. Isn''t it funny and ironic that I tell your backstory to the world, but I haven''t told you mine? But for now, let''s get Doc Ock out of this wreckage."


    Spider-Man nodded, casting his gaze around at the ruined hall. "Good idea. We''ve given this Expo crowd enough of a show for one day."


    As the dust began to settle, and the wail of the sirens pierced the air, the true scope of the experiment''s aftermath became heartbreakingly clear. The demonstration area lay in ruins. The attendees huddled together, some openly weeping, others shaking their heads in disbelief.


    As the heroes removed Octavious, the last of the injured from the wreckage of the pavilion, the crowd began clapping. But the applause dimmed, replaced by a hushed murmur as Harry Osborn pushed his way to the front, his face a thundercloud of anger and accusation. His eyes locked a searing gaze filled with contempt onto Spider-Man and Mirage.


    "You!" Harry''s voice cut through the air like a razor. "You two are responsible for this! Attacking me, trying to tear down Oscorp!"


    The accusation hung between them. Spider-Man stood firm, silent against the bitter words. But Mirage stepped forward, his voice cold as he retorted, "Oscorp''s reputation is tanking all on its own. I''m getting pretty tired of fixing your company''s mistakes." A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd, some had pulled out cellphones to record the exchange. Harry''s face flushed crimson, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, the implication of incompetence and failure striking a raw nerve. Mirage pressed on. "Next time, maybe I should send Oscorp the bill. It''s only fair don''t you think? If I''m going to be a janitor, cleaning up your mess, you should put me on the payroll. " Harry''s face burned an even deeper shade of crimson, his jaw clenching. Mirage pressed on relentlessly, his voice ringing out clearly in the hush created by their confrontation. "The least you can do is say thanks. We saved your scientists today and prevented your mistake from killing innocent people."


    Mirage folded his arms across his chest, staring down the smaller man. Harry worked his mouth soundlessly, rendered speechless by the verbal lashing. His gaze darted between Mirage and Spider-Man, searching for a chink in their united front. Spider-Man offered Mirage a subtle nod of support, a wordless affirmation of their shared stance.


    Mirage turned to walk away, dismissing the young CEO.


    But Harry''s hand shot out, grabbing his arm.


    Leaning close, Harry''s voice was venomous. "We aren''t finished."


    Mirage met his gaze unflinchingly, a challenge sparking in his eyes. "Says who?"


    With a shimmer of light, Mirage''s form dissolved into a swarm of butterflies, slipping effortlessly from Harry''s grasp. The delicate wings fluttered briefly before coalescing into Mirage''s solid form, a few feet away.


    The crowd''s murmurs grew louder, it was clear their support lay behind the heroes. Harry sensed the shift in sentiment and took a step back. Mirage stood tall, arms crossed, a picture of unflappable calm in the face of Harry''s barely contained rage. Without another word, Harry spun on his heel and stalked away.


    As the onlookers dispersed, Spider-Man and Mirage exchanged a weary glance. They split, slipping away, leaving behind the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles and the still-unconscious figure of Dr. Octavius. Oscorps hopes for heralding the future of sustainable energy lay with the presentation hall, shattered ambition amongst the wreckage.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson shut off his motorcycle, and the shrill ring of his phone replaced the quiet left in the engine''s wake. He fished it from his pocket, eyeing the unknown number. "Hello?" he answered.


    The voice that floated through the speaker was familiar, "Saw you on TV, nice work with the saves." Tyson''s lips quirked into a smile as he recognized the voice. "Hello, Nat, what can I do for you?" he asked, leaning against his bike.


    There was a heartbeat of silence before she spoke again. "I''m calling on behalf of my boss. Tony Stark. He''s throwing a birthday party tonight and hoped Mirage could make the trip out."


    Tyson''s smile faltered, his hand drifting to his temple. The argument with the Ancient One the previous night and how things were left with Illyana remained a fresh wound that throbbed with each thought. He wondered, half-seriously, if Stark''s top-shelf booze could drown out his lingering sorrow, even for a little while.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Are you guys going to fly me out?" Tyson asked. He didn''t fancy attending a party or social gathering. But seeing Nat again would make it worthwhile. It had been nearly two months since the opening night of House of M, the last time she''d been in town.


    "Absolutely," Natasha confirmed. But she quickly added a warning, her tone dropping, "Remember, I''m undercover. Keep that in mind if you come."


    Tyson mulled this over. "Would it be out of character for the new teenage superhero to try to pick up the elder superhero''s new, hot young assistant?" he joked.


    Natasha snorted in amusement. "I''ll let Mr. Stark know Mirage will be attending," she said, the smirk in her voice was clear.


    The call ended. Tyson glanced around the quiet street, before dialing Felicia Hardy''s number.


    "Tyson?" Felicia''s voice crackled through the phone, concern etched into every syllable. "I saw you at the Stark Expo. Are you alright?"


    Tyson couldn''t help but smile at her worry, "I''m fine, Felicia. Really," he assured her, hearing the soft rush of static that followed her exhale of relief.


    "So, are you headed back to the House of M?" Felicia asked.


    "I''ll do the show," he said, "but after that, I''m flying out to California."


    Felicia''s interest was tangible even through the phone. "California? What''s taking you out there?"


    "I got invited to Tony Stark''s birthday party," he explained.


    "Look at you, climbing the social ladder. It''s about time you got out a little," she teased, "Need a plus one?"


    "Not tonight," Tyson replied. He paused, giving a moment of consideration before he continued. "Can you contact our finance guy? There''s something I need to take care of before I go."


    "Sure, what do you need?" Felicia asked, all traces of humor gone, replaced by the sharp focus of a businesswoman.


    Tyson leaned on his motorcycle, the leather seat creaking under his weight. "I''m sure Oscorp''s stock is plummeting after this debacle. As soon as it looks like it''s leveling out, sell the Oscorp puts. Then use all our gains to buy puts on Hammer Industries."


    "Hammer Industries?" Felicia questioned, surprise coloring her voice like a splash of paint on a blank canvas. "You think they''re going to dive too?"


    Tyson remembered his encounter in Washington. "It''s guaranteed. I met Justin Hammer at the Senate hearing. And forgive the pun, but the guy is a tool."


    Felicia chuckled, "You got it, Tyson. I''ll handle it."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Bright spotlights danced across the grand facade of Tony Stark''s mansion. The air was thick with the heady scent of expensive perfumes, mingling with the pulsing beats of the DJ. Guests decked in an array of designers ranging from business casual to sharp tuxedos arrived in a stream. Tyson stood out like a beacon. His Mirage costume failed to conform to the accepted dress code.


    As he stepped inside, Tyson was impressed by the opulent mansion. Quite the feat considering he spent the past year living in a five-star hotel. Heads turned as Tyson made his entrance. The guests wondered, was it Mirage, or just an impersonator? He could practically feel their curious gazes prickling against his skin.


    Natalie Rushman emerged from the sea of guests. She was a vision in a sleek, leopard-print dress that accentuated her curves. Fiery dark red curls cascaded over her bare shoulders. When she smiled at Tyson, a glint sparked in her emerald eyes conveying a hidden depth beyond merely seeing a superhero in costume. That secret was shared only between the two of them.


    As they embraced in greeting, Tyson leaned in close and purred, "Rawr" teasingly in her ear.


    Natalie responded by playfully swatting at his chest, though she kept her voice low as she whispered back, "Undercover. Remember."


    He replied, "That was in character! I swear. Besides, illusions. Remember." Tyson parroted back at her, "Everyone else is just seeing us shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. "They wouldn''t notice anything we did. We could¡­"


    Nat interrupted, rolling her eyes, "I''m gonna stop you right there." She grabbed his arm and guided him through the guests. "You should meet the boss," she said.


    Instead of Tony Stark, they stopped before Pepper Potts, the newly anointed CEO of Stark Industries. She wore a conservative black dress, radiating confidence and authority. Tyson took in the way she commanded the attention of those around her.


    "Congratulations on your promotion," he said, extending his hand in greeting. Pepper''s grip was firm, her smile warm and genuine.


    "Thank you, Mirage. It''s quite an honor," she replied.


    They fell into easy conversation, Tyson inquiring about Stark Industries, and Pepper sharing her vision for the company''s future. He listened intently, absorbed in the exchange of ideas. As Pepper was pulled away to speak with another magnate, Tyson was left adrift in the sea of guests. He wandered through the party, taking in the faces of industry moguls and celebrities alike.


    Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, all eyes drawn to the entrance like moths to a flame. Tony Stark had arrived. His smile was electric, his stride confident, and his charm dialed up to eleven. "Welcome to my little shindig!" he called out, his voice rising above the music.


    Stark worked the room, shaking hands, clapping backs, and trading quips. Guests clamored for his attention, their faces lighting up when he turned his charm their way. As the party kicked into high gear, Stark''s laughter boomed, his antics becoming more and more outrageous. He was the life of the party, the guests feeding off his manic energy. His behavior grew more erratic, more flamboyant.


    Tyson found himself with a glass of high-proof alcohol in hand. He drank like it was soda. His healing factor rendered the effects short-lived, but he savored the momentary sting of the alcohol and the warmth spreading through his veins. It was nice to feel the buzz, however brief.


    Stark''s voice boomed over a microphone now, "I love you guys!" The guests cheered in response, their adoration for Stark palpable.


    As the night wore on, Stark''s actions grew more reckless. He danced atop a table, his movements just a bit too unsteady, his laughter just a bit too loud. Concern flickered across some faces, to be quickly masked by indulgent smiles.


    As the party reached a fever pitch, Tyson watched as the billionaire playboy downed another drink, his laughter taking on a manic edge. Stark was using the noise and the alcohol to drown out his demons. Tyson''s enhanced senses picked up on the subtle changes in Stark''s heartbeat, the slight tremor in his hands. He recognized the telltale markers of a man on the edge. He saw beyond the mask, beyond the bravado. He saw a man struggling with his mortality while grappling with the weight of world peace on his shoulders. And thanks to his meta-knowledge, Tyson understood. For all his wealth and genius, for all his gadgets and armor, Tony Stark was just a man. A man trying to outrun his demons no suit of armor could shield him from. To find solace in the crowd''s adoration. Beneath the glitz and the glamour, beneath the red and the gold, there was a man in pain.


    As the party reached its crescendo, Tyson stood on the periphery, a silent observer amidst the revelry. Stark raised his glass, his voice rich with unspoken emotion. "To the future!" he shouted, the words were a promise as much as a dedication.


    The guests echoed his toast. Tyson lifted his empty glass, the liquid had become a victim of his healing factor and made a silent toast to a man too complex for most to understand.


    Tony moved through the crowd with the ease of a man who owned the place, because, well, he did. Stark approached Tyson at the bar, eyes glinting with mischief, a woman trailing in his wake like a shadow.


    "Mirage, meet my new assistant, Natalie," Tony introduced, "She''s only a few years older than you. You could learn a lot from her, maybe connect. You''d do well if she took you on as a mentor." He chuckled, relishing the moment.


    Tyson extended a gloved hand, "You''re even more beautiful in person than your voice suggested. I''d love to learn from you." his flirtation veiled an inside joke.


    Tony''s grin widened, and he turned to Natalie with an exaggerated wink. "You should see what this guy can do," he teased.


    He wasn''t just Tony Stark now; he was a showman, ready to give his guests something worthy of talking about. Raising his voice, Tony announced, "Mirage is pretty awesome, isn''t he? How about a demonstration?" The suggestion ignited like wildfire, and soon, a chorus of partygoers chanted Mirage''s name.


    Amidst the cheers, Mirage raised his hands, signaling for quiet. "I know it''s a party for Tony Stark, but how many of you think you really know Iron Man?" he asked.


    The response was a roar of approval, the crowd''s excitement palpable. Without missing a beat, Tyson began weaving his illusion.


    The mansion around them fell away, and the group was standing in a mountainous region of the Middle East. Tony Stark stood above the crowd his hands outstretched as he demonstrated the latest Stark Industries weapon, the Jericho.


    The guests were instantly captivated. The tale of Iron Man''s origins came to life, the images so real that the audience could almost believe they were standing alongside the genius as he constructed his first suit of armor in a cave with a box of scraps.


    A half-hour passed as Tyson presented a condensed version of the events of the Iron Man movie. The narrative weaved a spell over everyone present. Gasps and murmurs of amazement punctuated the air. As the final image faded, the room erupted in applause. Tyson bowed slightly, acknowledging the praise.


    The buzz about Mirage''s illusion show was cut short as Tony Stark, clad in his Iron Man suit, climbed onto the stage, clapping loudly. The guests'' attention snapped to the armored figure, their conversations shifting from the fantastical illusions to the technological marvel on casual display before them.


    Natasha let out a sigh that spoke volumes. "It''s like babysitting a child," she muttered under her breath, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.


    Colonel James Rhodes stepped up next to Mirage wearing his military outfit, and offered a nod of recognition. "Saw you at the Senate hearing but didn''t get the chance to talk to you," he said before asking, "Is Tony actually in the armor? Or is it another one of your illusions?" his tone was hopeful but edged with skepticism.


    Mirage confirmed with a simple, "That''s all him," and the resignation in Rhodes''s eyes was palpable.


    Rhodes''s voice lowered, his words directed at Pepper. "Do something about him, or I will." His role as the dutiful colonel overshadowed his concern as a friend.


    Pepper grasped the gravity of Rhodes'' threat as a military officer and made her way onto the stage. She took the microphone with a practiced hand and tried to defuse the escalating antics.


    "Okay, let''s wrap it up," Pepper said, her eyes on Tony, who was still suited up as Iron Man, surrounded by a ring of excited partygoers. She whispered, "Tony, you just peed in the suit."


    "But it has a built-in filtration system. It turns it into water clean enough to drink." he insisted playfully. He knew she was trying to end the party without ruining the mood. Pepper returned the microphone to the DJ with a tight smile that didn''t reach her eyes. Her glance towards Tony was filled with exasperation.


    Tony, not missing a beat, hijacked the moment. "Alright, everyone, the party is over," he announced, though the playful glint in his eyes suggested he was far from finished.


    "But for me," Tony continued, "the party was over after Mirage''s show. Now the after-party begins." His words were a cue for the real celebration, or perhaps the real chaos, to start.


    Pepper''s smile faded as she watched Tony continue showing off in his Iron Man suit. He used his repulsors, the energy beams fired from his hands, to blast objects tossed by the partygoers. Each time he fired, the objects exploded into pieces, sending debris flying dangerously close to the guests.


    Rhodes had enough.


    He turned and left the room without a word, his disappointment and frustration with Tony evident in his brisk stride.


    Natasha stood with her arms crossed watching the scene that Tony Stark was creating. It was spiraling quickly, and her instincts as an agent were kicking in. She turned to Tyson, "Any chance you can de-escalate this?" Her voice held an edge of urgency to it.


    Tyson glanced at her, a playful spark in his eyes. "Yup!" he replied confidently. Natasha gestured, silently urging him to take action. He grinned, sensing an opportunity. "But it''s going to cost you," he teased, mischief evident in his tone.


    Before she could ask what he wanted, Tyson cut in. His expression softened, the playfulness replaced with sincerity. "Another date," he said, not as a demand, but as someone asking for a chance. "No pretense, no spy games, no masks. Just us, getting to know each other¡­ Truth or Strip is optional."


    Natasha''s initial surprise shifted as she recognized his honest interest. "Fine. One date," she agreed with a trace of warmth.


    As Tony aimed at another wine bottle, Tyson made his move.


    When Tony''s repulsor beam hit the bottle, in the place of shattering glass, 2D words materialized in mid-air, reading "Great Shot!" A comical ''Womp-Womp'' sound followed, and the room''s mood shifted.


    The room darkened instantly, and a spotlight illuminated the woman who threw the wine bottles. Suddenly, a judge''s podium with a robed figure appeared onstage as the woman''s cocktail dress transformed into an orange prison jumpsuit.


    "Wasting good wine is a crime!" declared the judge from the illusion as he dropped the gavel.


    The crowd erupted into laughter, the tension broken by the humorous display.


    Just as the illusion faded and the laughter began to subside, Rhodes re-entered the room. This time, he was wearing the silver Iron Man Mark 2 armor. Amplified by the suit, his voice rang out authoritatively, "Party''s over! Get out!"


    The atmosphere changed in an instant. Tony turned to see his friend in the other suit. Rhodes''s stance and tone left no room for argument. The playful air had vanished, replaced by a sudden seriousness. The mood of the party shifted in a heartbeat.


    Suddenly, as if called forth by an unseen signal, dozens of Iron Man armors materialized around the room. Each one directed the guests with a calm authority. "Please make your way outside for the main event," the illusions announced in unison, their voices echoing through the house.


    The guests, previously enthralled by the spectacle, now moved in an orderly fashion, guided by the illusionary armors towards the exits. The calmness and efficiency of the evacuation proved the convincing nature of Tyson''s powers.


    Before Natasha moved to join the retreating party-goers, she leaned in close to Tyson and whispered, "Do your best to keep it contained."


    Tyson shot back, "Do I get bonus points for that?"


    She didn''t verbally respond, but the sultry look she threw over her shoulder spoke volumes. Then, she turned and hurried away, her stride carrying a deliberate sway, leaving a trail of her signature confidence. Tyson watched her departure, stirring anticipation within him. He remembered their last date. It was an evening full of surprises. The memory left him smiling and looking forward to their next one.


    The visor on Rhodey''s suit dropped and he said, "You don''t deserve to wear that suit."


    Tony called out with a chuckle, "Hey DJ!"


    The DJ who''d been hiding in his booth area, popped into view and asked, "Yes, Mr. Stark?"


    Tony answered, "Give me a fat beat to beat my buddy''s ass to." his words cracked towards the end as he broke out into laughter.


    The DJ fumbled for a moment before the beat of ''Another One Bites the Dust'' by Queen filled the room. Tony bobbed his head to the rhythm, his earlier carefree demeanor shining through the seriousness of the situation.


    Outside, the night had fallen. The party-goers, ushered to the lawn a safe distance from the mansion by Tyson''s illusions looked back at the near-empty house. With a final glance at Natasha''s retreating form, Tyson refocused, ensnaring the crowd in his illusion. Though outside the mansion, they were treated to the view within, as if they''d never left the house. The image of the escalating confrontation between Iron Man and the other armored man was clear for all to see.


    Rhodey, suited up in silver, approached Tony, wrapping his arms around the golden-suited Iron Man. It was clear this was no friendly hug. He demanded, "I told you to shut it down. Now!"


    The onlookers outside held their breath. Tyson couldn''t resist adding his flair to the spectacle. He conjured up a huge, floating text that materialized above the two combatants. The words "Round 1! Fight!" flashed in bold letters, accompanied by the iconic voiceover from the video game Mortal Kombat. The effect drew a mix of laughter and cheers from the crowd outside.


    Tony''s helmet visor snapped down with a sharp whir, signaling his readiness. He fired the repulsors on his feet, blasting backward with Rhodey still clinging on. The pair smashed through the mansion wall, crashed through the steamy sauna on the other side, and tumbled into the expansive home gym.


    The collision left Rhodey sprawled on the ground amidst the rubble, but Tony smoothly engaged his hand repulsors, steadying himself into an effortless hero''s pose that oozed confidence and style.


    Above their heads, a notification appeared, visible to both them and the audience outside, declaring "Iron Man - 1, Suit Thief - 0."


    The crowd erupted into a mixture of boos and applause, captivated by the unfolding drama.


    The gym equipment lay scattered. Dumbbells and medicine balls were strewn across the floor. Tony strolled away from Rhodey. "Now put that thing back where you found it before someone gets hurt," his voice carrying signature nonchalance.


    Rhodey picked up a 45-pound weight plate and launched it like a frisbee. The heavy plate flew straight at Tony, striking him on the head with a resounding clang. Tony stumbled, the blow catching him off guard. Unfazed, Rhodey reached for another plate, again sending it hurtling toward Tony. This time, Tony leaned to the side, dodging the impromptu projectile. The weight crashed into the remains of the sauna''s glass walls.


    A comic-style "Miss!" appeared beside Tony.


    Iron Man walked up to the weight bench and with one hand, grabbed the barbell loaded with 225 pounds. He effortlessly hoisted it, shaking his wrist slightly, sending the two bottom plates sliding off. Swinging the barbell with the ease of a baseball bat, he struck Rhodes, sending him flying into the boxing ring. The force of the blow made Rhodey crash against the opposite wall.


    The crowd outside gasped and cheered at the illusionary display. Inside, Tony hovered over to Rhodey, his movements a bit unsteady from his earlier drunkenness that hadn''t yet worn off.


    "Sorry pal, but Iron Man doesn''t have a sidekick," Tony slurred slightly, still maintaining an air of bravado despite his inebriated state.


    Rhodey was quick to retaliate. Pulling himself up with the help of the ring post, he tore out the metal post and swung it like a baton. "Side. Kick. This!" he shouted, each word punctuated with a hit against Tony''s armor. The metallic clangs rang out, almost rhythmic.


    They grappled briefly over the ring post, each seeking to gain the upper hand. Then, with a sudden upward swing from Rhodey, Tony was sent crashing through the ceiling, leaving debris falling and a Tony-sized hole leading to the floor above.


    The ding of a bell from a boxing match rang, signaling the end of a round. The scoreboard blinked, updating to say, "Iron Man - 1, Suit Thief - 1."


    Rhodey propelled himself upward from the gym, following the path Tony had unintentionally created. Hovering in the gap, he peered at Tony and called, "Had enough?"


    Below, in the entry room, Pepper was approached by Natalie, "Miss Potts," she began, with urgency.


    But Pepper was quick to cut her off, her frustration boiling over. "Don''t you ''Miss Potts'' me. I''m onto you! Ever since you came here..."


    Her accusation hung incomplete as the ceiling above them caved in, sending Tony and Rhodey crashing down in a tangle of armor and dust. The impact had Pepper throwing her hands up instinctively, a yell of surprise escaping her lips. Natalie reacted differently, her body snapped into a combat-ready stance. Her eyes darted, assessing the situation in less than a heartbeat. But as the two suits disentangled, Natalie melted into the background.


    Happy began moving forward to get Pepper to safety. But before he took a step, Mirage swept in. He snatched Pepper from harm''s way, dashing the short distance to the crowd, and deposited her gently on the mansion''s lawn. She barely had time to process her abrupt relocation before Mirage dashed back toward the mansion, leaving a faint afterimage in his wake.


    Back inside, the high-tech brawl continued, Tony''s fist connected with Rhodey, sending him sprawling across the kitchen. Pots and pans clattered in the wake of the scuffle. Rhodey latched onto whatever he could grab, which was the kitchen sink. He ripped it from the plumbing and with a grunt, he swung it at Tony. The metal sink met the metal suit with a resounding clang. Iron Man staggered, the force of the blow pushing him into the lit fireplace.


    The onlookers outside were transfixed, eyes wide as the live drama unfolded on the illusion Tyson maintained. There were gasps and shouts, the crowd alive with adrenaline, spectators to a conflict none could have anticipated. Tyson had crafted an image that captured every detail, projecting the battle so that all could witness the intensity of the Iron Man showdown.


    Inside, Tony Stark, covered in soot, rose to one knee, his hand lifted with his repulsor glowing menacingly. Across from him, Rhodey mirrored the gesture, his hand aimed and ready. Tension crackled in the air, thick enough to touch. "Put your hand down," Rhodey commanded, his voice firm.


    Tony challenged him, "You think you''ve got what it takes to wear that suit?" His voice held an edge, a taunt that filled the room as much as the heat from the fireplace. Rhodes''s responded quickly, "We don''t have to do this, Tony." It was a plea as much as it was a warning.


    "You want to be the War Machine? Take your shot," Tony pushed, defiance clear in every word.


    Rhodey''s voice rose, a note of desperation seeping through, "Put it down."


    But Tony was unyielding, prodding further, "You gonna take your shot?"


    The same demand came again, louder, "Put it down!" The words echoed off the walls.


    Tony''s reply was a shout, "Now! Take it!" And with that, they both unleashed the power of their repulsors.


    The beams, one from each hand, shot out, colliding in a brilliant burst of light. The sound was deafening, the force unimaginable as it tore through the room. A shockwave exploded outward, sending fragments of the once-grand entry room hurtling in all directions. The mansion seemed to hold its breath before the blast, then exhaled debris and dust in a wild, uncontrolled gasp.


    Tyson had thought ahead, his illusions had urged the crowd back far enough to ensure their safety before the anticipated climax. When the repulsor beams collided, the light was blinding, a searing flash that left afterimages dancing in the eyes of all who witnessed it. As vision returned, Tyson''s illusionary scoreboard updated.


    The name suit thief was crossed out and replaced with War Machine. The scoreboard read, ''Winner! War Machine!"


    Tony Stark, Iron Man, lay in his battered suit slumped against what remained of the fireplace. Rhodey, now the victor, activated his suit''s repulsors. He took off into the night sky, leaving a trail in his wake.


    The onlookers watched as War Machine disappeared, their expressions held shock and sadness, seeing their hero defeated. Tyson let the illusion fade, the projection flickering out to reveal the true extent of the destruction. Silence settled over the crowd like a heavy blanket. But then, Mirage flicked his hand.


    The destruction dissipated, and the mansion stood pristine, untouched, as though the furious battle had been nothing more than a dream... An illusion.


    The crowd was still, their eyes searching for the truth. None were sure if the mansion had been destroyed or the battle was real.


    A giant curtain stretched across the view, hiding the mansion. Words spun out, written in script, "Show''s over folks." The classic tune from the end of a Looney Tunes cartoon filled the air, nostalgic and oddly fitting.


    As the final note of the familiar music played, Mirage stepped out in front of the curtain.


    A spotlight that originated from somewhere in the sky shown down on Mirage.


    With a flourish, Mirage took a deep bow. The crowd erupted into applause. Some cheered, others laughed, delighting in the unexpected entertainment.


    "I run shows regularly if you ever find yourself in New York," he announced, his voice carrying over the clapping crowd.


    With a dramatic gesture, Mirage pulled the curtain back to reveal Tony Stark. He stepped forward, waving to the crowd with a showman''s ease, his face wearing that famous, charming Tony Stark grin. "Thank you for attending my birthday party. Now if you''ll excuse me, I have a suit to go reclaim and a house to clean," he said, his voice rich with the charisma that had charmed the world.


    Laughter and chatter bubbled up from the crowd as they started to walk away, the night''s drama taking on the feel of a grand adventure they could recount to friends for years to come. Amidst the dispersing crowd, Pepper Potts marched straight to Mirage and Tony, her face set in a look that meant business. "What was that?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips, her tone sharp and accusing.


    Without a word, Mirage beckoned her through the curtain. On the other side, the truth lay bare. The mansion was a wreck. Wires dangled, walls were scorched, and debris littered the once-immaculate floors.


    Mirage spoke gently, a softness to his voice that hadn''t been there during his performance. "I was just trying to help you with damage control and publicity," he explained, gesturing to the ruin around them.


    Pepper''s anger melted into sadness as she absorbed the reality of the situation. Her eyes took in the destruction, and she understood Mirage''s ruse. It was all to keep the public unaware of the superhero chaos that had just ensued. The distant laughter of guests who had witnessed an ''unforgettable show'' was fading, as they left, oblivious to the true spectacle that had occurred.


    Iron Man once gleaming red and gold, was scorched and damaged. Tony''s breaths were heavy. The mansion lay partially in ruins; the entry room was unrecognizable. Bits of the ceiling dangled precariously, and the walls bore scars from the eruption created when the repulsor beams had touched. Sparks from damaged wires flickered, and the smell of burnt electronics lingered in the air. Tony''s eyes scanned the devastation, his face a mask of mixed emotions. The confrontation was over, but the fallout was beginning.


    Outside each person left with their versions of the night''s events. They walked away in groups, talking in hushed, excited tones about the shows Mirage put on, the story of Iron Man''s origin, and the clash of Iron Man and the War Machine.


    Behind the curtain, behind the illusionary facade, lay the truth.


    Tony sat there, alone; his home and life wreckage.

 Arc 5 - Ch 6: Black Widow

    Chapter 53


    Arc 5 - Ch 6: Black Widow


    Date: Tuesday, May 31, 2011.


    Location: Randy¡¯s Donuts, Inglewood, CA


    The morning sun cast its warm glow across the Los Angeles cityscape, bathing the buildings in a soft, golden light. Atop the iconic Randy''s Donuts sign, Tony Stark, still wearing the red and gold Iron Man armor, sat leisurely in the giant donut with a box of donuts resting in his lap. Though his posture was relaxed, it lacked the charisma and heroism typically associated with the man inside the suit. His helmet was retracted, instead, he wore dark sunglasses that did little to hide the evidence of his headache from the previous night''s drinking, or the fight, likely both.


    The scene was comical yet vaguely disconcerting. There sat Tony, seemingly disconnected from the world around him, lost in his thoughts. The Iron Man armor that usually symbolized strength now appeared to be little more than a gilded shell he was hiding behind.


    The peaceful morning tranquility was abruptly shattered by the arrival of a black sedan pulling up to the curb. As the car doors opened, a man emerged exuding an air of authority and calm command. Clad in a long black coat and sporting his iconic eye patch was SHIELD Director Nick Fury. With an irritated scowl, Fury strode purposefully toward the restaurant.


    "Sir!" Fury called out, "I''m going to have to ask you to exit the donut."


    Stark seemed momentarily taken aback by the sudden appearance of the spymaster. Recovering quickly, Tony reached up with a casual yet deliberate motion and slowly slid his sunglasses down his nose. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on either man. But beneath the surface humor, both understood the gravity underlying Fury''s arrival.


    This was no social call.


    Minutes later, the unlikely pair sat across from each other in a vinyl booth within the donut shop''s interior. Stark was still encased in the Iron Man armor and looked out of place in the humble setting. Leaning back against the booth''s cracked faux leather, he studied Fury with weary resignation. Breaking the heavy silence between them, Tony quipped sardonically, "I told you, I don''t want to join your super secret boy band."


    Fury, unruffled by Tony''s sarcasm, responded, "No, no, no. I remember you do everything yourself. How''s that working out for you?" His tone remained light, but his words hinted at the greater issues Tony faced.


    "It''s, it''s, it''s..." Sensing the seriousness lurking beneath the surface of Fury''s words, Tony attempted to steer the conversation onto a more frivolous tangent. "I''m sorry, I don''t want to get off on the wrong foot here. Do I look at the eyepatch or the eye? Honestly, I''m a little hungover and there was this illusionist at my birthday party last night. I don''t even know if you''re real right now."


    Fury leaned forward, his lone eye boring into Tony''s intensely. "I am very real. I''m the realest motherfucker you''re ever going to meet." His words left no room to doubt the gravity of his presence.


    Somewhat disarmed by the directness of Fury''s response, Tony half-joked in exasperation, "Just my luck." Looking around the empty shop, he added, "Where is the staff in this place anyway?"


    Tony surveyed the shop as Fury focused on the discoloration marring Tony''s neck. It was a concerning sign of palladium poisoning from the arc reactor embedded in his chest. With a tone of sarcastic concern, Fury commented, "That''s not looking so good."


    Tony''s hand instinctively went to his neck, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face at the observation. The tense conversation was interrupted by heels clicking confidently across the floor, heralding new arrivals. Natasha Romanoff, known privately to Tony as ''Natalie Rushman'', strode purposefully into view, with another figure at her side; someone Tony hadn''t expected to see in this context. Mirage.


    Natasha addressed the men at the table in a professional tone. "We''ve secured the perimeter. Surprisingly easily with the help of our consultant."


    Tony, still seated, looked up at Natalie over the rim of his sunglasses, a gesture conveying his attempt to grasp her unexpected appearance. He looked at Mirage and asked, is she real?" Mirage nodded. After a brief pause, Tony returned his attention to Natalie and declared, "You''re fired." slurring slightly, a remnant of his earlier drunkenness,


    Natasha unfazed by the pronouncement, responded crisply, "That''s not up to you." Her words were a biting reminder that Tony was no longer in charge of the company that bore his name.


    Seizing the moment, Fury introduced the two properly. "Tony, I want you to meet Agent Romanoff. And you already know our consultant, Mirage."


    Mirage stepped forward, adding, "Don''t feel bad, she got me too. Posed as my gym teacher for a while."


    Tony, always quick with a quip, replied, "A little hot for teacher, huh? Not surprised it worked."


    Fury interrupted Tony before he continued, "You should be thanking Mirage here. His impromptu illusion show covered up your disastrous birthday battle."


    Tony considered Fury''s words for a long moment, his expression softening as he recognized the truth. Setting aside his usual bravado, Tony turned to Mirage and extended his sincere thanks for the man''s assistance the previous night. Mirage nodded in acknowledgment as Tony''s attention shifted back to the woman he had known as Natalie Rushman when she began speaking.


    "I''m a SHIELD shadow," she stated bluntly, her voice devoid of apology. "Once Director Fury became aware of your illness, I was assigned to you."


    Tony absorbed this new information, leaning back in his chair with his elbow propped on the table and his chin resting in his hand. "Well then, Natalie, or whatever your real name is, I suggest you apologize." His words held a biting mix of sarcasm and seriousness.


    Fury''s uncompromising voice cut through the tension, "You''ve been very busy lately, Stark. Handing your company over to your girl, giving away all your stuff. Hell, you even let your friend Rhodes fly off with one of your suits." His tone was accusatory, highlighting recent erratic and foolish decisions Tony made. "Now, if I didn¡¯t know better¡­"


    Tony''s expression darkened defensively at the criticism. Though, when he spoke, everyone heard the resignation in his voice. "You don¡¯t know better. I didn''t give Rhodes the suit. He took it."


    Fury looked incredulous, "He took it? You''re supposed to be Iron Man, and he just took it? The little brother walked in there, kicked your ass, and took your suit?" Disbelief dripped from Fury''s words. The director turned to Natasha, one eyebrow raised in question. "Is that even possible?"


    Natasha responded evenly, "According to Stark''s database security protocols, multiple redundancies prevent unauthorized usage of the suits."


    Mirage interrupted, using his unique abilities. With a casual wave of his hand, the air before them seemed to ripple and waver, a shimmering illusion manifested into existence just above the table. Stark and Fury looked on, as the image clarified into a vivid split-screen projection, capturing every detail of the battle from the previous night with stunning clarity.


    On the left, was War Machine, and to the right was Iron Man. The two faced each other down inside Tony''s decimated home.


    Tyson edited the illusionary scene to highlight Tony''s words.


    "You think you''ve got what it takes to wear that suit?"


    "You want to be the War Machine?"


    "Take it!"


    With those final shouted words, the projection dissolved into wisps of curling mist, leaving a weighty silence. Tony''s expression was clouded, the replay affecting him despite his outward nonchalance. He turned to study Mirage with newfound respect and curiosity.


    "Caught that, huh?" he mused, grudgingly impressed, "Pretty sharp. Are you sure you''re just a kid?"


    Mirage replied lightly, "Yup. Don''t be too impressed. I went over the fight dozens of times before I realized."


    Tyson neglected to mention that he had watched the cinematic battle countless times in his previous life.


    Tony turned back to Fury and Natasha, his expression shifted from defensive to inquisitive. "What do you want from me?" he asked them directly.


    Fury maintained his authoritative posture, unmoved by Tony''s shift in demeanor. "What do we want from you?" he responded sharply. "No. What do you want from me? You''ve become a problem. A problem I have to deal with. Contrary to your belief, you are not the center of my universe." His words were biting, making it clear that Tony''s actions had broader implications than the billionaire realized.


    The bluntness of Fury''s response visibly took Tony aback. "Yeah, I get it," he replied after a moment, a rare humbleness in his voice.


    Fury did not miss a beat. "I''ve got bigger problems than you brewing in the southwest region," he said crisply.


    As he spoke, Fury snapped his fingers decisively. Taking the cue, Natasha approached Tony from the side and delivered an injection into his neck before he could react.


    Tony groaned in discomfort. "Oh god, are you going to steal my kidney and sell it?" he quipped, even as he flinched from the strike. "Could you please not do anything awful for five seconds?" Though faced with the sudden pain, his words still held their usual wit.


    However, as Natasha stepped back, the dark markings on Tony''s neck began slowly receding. Whatever concoction she had administered, its effects were already noticeable.


    Tony questioned, "What did she just do to me?"


    Fury corrected, "What did we just do¡­ For. You." a knowing look in his single eye. "That''s lithium dioxide. It''s going to take the edge off. We''re trying to get you back to work."


    True to form, Tony responded with his characteristic humor. "Give me a couple boxes of that, and I''ll be right as rain."


    Natasha was quick to dispel any fanciful notions. "It''s not a cure, it just abates the symptoms," she stated plainly.


    Fury observed Tony closely, "Doesn''t look like it''s going to be an easy fix," he noted gravely. His assessment encompassed more than Tony''s physical state; it reflected the complex challenge before him.


    "Trust me, I know, I''m good at this stuff," Tony asserted with a stubborn set to his jaw. "I''ve been looking for a suitable replacement for palladium. I''ve tried every combination, every permutation of every known element." Frustration colored his words.


    "Well, I''m here to tell you, you haven''t tried them all," Fury responded heavily.


    For once, Tony Stark found himself without a clever retort.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tony Stark and Nick Fury sat in deck chairs overlooking the breathtaking California coastline, the endless expanse of ocean and horizon contrasting the scene of destruction behind them. The main level of Tony''s mansion lay in ruins, proof that the battle with Rhodey had been real.


    Fury informed, "That thing in your chest is based on unfinished technology."


    "No, it was finished," Tony replied, "It has never been particularly effective until I miniaturized it and put it in my..."


    Mirage interrupted, "Whoa¡­. TMI!"


    Fury rolled his eye and glared at the teenage superhero, willing him to remain silent before continuing, "Howard said the arc reactor was the stepping stone to something greater. He was about to kick off an energy race that would dwarf the arms race. He was on to something big, something so big it would make the nuclear reactor look like a triple-A battery."


    Tony pieced together the new information and its connections to his history. His next question was pointed, seeking clarity. "Just him, or was Anton Vanko in on this too?"


    Fury answered, "Anton saw it as a way to get rich. When your father found out, he had Vanko deported. The Russians weren''t happy that Vanko couldn''t deliver, so they shipped him off to Siberia where he spent twenty years stewing in vodka-fueled rage. Not the best environment to raise a son, the son you had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Monaco."


    Wanting to refocus on his immediate concern, Tony shifted the conversation. "You said I haven''t tried everything. What do you mean? What haven''t I tried yet?" Frustration colored his voice.


    Fury looked at him intently. "Your father said you were the only one with the means and knowledge to finish what he started. Are you that man, Stark? Can you solve the riddle of your heart?"


    Tony scoffed, years of unresolved feelings bubbling up. "I don''t know where you get your information, but he was never my biggest fan. He was cold and calculating. He never told me he loved me, never even said he liked me. So it''s hard to swallow when you say the whole future was riding on me, that he was passing the torch. I was shipped off to boarding school, and that was the happiest day of his life. If you think differently, you knew my old man better than I did."


    Fury met his outburst with quiet authority. "As a matter of fact. I did. Howard was one of the founding members of SHIELD."


    The sudden arrival of several agents hauling boxes into the room signaled the end of their conversation. Fury checked his watch and said, "I got a two o''clock."


    Caught off-guard by this sudden turn of events, Tony stuttered with evident confusion as he eyed the boxes, "Wait, wait, wait, wait. What''s this?"


    Pausing at the room''s threshold, Fury turned back to look at Tony. He asked challengingly, "You got this? Right? Right?" Though phrased as questions, his words carried an expectation.


    Still processing this abrupt upheaval of his life, Tony replied with a hint of exasperation, "Got what? I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m supposed to get."


    Fury''s parting instructions were delivered in the same unwavering tone that had characterized their entire conversation. "Natasha will remain a floater at Stark with her cover intact. You remember Agent Coulson, right? Well, he¡¯s your new babysitter." His lips quirked up. "And Tony, remember, I got my eye on you."


    With that, Fury strode out, coattails flaring behind him. Natasha''s husky voice followed after. "We¡¯ve disabled all communications. No contact with the outside world. Good luck."


    As Natasha sashayed out, Tyson''s gaze drifted to her shapely backside, unable to prevent his eyes from wandering, regardless of Tony''s serious situation. Stark caught Mirage''s wandering eyes and couldn''t resist quipping, "Still hot for teacher, huh?"


    With Fury and Romanoff gone, Tony was left with Agent Coulson as an overseer. Tony started, "Please. First thing, I need a little bodywork. I¡¯ll put in a little time at the lab. If we could send one of your goon squad down to The Coffee Bean, Cross Creek, for a Starbucks run, or something like that, that¡¯d be nice." he requested with characteristic levity.


    Coulson, however, remained stoic and unmoved by Tony''s charm. "I''m not here for that," he stated flatly. "Director Fury has authorized me to use any means necessary to keep you on-site. Try to leave, or play games, I''ll tase you and watch Supernanny, while you drool into the carpet. Are we clear?" His no-nonsense warning left no room for misinterpretation.


    Recognizing the futility of resisting, Tony nodded. "Yeah, I got it," he said, reluctantly accepting his new reality under Coulson''s watch.


    As Coulson turned to leave, he threw a parting remark over his shoulder. "Enjoy your night."


    Now, without any distractions, Tony contemplated the box of information Fury''s team had left behind.


    Tyson understood the dire implications of Tony''s palladium predicament but chose not to interfere. He knew Stark needed space to process this life-or-death challenge on his terms. Though it irked him to sit back observing, Tyson recognized this was Tony''s crucible to endure. This trial was important for the man''s development.


    With some agents beginning to clear out, Tyson seized an opportunity. Approaching one of the suits, he requested their car for a quick errand. Soon Tyson was en route to The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, assuming this had been Tony''s desired location for a coffee run.


    Upon arriving at the bustling coffee shop, Tyson strode to the counter. When prompted for his order, he requested "the usual Tony Stark order," hoping the barista would understand the particular preferences of the celebrity customer. To his surprise, the barista nodded knowingly and began preparing the specialty drink. Tyson added, "Actually, make that two."


    After acquiring the elaborate coffee concoctions, Tyson drove his borrowed government vehicle back to Stark''s seaside mansion.


    Tyson found Tony alone, watching an antique film projector. In the image, Tyson recognized Howard Stark. Approaching slowly, Tyson extended the coffee order.


    Tony glanced up. Spotting the proffered coffee, he managed a weak quip, "You might have just saved my life with that." Though his tone remained lighthearted, it carried an undercurrent of legitimate concern given his situation.


    "I certainly hope so," Mirage returned with an easy chuckle, playing against the billionaire''s characteristic humor. Tyson felt it was time to exit. But also compelled to try helping this brilliant man. "Listen, Tony, I don''t want to abandon you, but I''m afraid I''d be useless trying to solve this palladium issue. I had a hard enough time with high school physics and chemistry, I couldn''t begin to understand the advanced stuff needed here. I wish I could do more, but I think I''d only get in your way."


    Tony looked up, clearly exhausted but appreciative of Mirage''s sincerity. "Don''t worry about it, you''ve done enough already," he reassured. "This is my problem. I''ll figure it out. It''s what I do." Tony spoke confidently, though his trademark swagger was subdued.


    Tyson nodded. "Well, I hope so. I''m heading back to New York, but next time you''re in town, give me a ring. Good luck, Tony." He extended his hand which Tony shook firmly.


    As Tyson turned to leave, he glanced back once more at the projected film. "Interesting layout for that Expo," he commented. "Your father had quite the vision."


    With his subtle hint dropped, Tyson took his leave, having done what little he could to point Tony in a potentially helpful direction and provide him with coffee as fuel.


    As he stepped back out into the courtyard, Tyson took a moment to appreciate the striking beauty of Tony''s cliffside property. Despite the damage, the sweeping Pacific panorama was truly breathtaking. With a lingering look across the waves, Tyson walked on. His role here was complete, and Tony Stark''s fate now rested solely in his own hands.


    As Tyson neared the group of agents, Coulson stepped away from them with a folder in his hands. His expression was serious as he addressed Director Fury. "Sir, we''ve intercepted some data that points to something unprecedented. It appears we may have discovered evidence of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge."


    Fury took the proffered folder, quickly scanning its contents. His eye narrowed in thought as he processed the information.


    "Coulson, you''re being reassigned to New Mexico," Fury replied after a moment, "We need eyes on the ground there. Monitor Stark''s situation for a few hours, make sure he''s on the straight and narrow, then head out."


    Coulson nodded crisply in understanding, long accustomed to the rapid shifts in mission priorities that were part and parcel of his work with SHIELD. He turned and began issuing quick, concise orders to the agents around him, mobilizing them for his impending departure.


    As the agents sprang into action in response to Coulson''s directives, Tyson observed the flurry of activity with a pensive expression. The conversation had triggered a sense of familiarity, it only took Tyson a moment to recall what it meant. An Einstein-Rosen Bridge was another name for a wormhole, it signaled the beginning of the events surrounding Thor.


    Noticing Tyson''s contemplative state, Fury turned to him, a hint of curiosity piercing his otherwise stern demeanor. "Any thoughts, Agent Smith?" he inquired.


    Tyson spoke with quiet confidence. "I believe Tony will find the solution before he runs out of time," he replied casually. "As for the Einstein-Rosen Bridge...I''m afraid Physics was never my strong suit. I only passed the class because I didn''t need sleep and could study all night. But it sounds like some weird stuff. Anything involving weird stuff¡­ that I can handle. Mutants, monsters, aliens, I''m your guy."


    Fury considered Tyson for a moment, finally, he nodded, coming to a decision. "You can head back to New York for now," Fury stated. "I know you''ve got your show to do, and we don''t have anything pressing that requires your attention presently. But if any ''weird stuff'' comes up, I''ll keep you in mind."


    Tyson nodded, pleased that Fury had accepted his offer to help if needed. If his suspicions about New Mexico proved true, it would likely qualify as ''weird stuff''. Hopefully, Fury would call him in when the time came.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson enjoyed a rare moment of peace in his penthouse suite high above the streets of New York City¡­ until his cell phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID display. He recognized the number.


    It was Natasha.


    He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the call. "Ms. Rushman. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call this afternoon?"


    Her voice came through the speaker, "I''m heading back to the city tonight for Hammer''s big presentation tomorrow. Thanks to your damage control at the party, you made my job much easier." There was a note of genuine gratitude in her tone.


    Tyson leaned back into the plush leather couch, "Glad to hear I could help."


    Natasha''s voice warmed slightly as she continued, "Since I have the evening off, I thought I might take you up on that date I owe you, Mr. Smith."


    Tyson responded, pleased at her words, "I think I can arrange something suitable for the occasion. Do you have any preference for the evening?"


    Natasha responded with a challenge, "Impress me. Or surprise me."


    Tyson mentally sifted through his knowledge of her preferences and tastes, but all he could definitively pinpoint was her appreciation for fine wine. But thanks to his connections with Felicia and the frequent attendance of New York''s rich and elite at his shows, he had some ideas. She informed him she could come to his apartment, expecting to arrive around 7 pm. Tyson confirmed the time would work perfectly for him as well.


    With the basic plan set in motion, Tyson now had the task of creating an evening that would not only sufficiently impress the discerning Natasha, but also provide a chance for them to connect on a more personal level.


    Tyson reached for the suite''s phone. He dialed the concierge service, knowing the staff would meet his requests promptly. Tyson appreciated how the staff catered to his every need without hesitation. He suspected they did so for all VIP guests like himself, but their efficiency and attention to detail never failed to impress. This time, Tyson had an unusual request; he asked the concierge to procure a vintage 1920s flapper dress, complete with long satin gloves and accessories. He requested a stylish grey suit for himself, reminiscent of the era, intending to complement her dress and craft an immersive experience rather than just a simple date. He hoped surprising Natasha with this unique theme would impress her refined tastes. True to his expectations, the concierge assured they would be able to deliver, and that they held the dress measurements from last time.


    Tyson ran his show at House of M, then rushed back to the Four Seasons. As expected, around 7 pm, a brisk knock sounded at the door. Tyson opened it to find Natasha standing there. Her red hair cascaded in tight curls, and she wore an ivory blouse tucked into a figure-hugging skirt. Though her makeup was understated, it enhanced her striking features. Tyson''s face brightened at the sight of her. After a warm hug, he welcomed Natasha inside. Sensing she might appreciate a chance to freshen up after her travels, he politely offered the use of his shower.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Please, go right ahead," he encouraged.


    "Thank you, I''d love that," Natasha replied gratefully.


    As Natasha turned towards the bathroom, she stopped and glanced back, "Do I need to call for a dress?" she asked, curious about the evening''s plans and recalling how she had done so on their first ''date''.


    In response, Tyson presented a box with a slight flourish. "I''ve taken care of everything this time," he proclaimed proudly.


    "Good to know you''re learning," Natasha remarked in surprise. She approved, clearly impressed by his planning. She noted Tyson was investing effort into creating a special night and she was eager to discover what other thoughtful surprises he had in store.


    Tyson retreated to the bedroom to change into his outfit for the evening, giving Natasha the bathroom to freshen up and don her attire. His vintage gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and fit just right along his muscular frame. The suit was a soft, elegant gray with subtle pinstripes adding an extra touch of class. He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. His shoes shone with a fresh polish. The overall effect was one of timeless sophistication.


    In the kitchen, Tyson poured two glasses of Natasha''s favorite wine. He glanced up as she entered. Her appearance was nothing short of stunning. She wore the black flapper dress, its intricate beading and fringe shimmering as she moved. The scooped neckline flattered her form, and the long gloves reaching past her elbows added a touch of sophistication. Her hair was styled in soft waves, and her makeup accentuated her features with bold lips and smoky eyes.


    "You''re breathtaking," Tyson said sincerely.


    Natasha''s face lit up as she accepted the glass of wine he offered. She appraised their vintage attire. "Are we going to a speakeasy tonight? This feels like a scene straight out of the Roaring Twenties."


    Tyson maintained an air of mystery. "Something like that. I''m glad you recognized the style and did your hair to match," he replied vaguely, wanting to preserve the surprise.


    He made one last call to the concierge, requesting a ride to arrive shortly, giving Natasha time to finish her wine. Their destination was only a mile and a half away, but the timing needed to be perfect. Tyson wanted the evening to unfold flawlessly.


    The limousine glided through the city streets, its smooth ride gently rocking Natasha and Tyson as they conversed. Natasha mentioned that Tony Stark had visited the Stark Industries headquarters earlier that day after Tyson had left California. "Pepper was so cold to him. He brought her strawberries. All those years they worked together and he didn''t remember that she''s allergic to them," Natasha added, shaking her head. "Also, Agent Coulson got reassigned to New Mexico to investigate some astronomical event."


    Tyson was pleased to hear that Tony seemed to be on the right track to finding the solution to the palladium poisoning. But sensing the conversation drifting too close to their work lives, Tyson tenderly took Natasha''s hand. "Remember, tonight we''re just Tyson and Nat," he said softly.


    Natasha responded, "I remember. Just us, no masks... It''s been a while since I''ve had the luxury of being just Nat. Not sure if I remember how." She gave a wry smile. "Does this mean I shouldn¡¯t have brought a weapon?¡± She joked lightly, ¡°I''ll try to restrain myself."


    Tyson looked at her and said with a hint of mischief, "Well, if you need help with restraint, I''m sure I could lend a hand," the words were a flirtatious callback to their banter months earlier in the coffee shop. "But part of me is curious to see what happens when you don''t hold back."


    Natasha matched his tone, her voice carrying a daring challenge. ¡°Likewise,¡± she replied, her eyes locking with his in tacit understanding. ¡°When we sparred, I know you always held back. One day I''d like to see what happens when you cut loose."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The black limousine glided to a stop on Norfolk Street in Manhattan''s Lower East Side neighborhood. The area teemed with an eclectic mix of sights and sounds; graffitied walls, boisterous clusters of teenagers, the rhythmic thump of hip hop from passing cars, but nothing that immediately brought to mind a typical date spot.


    Natasha glanced around in mild confusion as she took in their surroundings. The upscale restaurant attire they both wore seemed incongruous with the urban backdrop. A humble Mexican restaurant down the block caught her eye but seemed far too casual given their formal dress. She studied Tyson curiously as he confidently strode toward a metal gate that enclosed a stairway leading down below street level. To Natasha, it appeared to lead to a basement or underground storage area for one of the nearby buildings. Her intrigue grew as she noticed a small sign affixed to the gate.


    "THE LOWER EAST SIDE TOY COMPANY"


    The peculiar name offered no obvious clues as to anything romantic or date-worthy, only deepening the mystery around the evening''s plans.


    Tyson unlatched the gate and gestured for Natasha to descend the concrete steps ahead of him. She grasped the cool metal railing and carefully walked down the stairs, the sounds of the city fading behind her, replaced by a tingling sense of anticipation about what lay ahead. After descending the stairway and continuing down a dim alley, Tyson and Natasha ascended another set of steps, leading them inside a nondescript building.


    As they emerged, they stepped into a scene far removed from the New York streets.


    Soft notes of jazz floated and swirled through The Back Room speakeasy. The lighting was subtly subdued, with warm golden hues cast by vintage lamps, instilling the space with a cozy and inviting ambiance. Plush velvet sofas and richly upholstered armchairs invited patrons to sit back and linger. Dark, lacquered wood paneling lined the walls, reminiscent of the Jazz Age''s iconic establishments. Period-appropriate art and photographs adorned the walls, adding authentic flourishes that brought the space to life.


    The bar was the room''s centerpiece, crafted from highly polished oak and mahogany and lined with glassware and bottles. Some were modern, but others were vintage designs straight from prohibition, their curved shapes and etched labels showcasing the classic spirits and cocktails of the time.


    Small tables dotted the room but were spaced enough to allow each group a feeling of seclusion. As they wound their way toward the bar, genuine delight lit up Natasha''s face as she took in the vintage details.


    "Wow, Tyson, this is... not what I expected," she remarked, her voice tinged with surprise. "I thought we might find a throwback restaurant, but this?"


    Tyson, pleased by her reaction, said, "I had a hunch you might appreciate someplace off the beaten path. A spot where we can relax away from everything."


    Natasha''s expression softened as her eyes roamed. "It''s been ages since I''ve been anywhere that felt this removed. It''s quite a nice change."


    "I figured you don''t often get the chance to unplug," Tyson replied.


    She laughed, the sound light and melodic. "You''re just full of surprises, aren''t you? I have to admit. You''ve successfully impressed me."


    Settling into the speakeasy, Tyson and Natasha perused the cocktail menu. It was an eclectic collection of classics reinvented with unique modern twists.


    Natasha perused the eclectic cocktail menu. "Why don''t we make this interesting and choose each other''s drinks?" she suggested playfully.


    Tyson''s grin widened at the prospect. He''d looked over the menu online earlier. "I''m game. Hope you''re ready to be impressed by my mixology prowess," he joked.


    After a few moments of contemplation, Tyson decisively tapped his finger on the menu. "The Bees Knees for you. I have a good feeling about this one."


    Natasha pursed her lips, considering the options carefully before pointing to one further down the menu. "The Pink Slipper. That''s the one for you."


    When the bartender returned, Tyson relayed their selections. Soon enough, the cocktails arrived, artfully presented in vintage teacups rather than traditional glasses. The charming touch suited the prohibition vibe perfectly. Tyson raised his teacup in an impromptu toast. "To surprises and hidden depths," he proclaimed.


    Natasha gently clinked her teacup against his. "I''ll drink to that."


    As they both lifted the teacups to sample their chosen drinks, Tyson regarded Natasha thoughtfully. "Let me explain my reasoning behind The Bees Knees," he began "First, it has layers and nuances to it. That reminded me of you. There are so many facets to your personality and character. You can''t be summed up in a single descriptive word." He took a slow sip of the Pink Slipper, considering his next words. "Then there''s the interplay of flavors; the smoothness of the vodka tempered by the sweet honey and bright citrus. Powerful yet graceful. Which is how I think of you." Tyson set his teacup down, his expression earnest. "And finally, the element of surprise. At first glance, it seems like a straightforward cocktail. But when you taste it, you realize there''s more complexity than expected. Likewise, when I think I have you figured out, you reveal something new, another layer." He finished, "In many ways, this drink captures your essence. Complex, graceful, surprising. That''s why I chose The Bees Knees for you."


    The sincerity woven through his words was easy to detect. Natasha realized that even in something as simple as choosing a cocktail, he had put real thought into understanding who she was at her core. The insight unexpectedly touched her. "It''s not often someone takes the time to see beyond the... surface," she mused.


    Natasha then looked up, meeting Tyson''s eyes with a newfound appreciation. "You''ve surprised me, and that''s not an easy feat. I''m used to being the observer, not the observed. It''s...different, being on this side of such sincere attention." Her words were genuine, but a slight discomfort flickered across her face, betraying her unaccustomedness to such open and honest flattery. She quickly masked it with a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Tyson. For seeing... well, for seeing more than most do." Her gratitude was sincere, yet the way she held herself, the slight tension in her posture, spoke of a world where vulnerability could be a liability.


    Recognizing that his previous comment had made Natasha a bit guarded, Tyson admitted, "I won''t lie. I looked over the drink menu before you arrived at my apartment. So I had a head start."


    Natasha laughed and joked, "I just wanted to see you sipping on a pink slipper."


    Chuckling, Tyson asked in mock surprise, "Is that innuendo?"


    But then he decided to open up, sharing a part of his life that displayed his vulnerability to match what he''d pointed out in Nat. He leaned back slightly in his chair, choosing his next words.


    "I know what it''s like to have to hide from everyone. It''s a little different for me," he said, "You know about me not being able to touch without causing harm. Since my power manifested, there are only two people I''ve been able to touch, I mean touch with my hands, without nearly killing them. It gets lonely, and I imagine that''s what it''s like for you, not being able to be your real self." he hoped opening up about his isolation might help put Natasha at ease and build a sense of mutual trust between them.


    Natasha studied Tyson, her guard momentarily lowered by his openness. She leaned forward, curious. "What''s it like when you touch someone?" she asked.


    Tyson''s voice held a mix of resignation and reflection as he answered. "From my perspective, I get a flashback, like a quick summary of their life. Then access to their memories. If I focus, I can remember anything they remember." His eyes clouded with sadness. "For them, I hear it feels like dying. It''s not just physical, but deeper. A normal person only lasts a few seconds before losing consciousness, then falling into a coma, and finally death. If I kill someone with my touch, I get an imprint of their personality or copy of their soul, I''m not sure what, inside me."


    Natasha''s earlier apprehension faded away. "You get all their memories?" She asked, leaning in, intrigued.


    Tyson nodded solemnly. "I absorb their essence. Everything that makes them, them. Their memories, skills, experiences. It all becomes a part of me."


    Natasha''s eyes sparkled with interest. "What''s the strangest memory you''ve gotten?" she asked.


    Tyson considered his response carefully. "Well," he began slowly, "I said there were only two people I''ve been able to touch since my powers manifested. One of them, we only had a little while together, so we made the most of the time." He mentioned somewhat bashfully.


    Natasha raised an eyebrow, "You can''t stop there. You''re just getting to the juicy part," she encouraged.


    Tyson rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, though his lips quirked at the corners. "Alright, fine. It was my ex-girlfriend. We had sex." He took a deep breath before continuing. "But that''s not the strange part. What was bizarre was that I saw her again a few days ago. We kissed, and in that moment I gained her memories. Things got a little heavy, and my thoughts wandered to the intimate ones of us being together." Tyson shook his head. "So I remembered our time together, and suddenly I also had her memories¡­ of our time together. I knew what it felt like to be on both ends of our lovemaking."


    Natasha had been listening intently, enraptured by his story. At this revelation, she couldn''t restrain her laughter at the absurdity and uniqueness of the situation. Her bark of laughter broke any lingering tension between them. "I don''t even know how to respond to that." She admitted.


    Tyson let out a dramatic sigh, "Neither do I." Natasha''s eyes filled with mirth.


    But then Tyson''s expression turned solemn. "I have a confession to make," he said, prompting Natasha to focus her fully on him.


    "Go on," she urged.


    "This outfit looks stunning on you, but I didn¡¯t add the gloves purely for aesthetic reasons. The truth is, I included them so that I could hold your hand without risking accidentally touching your skin."


    Natasha''s expression softened at his words. She was touched he had considered protecting her privacy and shielding her from his life drain. And wanting to hold hands might have been the sweetest thing anyone had wanted to do with her in years.


    Tyson held his hand out in an offer waiting patiently to be accepted or declined. He spoke, not shielding the sincerity in his voice, "I don¡¯t presume to know how difficult true connection is for you, or if you¡¯re afraid of what others might see if you let your guard down. But if you haven¡¯t realized it, I¡¯m not exactly normal. I''ve battled actual monsters, seen into their minds, and lived their lives, if only for a short time." His tone grew earnest as he finished, "If you just want to have a fun time together, I''m all for that... But if you''re open to it, I¡¯d like the chance to connect on a deeper level." He inclined his head slightly toward his outstretched hand, indicating he extended it in invitation.


    Natasha regarded his hand thoughtfully. She had always considered herself the product of her dark past and the terrible deeds that haunted her. But Tyson claimed to have seen into the minds of true monsters. Could someone who had witnessed such evil still see something in her worth reaching out for? His willingness to push past barriers and offer for more than a superficial tryst touched a part of her long ago buried under layers of self-preservation. Here was Tyson, with his own burdens and extraordinary experiences, offering the chance to explore a real connection without judgment or fear. It was an opportunity to be herself. Not the Black Widow, not the spy, not the assassin. Just Natasha.


    Slowly, she extended her hand and placed it lightly in Tyson''s. It was a small gesture, but one heavy with meaning. It was an acceptance of his offer, an acknowledgment of her willingness to plunge into the depths he presented. Tyson''s smile in response was warm and genuine. Tyson grabbed her hand, leading Natasha to a more secluded corner of the lively speakeasy, leaving their empty teacups behind.


    Changing their table marked a transition point in their date. They''d moved from casual chatting to a deeper, more intimate conversation.


    "You''re aware of my abilities and how I obtained them," Tyson began, "But perhaps not all the details. I was attacked last June by a mutant named Victor Creed, Sabertooth, who attempted to kidnap me. I fought back and ended up killing him, absorbing his memories in the process. That''s why I have this physique, the man was massive. For a time, having that murderous, raping psychopath in my mind was a torment. I would get flashes of his cruel psyche, though now they usually surface at appropriate moments, like in the heat of battle."


    Natasha hung on his every word. Tyson held her stare, conveying the gravity of the experience he was sharing. "I have all of his memories as far back as when he was born in 1772. And while this is my first time in this speakeasy, he had been here before." He allowed the significance of this revelation to settle over Natasha. "Sabertooth fought in World War I, then traveled to Turkey where he participated in their war for independence, relishing the chance to fight endlessly without fear of death. A few years later, he returned to New York City, in the middle of prohibition. At that time, this place was named ''the Back of Ratner''s.'' It served as a meeting spot for movie stars, theater performers, and even infamous mobsters. The secret entrance remains unchanged from Sabertooth''s first visit all those years ago. This speakeasy was located at the back of Ratner''s, which was, at the time, a vegetarian kosher restaurant."


    Natasha listened with rapt attention, picturing the scenes he described as if they played out before her. She studied Tyson as he shared his story, glimpsing the complex inner world behind his stoic exterior. Natasha understood well the burden of a haunting past. Her own carried regrets and sorrows that lingered despite her efforts to make up for them. But Tyson''s memories spanned lifetimes. The insight gave Natasha a new perspective on him.


    "That''s...incredible," she finally said, shaking her head. "At first I thought that I might be too old for you. But it might be the opposite. You''ve lived lifetimes. And to carry not just your memories, but those of someone who witnessed so much history, it''s almost unimaginable."


    Tyson''s eyes were distant, "It can be a unique burden," he said softly, "having Sabertooth''s experiences mingled with my own. Especially considering the life he led and everything he did and saw. It took me time to embrace all his memories. But I''ve witnessed centuries, and remember being part of great moments and bloody battles. It weighs on me at times, when the darker thoughts surface. But it also gives me a perspective few can comprehend."


    Natasha nodded slowly, her green eyes filled with empathy. "It must be like walking through history, but with a personal guide who''s seen it all. Now it makes sense why you speak so many languages. Yet, carrying those memories, particularly the painful ones, can''t be easy. I understand what it''s like, having a past that haunts you, that you can''t escape."


    For a moment, the gulf of their different worlds seemed to narrow.


    Tyson squeezed her hand and led Natasha through the speakeasy, guiding her to an area dominated by a large, oak bookcase. Though it appeared an ordinary relic of the past, perfectly blending with the 1920s aesthetic, Natasha noticed how Tyson''s knowing look turned toward a specific novel on the shelf. He adjusted the book ever so slightly. In response, the bookcase swung open, revealing a hidden passage beyond.


    As they passed through, Natasha found herself in the exclusive VIP lounge. Dim, amber lightbulbs provided a soft radiance to the space, creating a cozy atmosphere. Plush velvet furniture invited lounging and conversation, with sofas and armchairs, and tables arranged to allow for privacy. A small, circular bar stood at the room''s center. An aged bartender in a crisp white shirt manned the counter, as much a part of the setting as the antique bottles lining the shelves.


    Tyson guided Natasha to a shadowed booth upholstered in tufted velvet, offering a perfect view of the small stage in the VIP area. As they settled in, the privacy and intimacy of the space enveloped them.


    "I have some questions," she said directly.


    "Shoot," he replied. His open expression bid her continue.


    "Are you immortal?" She asked plainly, forgoing the preamble. "You said Sabertooth was born in the 1770s, and since you absorbed him, you should have his lifespan now, right?"


    Tyson shook his head, a hint of sorrow in the gesture. "Sabertooth would have lived a long time, but it won''t be the same for me." He extended his hand allowing his claws to slide free with a soft snikt, displaying their metallic nature. "I mentioned Alkali Lake before. I was captured, brought there, and experimented on. Adamantium, an unbreakable metal was grafted to my bones."


    He sighed, the weight of his reality evident in his voice. "I can heal from nearly anything. I think my body is constantly trying to fight off the adamantium, like heavy metal poisoning, but it''s fused to me, a part of me. I''m not an expert in biology or medicine. But my best guess¡­ The healing factor is constantly trying to expel the adamantium. But since the body can¡¯t break it down or get it out, it''ll eventually burn out my healing. As far as I can tell, I¡¯ll start seeing symptoms in about 35 years or so. In 50 years I won¡¯t be able to heal anymore. Then it''s only a matter of time until I die."


    Natasha absorbed his words in silence, processing the gravity of his situation. After a long moment she responded gently, "That sounds sad when you put it like that, but in our profession, living that long is a good run. Is there anything you can do about it?"


    Tyson''s shoulders lifted in a shrug, "Sure, solutions exist. There''s a powerful mutant hunting me, intent on using me in yet another twisted experiment. He can manipulate magnetic fields and metals. He''s strong enough to pull the adamantium from my bones. But of course, he''s the one person who won''t help me willingly."


    "So that''s it then?" Natasha asked, concern etching delicate lines across her brow. "Just start the countdown to your death?"


    Tyson shook his head firmly, "I have other ideas. Only time will tell if they''re possible."


    Curiosity kindled in Natasha''s expression as she delved into another facet of Tyson''s extraordinary experiences. "You mentioned fighting literal monsters. I assume you mean more than just the Lizard?" she probed, keen interest coloring her tone.


    "There are dimensions and realms beyond Earth. I''ve traveled to one such place several times. Limbo. Though not the theological Limbo, it shares some similarities." Tyson hesitated as if gathering the words to describe what he''d felt and witnessed. "Demons run rampant there. Feral monsters that constantly kill for survival, to gain strength, or for amusement. I''ve slain many demons there, temporarily absorbing their memories. The savagery I witnessed..." His voice trailed off, leaving the rest to Natasha''s imagination.


    Tyson gained a faraway look as he delved deeper into the darker aspects of his psyche. "At least I didn''t permanently keep any of the demon''s memories. Sabertooth is another story, his are always with me. Every year he used to hunt down his brother on his birthday and beat him senseless. One year he couldn¡¯t find his brother, because another man had already killed him. Sabertooth tracked this other man down and realized he was immortal like himself. So instead, every year after that, Sabertooth would hunt this immortal man down as a birthday celebration, and beat him within an inch of his life. If Sabertooth ever found the man happy, he¡¯d do whatever it took to ruin his life. Including rape and murder of his lover, destroying his livelihood, anything to make him suffer." Tyson suppressed a shudder at the vivid recollection.


    Natasha''s expression turned into a concerned frown. "Do you feel urges to follow in Sabertooth¡¯s footsteps?" she asked, worry evident in her voice.


    Tyson responded with a so-so hand gesture indicating his uncertainty. "That immortal man Sabertooth used to torment is a friend of mine now. A few days ago, I lured him out and fought him, though not nearly as brutally as Sabertooth would have. But I cannot deny the desire to unleash my full fury upon him remained deep inside. I tried to turn our battle into something more playful and friendly, but I admit it was at least partly an attempt to satisfy the dark drive I feel leftover from Sabertooth."


    Natasha could see the conflict etched on his face as he described the dark desires that still lingered within him, the vicious urges that he constantly struggled to resist. Though he tried to channel those violent impulses into less destructive outlets, it was clear he still battled remnants of Sabertooth''s psyche and memories. Tyson''s candid admission resonated deeply with Natasha, stirring thoughts of her shadowed past. As a spy, she understood the constant effort required to toe the line without crossing it. Her life had forced her to embrace the darkness, to use it as a tool when needed. Yet like Tyson, Natasha had always strode to maintain her sense of self and fight the darkness consuming her. In Tyson''s struggle, Natasha saw a reflection of her journey.


    As Natasha''s thoughts lingered on the shadows of her past, a jazz band took the small stage in the lounge. The band members were clad in classic jazz-era garb, but the highlight was the sultry singer whose rich voice filled the room with hauntingly beautiful melodies.


    "Now that you know me," Tyson said, "tell me about yourself."


    Natasha regarded him silently for a moment, then, a hint of playfulness entered her voice as she proposed an alternative. "Or we could kiss instead. I could tell you about myself, or we could kiss and you would gain all my memories, and know everything about me. My likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, fears and desires."


    Tyson considered the tempting offer. "We could," he replied slowly, "and I would. But that feels like cheating... plus, ''Truth or Strip'' was more fun. Besides, draining the life from you for information sounds a lot like working for SHIELD, and we''re off duty." Tyson counteroffered, "How about this instead? I''ll tell you what I think I know about you so far. And you can reward me if I''m right."


    Natasha appraised him over the rim of her teacup with renewed interest. "I like it."


    Tyson said, "I know you''re partial to a certain vintage of wine, but that feels too easy to guess¡­ You like motorcycles. You have one of your own, and you''ve ridden mine before. There are enough taxis and public transportation options that you wouldn''t need a vehicle in the city."


    Natasha tilted her head in concession, "Point for you. What else do you think you''ve uncovered?" she asked, intrigued by this game.


    Bolstered by her interest, Tyson continued, "Despite the tough exterior you show the world, you have a strong sense of empathy underneath. It''s subtle, but it''s there. You understand what motivates people, and what they fear. That insight makes you more than just a skilled agent."


    Natasha merely nodded this time, but it was enough. Her usual guardedness had lowered, if only a fraction, allowing Tyson glimpses of the person behind the spy.


    "Fashion," Tyson stated with confidence. "I''ve never seen you looking anything less than impeccable. Whether it''s business professional, those dresses you pick, or even your SHIELD uniform. You make it work. Maybe it''s just because you''re gorgeous and could make a burlap sack look good, but I think it runs deeper than that."


    "Flatterer," Natasha accused lightly, though she conceded his point with a small nod. "But I''ll give you that one too," she allowed, seeming both pleased and amused by his observations.


    Tyson ventured, more intuitive than factual, drawn from his meta-knowledge. "Now I''m going to start reaching," he said, tilting his head slightly. "You move gracefully, but it''s more than just martial arts training. My bet is you were trained in dance. But you said you were born in the Soviet Union, so I''m not thinking jazz or tap. Probably ballet."


    Natasha''s lips puckered ever so slightly, but she nodded in acknowledgment. "That was a good deduction. I''m surprised. Surprise me with one more good one, and you''ll get a prize."


    Tyson wracked his brain. Natasha was an enigma, skilled at concealing her true self behind layers of deception. He sifted through their past interactions, searching for a clue, a hint she might have inadvertently revealed about her character.


    After a moment, Tyson leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful as he considered Natasha''s challenge. "Okay, here''s my next guess." He spoke slowly, "You have a strong sense of loyalty. It''s not just about being a good agent or following orders. You must have had opportunities to walk away or disappear, but you didn''t. It''s not about allegiance to an organization, but to people, to causes you believe in. It''s personal for you."


    Natasha''s expression remained composed, but her eyes flickered with a hint of surprise at his insight. "That was more than a good deduction. You''ve earned your prize."


    Tyson''s observations had moved beyond simple facts to understanding her character and values. This depth of insight was unknown to Natasha, who was accustomed to people seeing only the facade she presented. Tyson''s ability to perceive the person behind the persona was both disarming and intriguing to her.


    Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry tone, a hint of challenge in her words. "Bonus round? That last one was pretty deep." Her breath was warm against Tyson''s ear as she spoke. "Think you can go deeper?"


    Tyson replied, "Deeper. Okay." He gathered his thoughts. "So you know enhanced senses are one of my powers. But one of them feels like it goes beyond that description. I can smell people, but not like, I can track your scent. I can do that, but there''s more to it. It''s almost like I can smell their essence. Each scent is unique. I''ve even come across a quintet of clones, and each of them was ever subtly different from each other. I wouldn''t be able to tell them apart if I was tracking them, but up close, I could tell their unique scents."


    Natasha asked softly, "What do I smell like?"


    Tyson inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he analyzed her scent. It hadn''t changed since he first saw her in the high school months earlier. "Leather, exotic spices, a cool winter breeze, with the faintest trace of gunpowder." His description was precise, painting a vivid picture of her essence.


    Natasha considered this, then said, "I like that." She prompted him to continue with a tilt of her head. "Where are you going with this?"


    Tyson leaned closer, his tone turning serious. "Just saying, my nose is good. Good enough to smell when a woman is aroused..." Natasha''s face remained impassive, giving nothing away. Undeterred, Tyson continued, "When we were in the coffee shop the day after capturing Green Goblin. I pulled my Itachi illusion routine, and I smelled your arousal... Something I did set you off. It could''ve been that I held the kunai to your throat, like a danger fetish. Or that I had you restrained, maybe a bondage kink, or a submissive. Or maybe I''m not the only otaku and Itachi got you going."


    Natasha stared at him unblinking, the tension between them palpable. After a moment, she finally spoke, "So which was it?"


    Tyson''s eyes narrowed as he analyzed the options, confidently navigating through his deductions. "Oh, how I wished it was an anime fetish, but no. That''s not you." He shook his head slightly. "So that leaves danger, bondage, or submissive." He dismissed another possibility. "Bondage is out too, you mentioned Spiderman''s webs in the FMK question when we played Truth or Strip. I didn''t smell any arousal stemming from you then."


    Natasha acknowledged his reasoning, "Good memory," she commented.


    "Thanks." Tyson continued, weighing the remaining options. "So either you''re a sub or you have a danger fetish." He considered his next words carefully. "You''re always calm, collected, and in control. According to Sabertooth''s memories, people like that sometimes want the opposite in bed. They want to be able to give up control." He frowned slightly. "But I''m sure I shouldn''t trust Sabertooth''s perspective on women."


    Tyson shifted his focus to the other possibility. "On the other hand, danger seems right up your alley. The motorcycles, your profession, it fits. Plus, you''re on a date with me and know how dangerous I am."


    A subtle shift rippled through her demeanor. "You''re right," she admitted softly, "Danger does have a certain appeal to me. The adrenaline, the unpredictability of it. It''s where I feel most alive."


    A pause lingered between them. Before she spoke again, "In our line of work, control is everything. But being on the edge, facing risks head-on¡­ I find that undeniably thrilling."


    Tyson''s intuition had pierced through the mystery touching upon a truth. The vulnerability in her eyes was fleeting, but it showed the trust she had placed in him at that moment.


    The intimate atmosphere of the VIP lounge settled around them as the jazz band seamlessly transitioned into a slow, melodic tune. The singer''s smoky voice filled the room with a soulful melody that seemed to slow the passage of time itself.


    It was the perfect moment.


    Tyson stood smoothly from his seat and extended a hand toward her, palm up, fingers gently curled in invitation. "May I have this dance?" he asked.


    Without a word, Natasha placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her to her feet. They moved together to the small parquet dance floor. They fell into an easy rhythm, their bodies beginning to move in graceful concert to the rise and fall of the music. Tyson led with his hand firm yet gentle in the small of her back as he guided her through the steps. Natasha responded to his subtle cues, her body swayed in harmony with his. As they lost themselves in the dance, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, narrowing down to just the two of them and the music.

 Arc 5 - Ch 7: A Dangerous Game

    Author''s Note: I usually don''t do pre-chapter author''s notes, but I do give warnings in rare cases when appropriate. This chapter contains Explicit Sexual Content and is completely skippable if you''re not interested.


    <hr>


    Chapter 54


    Arc 5 - Ch 7: A Dangerous Game


    Date: Tuesday, May 31, 2011.


    Location: The Back Room, Lower East Side, Manhattan, NY


    The streets of the Lower East Side were hushed as Tyson and Natasha stepped out of the speakeasy and into the night. Gone was the sultry jazz within the bar, replaced by the gentle sounds of distant traffic and the occasional shuffle of a late-night wanderer.


    Drawing Natasha near, Tyson pitched his voice low, a hint of thrill edging his words. "Now, are you ready for something dangerous?" Though playful, his challenge held an unmistakable gravity.


    Curiosity danced with daring in Natasha''s eyes. "What do you have in mind?" she asked.


    Tyson answered her question with his own, "Depends...do you trust me?"


    Natasha hesitated, thinking back to their game of ''Truth or Strip''. When he had posed the same question previously she refused to answer. She considered their time together; the charged conversations, the revealed secrets, the shared vulnerabilities. Despite the unknowns and her guarded life, Natasha realized she did trust him.


    "Yes," she breathed.


    Her answer barely left her lips before Tyson swept her into his arms, eliciting a startled yelp from Natasha at the sudden motion. But an even greater shock followed. Slowly, impossibly, Tyson began to rise, his feet lifting from the pavement as they levitated above the sidewalk.


    Tyson winked at her, his mismatched eyes twinkling with mischief. Before she could react, he blasted off into the night sky, his powerful arms holding her securely against his chest. The exhilarating ascent into the cool night air sent a thrill through Natasha, unlike anything she had ever experienced. The sheer unexpectedness of flight, mixed with the heady rush of adrenaline, awe, and a touch of fear, all wrapped up in the trust she had placed in him.


    As they rapidly gained altitude, the sprawling cityscape of New York unfolded below them in all its glittering glory. The towers that loomed large over them just moments before seemed to shrink as Tyson carried them higher. Far below, the web of streets glowed, the slow-moving cars like fireflies against the dark pavement. The inky ribbon of the Hudson and East Rivers bordered the metropolis.


    The sounds of the bustling city were replaced by the muted roar of the wind whipping past their ears. Natasha found the sensation of soaring through the sky inexplicably exhilarating despite the precariousness of their position. She was mesmerized by the panoramic view laid out around them. The scale and beauty of seeing the city from this impossible vantage point was awe-inspiring. As Tyson slowed their ascent, she took in the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and the distinctive Oscorp Tower all standing iconic among the skyscrapers. In the distance, the expanse of trees marking Central Park was reduced to a dark streak. And further southeast, the unmistakable form of the Statue of Liberty stood vigil over the city.


    Hovering high above the concrete jungle, Natasha was struck by the serenity of floating untethered over the landscape. This was a view few would ever experience, and none with the sense of freedom she now felt suspended in midair in Tyson''s arms. Natasha experienced a heady blend of danger, excitement, and tranquility.


    Tyson angled their descent back toward the glittering lights of Lower Manhattan. The cityscape blurred past in a dizzying rush as they rapidly descended. Though the pace was breathtaking, Tyson gradually slowed as the distinctive pyramidal roof of the Four Seasons Downtown came into view. He touched down lightly upon the balcony of his suite, executing a smooth transition from the sky to the terrace.


    Natasha had remained silent since their steep ascent, taking in the spectacular views afforded by their lofty vantage point. Standing on firm footing, she finally spoke, wonder and a hint of disbelief coloring her voice. "I didn''t realize you could fly," she remarked, glancing at Tyson.


    Tyson admitted, "I have flown before, but it''s not something I can normally do."


    Natasha considered his words, trying to make sense of the reality of their journey. "So it was an illusion?" she asked seeking clarity on how he had achieved what had seemed impossible.


    Tyson nodded confirmation. "While you were immersed in the illusion, I ran us back here. Some of the rush of wind was real, but we never left the ground." He explained, revealing the complexity behind his powers.


    Natasha''s expression turned thoughtful as the implications set in. "Your ability is amazing. But it''s scary too," she commented.


    Seeking to ease their transition back to normalcy, he asked, "Wine?"


    Natasha accepted as Tyson poured her a glass of deep red wine. Together they moved into the living room of the suite. Settling into the plush cushions, Natasha''s eyes lingered contemplatively on Tyson as she sipped her wine.


    Tyson ventured cautiously, ¡°Penny for your thoughts?¡±


    Natasha set her wine glass on the coffee table before responding, ¡°I¡¯m just thinking about how to reward you for everything you''ve done. The damage control you did at Stark''s mansion was praiseworthy. Our date was enjoyable. And most importantly, you''ve proven that you understand me better than almost anyone."


    Natasha idly traced her finger around the rim of her glass, eyes distant in contemplation. "So now I''m debating, what I should do to show my appreciation."


    As Tyson opened his mouth to speak, Natasha lifted her finger from the glass, signaling him to wait. "Let me be honest," she said, locking her piercing green eyes onto his. "I liked our date more than I expected. I don''t give my trust easily, but I''ve let you in more than most. You know parts of me, but not everything, and I''m not ready for you to. Not yet." She paused, weighing her next words. "I''m afraid of us touching. But if you''re willing to relinquish control for the night, I''d like to take the lead from here."


    Intrigued by her proposition, Tyson quickly acquiesced, "By all means."


    The corner of Natasha''s mouth turned up slightly. "Good. Go put on that black suit you wear as Mirage, the one from when we used to spar."


    Raising an eyebrow, Tyson asked in a teasing tone, "Cosplay? Sure, I''m game." He chuckled lightly as he walked to the bedroom to change into his Mirage costume, sans the mask.


    When Tyson moved to return to the living room, Natasha was there waiting for him in the bedroom doorway. She placed her hand on his chest, gently, but firmly, halting his advance. The moment hung heavy with anticipation, a silent acknowledgment that Natasha was now steering the evening''s course.


    Natasha reiterated, "Remember, no touching."


    Tyson gave a silent nod. The gesture was his promise to adhere to her rules. "Good," Natasha responded pleased at his compliance.


    She guided him to an accent chair at the far wall, placing her hands firmly against his chest and easing him into a sitting position. "Keep your hands on the arms of that chair," she commanded with a hint of playfulness.


    Tyson complied, gripping the chair''s arms as Natasha left the room momentarily. She returned with her purse and sharp scissors from the kitchen. Tyson''s eyebrow arched inquisitively at the sight as Natasha placed the items on the nearby dresser.


    "For the rest of the night, you may not use illusions. Do you understand?" she declared, her tone indicating this was not a mere suggestion but a directive.


    "I do," Tyson responded, acknowledging her rules.


    "Good. Now I permit you to use your power, only to play us some music. Choose carefully, as what you choose will set the tone," Natasha stated, emphasizing the importance of his choice.


    After a moment of consideration, Tyson focused, and soon, the sensual rhythm and lyrics of "Pony" by Ginuwine filled the room. The song perfectly encapsulated the mood Natasha was setting.


    She turned to Tyson. "A little presumptuous? But, good choice," she commented.


    Natasha began to move with the music. Her hips swayed in sinuous, controlled motion, each step executed with the poise and grace of a dancer. Shadows played across the curves of her body, accentuating the lines of her form as she turned and twisted in time with the beat.


    Reaching behind her back, she unclasped the necklace she wore, letting it slip from her fingers to pool on the floor. Her hands trailed down over the fabric of her dress, caressing the material as she moved.


    The dress began to slip from her shoulders, revealing glimpses of black lace beneath. Natasha didn''t simply undress but made the act an extension of her dance, each movement deliberate and sensual. The dress fell away in a whisper of fabric, baring her athletic figure clad in elegant lingerie.


    The black lingerie embraced the contours of her body, accentuating the swell of her breasts and the taper of her waist. Delicate patterns traced over the curves of her hips and thighs, hinting at the power coiled within her lithe, muscular form. Her body was all strength and feminine grace sculpted by years of rigorous training.


    Tyson drank in the sights, his breath catching in his throat. Natasha held his eyes, conveying an emotion that needed no words. Confidence radiated from her every motion, an unspoken assurance in her allure and power.


    Each beat was like a heartbeat driving the dance. Natasha moved with hypnotic grace, her body undulating with the melody. Long, toned legs sat astride Tyson as she ground against him, every motion electric, building the intense connection between them.


    Black lace clung to her curves, accentuating the strength and beauty within each line of her body. Natasha swayed her hips, lost in the moment, every movement an extension of the desire coursing through her veins.


    Tyson watched, enraptured, as the mesmerizing spectacle unfolded. The world faded away until nothing remained but the two and the music fueling their passion.


    As Natasha pressed against him, Tyson''s arousal strained beneath the bodysuit. Rather than shy away, she embraced it, grinding her hips in torturous circles that stoked his growing need. Each roll of her body sent shockwaves of desire through him, his breath catching with the exquisite teasing.


    The final notes of "Pony" by Ginuwine faded, and Natasha brought her dance to a graceful conclusion. She looked down at Tyson, satisfaction, and playfulness dancing in her eyes.


    Natasha stepped back slightly, the challenge glinting in her eyes as she asked, "What''s next on the playlist?" An invitation hung in her voice, daring Tyson to continue setting the musical backdrop for their evening.


    Without any outward movement from Tyson, the smooth R&B rhythm seamlessly continued. The sultry atmosphere they had established continued with the beat guiding Natasha''s movements as she began to dance again. Her body effortlessly aligned with the new rhythm, each sway and undulation expressive and enticing.


    In sync with the mood set by the music, Natasha casually reached behind her, fingers lightly grazing the strap of her lacy black bra. The tantalizing gesture sent a thrill through Tyson as he watched her every move with rapt attention.


    Natasha began to unclasp the bra, gracefully moving around Tyson as the garment slowly slipped down, revealing more of her firm yet curvaceous chest. As she continued her seductive dance, the bra now only held to her chest by her hands, the outline of her voluptuous breasts stirred his desire even more.


    With a final flourish, Natasha removed the bra, revealing her full breasts in all their glory. Throughout her dance, Tyson struggled with the desire to reach out and embrace her, but he held to the rules that kept him still. As Natasha teasingly grazed over him with her supple body, his longing only grew stronger.


    She was a picture of perfection, and time seemed to stand still as Tyson drank in every sinuous movement, every rhythmic sway of her full breasts. At that moment, nothing else existed except for her mesmerizing dance, drawing Tyson deeper into a trance with each undulation of her body.


    As Natasha walked over to her bag. To Tyson''s surprise, she retrieved a pair of kitchen shears. Turning to face him, she held the scissors and mirrored his earlier question, "Do you still trust me?"


    Months earlier, Tyson had assured Nat of his trust in her, and now he reaffirmed, "Yes."


    Natasha approached him, shears in hand. Kneeling beside him, she took hold of his tight black pants. With precision, she carefully cut a slit in the thin fabric. She gently but firmly grasped him, guiding his swollen member out from its confines. Natasha still wore the gloves that complemented her dress. The feeling of her touch made his breath hitch, his hardness responding to her caress with heightened arousal. Tyson closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her fingers as they expertly stroked him.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Natasha''s lips curved into a soft smile as she looked at him, knowing how much he enjoyed this. Her touch led Tyson deeper into the realm of pleasure. The tension in his body began to dissipate as she continued her sensual tease, moving her hand up and down his length. With each stroke, Tyson grew more appreciative of Natasha''s skillful ministrations.


    Tyson began to understand why she kept the gloves on when she''d stripped. They weren''t just an accessory. They were a deliberate choice to allow her to touch him without direct skin contact, mindful of his life-absorbing powers.


    Abruptly, Natasha let him go, returning to her bag, and leaving Tyson seated in the chair. He watched, curious as to what she would retrieve next. She pulled out a small object and approached Tyson once again.


    Tyson felt a swell of appreciation for Natasha''s careful consideration of his unique condition. Her every action, from keeping her gloves on during the striptease to the precautions she took now, demonstrated an awareness and willingness to adapt to his life-absorbing abilities. He remained seated, a silent observer trusting in her intentions.


    Natasha tore open a small wrapper, the sound filling the room. In her hands, she held a condom. Kneeling before Tyson, she rolled the latex over his heated shaft with deft fingers, ensuring a secure and proper fit. The slit she had cut in his pants proved a bit snug, allowing the condom''s base to sit below the tight outfit.


    When she finished, Natasha looked up at him, her eyes brimming with reassurance. This moment was more than physical gratification; it represented Natasha''s acceptance of Tyson, who he was, and what he could do. With the condom securely in place, she knelt before him, her gaze burning with an intensity that matched the passion welling up inside them both. Slowly, she engulfed his throbbing member, taking him deep into the warm, wet depths of her mouth. Tyson let out a guttural moan as Natasha''s lips and skilled tongue enveloped him, teasing and pleasuring him with expert strokes and dexterous hands.


    Natasha''s fingers danced along Tyson''s length, her lips a velvet caress as she took him into the warm depths of her mouth. The condom''s thin barrier allowed just enough sensation to tease without overwhelming him. Waves of pleasure rippled through his body with each languid stroke of her tongue and gentle suction of her lips.


    She moved with the practiced rhythm of an artist, her mouth and hands in perfect synchronicity. Every flick of her tongue, every tug along his shaft was a masterful stroke designed to bring him to the precipice of ecstasy without quite pushing him over the edge. Tyson surrendered to the exquisite sensations, his eyes drifting shut as he savored Natasha''s skilled ministrations.


    Tyson marveled at her ability to ignite every nerve ending, stoking the fires of his desire as she stroked. A profound appreciation for this woman who could make his body sing with such sublime pleasure blossomed within him.


    "Can I return the favor?" he asked, his voice husky with need. He would need to utilize his illusion power to reciprocate, and he had promised not to do so without her consent.


    Natasha hummed an affirmative around his length, the vibrations sending delicious tremors through him. Her assent was clear, and Tyson reveled in the sensations her humming created, he drank in the sight of her between his legs. Her eyes remained locked onto his as she moved, the intensity of her focus only adding to the erotic allure of the moment.


    Tyson''s lips curved into a sharp grin, his eyes sparkling with a challenging glint. "You like danger, right?"


    With a subtle flex of his jaw, he allowed his fangs to extend, a feature he''d absorbed from Sabertooth that he rarely utilized. Raising his hand, he held it before her, the adamantium claws sliding out with a soft hiss.


    "These aren''t an illusion," he said, "These claws are sharp enough to cut nearly anything. Concrete, steel..." He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. "Can you imagine what they''d do to a person?"


    For a fleeting moment, Natasha froze, acutely aware of the danger. With exquisite care, he dragged the flat of a single claw along the smooth expanse of her back, ensuring his touch remained light enough to avoid breaking her skin. She shivered at the cool caress of metal, the implied threat sent a thrilling sensation that was exhilarating, arousing, and terrifying in equal measure, coursing through her body.


    Natasha reacted by remaining still. As the claw reached the waistband of her panties, Tyson curled the tip beneath the fabric, a slight flexing of his finger was all it took to tear the material aside, allowing it to flutter to the floor at her feet.


    He tapped into his illusion power, conjuring an exact duplicate of himself within the room. The illusion was so precise, so flawlessly rendered, that it was indistinguishable from the real Tyson. This mirror image appeared behind Natasha.


    Natasha found herself caught between two identical versions of Tyson.


    Tyson''s illusion lay down on its back, sliding beneath her. She felt it wrap its hands around her thighs. It was so realistic, indistinguishable from flesh and bone. The illusion raised its head, lips seeking her lower ones. Natasha met the phantasm''s kiss with a moan of pleasure, her body responding to its touch.


    Her actions grew more urgent, fueled by the passion they shared. She rode Tyson''s illusory face with a slow but deliberate rhythm that allowed them both to savor every moment. Its tongue licked and teased, taking its time to explore every inch of her intimate folds while she knelt above him, moaning softly as pleasure coursed through her body. Natasha continued pleasuring the real Tyson with her mouth while his exact duplicate used its tongue on her. She had never experienced a threesome before and wasn''t sure if this qualified, but the sensations were intense.


    As she knelt above the illusionary Tyson, Natasha lost herself in the sensations washing over her. The real Tyson''s claws gently caressed her back, his touch thrilling with danger. The illusionary Tyson''s lips and tongue teased and pleasured her folds. The dual sensations overwhelmed yet exhilarated her, pushing Natasha to new heights of pleasure. She moaned softly as she bobbed her head up and down on the real Tyson''s shaft. Her other hand gripped the illusionary Tyson''s hair, pulling him closer as she felt his tongue darting deep inside her. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced.


    A wave of ecstasy washed over Natasha. Her body tensed, and she cried out in pleasure as she climaxed. The illusion Tyson''s hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as she rode out her orgasm while he continued to pleasure her, his tongue exploring long after she had found release.


    Natasha pulled away from the two Tysons, temporarily spent but satisfied. She stood, her legs trembling slightly from the intensity of the experience. Gazing down at the men, awe washed over her at what had transpired.


    Approaching the real Tyson, Natasha knelt on the chair facing Tyson, positioning herself over him. She reached back, gently grasping his erect penis and guiding it towards her wet entrance.


    Slowly, she lowered herself onto his member, feeling the stretching sensation as it filled her. She bit her lip, suppressing a moan of pleasure that threatened to escape.


    As she settled onto his cock, Natasha began to move rhythmically, her hips grinding against his pelvis in time with the music that still filled the room.


    Tyson watched in awe as Natasha rode him with skill and confidence. She reached down, stroking his chest, her fingers caressing his toned muscles in a sensual dance. Leaning forward, she pressed her breasts against his chest as she continued to ride him. The sensation of her nipples rubbing against his tight black top overwhelmed him, causing Tyson to thrust upwards into her in response. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony as they lost themselves in the passion of their lovemaking.


    As they neared their climaxes, Natasha leaned back, her expression filled with desire as she looked into Tyson''s eyes. And as they reached their peaks together, a sense of completeness she had never experienced before washed over Natasha.


    As the afterglow of her second climax faded, Natasha grabbed Tyson''s hand and guided him up from the chair onto the bed. She playful shoved him and Tyson allowed himself to be sent tumbling onto the center of the mattress. She returned to her bag at the dresser, emerging with a pair of handcuffs glinting in her hand.


    Tyson watched as she climbed over him and grasped his wrists, securing them to the headboard posts with a soft click. He tugged experimentally against the restraints as Natasha straddled him, her fingers trailing down his chest.


    Her hand encircled his swollen length, guiding him towards her slick heat. Natasha sank achingly slow, a soft moan escaping her parted lips as she took him fully inside. Their bodies joined in exquisite intimacy, thrilling in its intensity.


    Tyson''s eyes locked on the sight of Natasha moving above him, her back arched in pleasure. He tested the cuffs, yearning to touch the soft curves of her breasts, but could only watch as she rode him. Her eyes drifted shut, lost in the rhythm of their joining, savoring every delicious sensation.


    Natasha''s hips undulated in a sensual rhythm, her slick folds gliding along Tyson''s rigid length. He arched up to meet her, their bodies moving in perfect synch. The room was filled with the wet sounds of flesh joining, mingled with Natasha''s breathy moans of pleasure. Her intoxicating scent enveloped them both, fueling their ardor.


    Tyson strained against the cuffs, yearning to caress the soft curves of her body, but could only watch as she rode him. He was held back not by the cuffs, but by her earlier command. Her eyes drifted shut, lost in the exquisite sensations, savoring the delicious friction as she took him deep.


    Natasha''s moans grew louder, more urgent, as her climax approached. Her back arched, muscles tensing, and then she cried out in ecstasy. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her as she reached her peak, inner walls fluttering around Tyson''s throbbing length.


    He thrust up, chasing his release, the coils of desire tightening within him. As Natasha''s tremors subsided, Tyson felt himself teetering on the edge. With a guttural groan, he surged upward, emptying himself in pulsing jets of hot release. Rapture consumed him, every nerve ending alight with blissful fulfillment.


    Natasha panted in the aftermath. But as she continued to move atop him in languid strokes, she realized he remained hard within her.


    Raising a challenging eyebrow, Natasha braced her hands on his chest and began riding him with renewed vigor. Long, powerful strokes sheathed his thick length in her molten heat.


    Natasha''s hips undulated in a mesmerizing rhythm, her breasts swaying with each powerful thrust. Sweat glistened on her toned body, eyes burning with desire and challenge. Her breaths grew ragged as she pushed herself, determined to prove her point against Tyson''s seemingly limitless endurance.


    Her intense pace began to take its toll, but Natasha refused to falter before bringing him to climax again. She focused on the sensations that made him moan loudest, and buck hardest, driving them both ever closer to the edge.


    Finally, she couldn''t hold back any longer. Natasha cried out in ecstasy as her climax crashed over her in overwhelming waves. Tyson grunted, his body tensing as he emptied himself within her once more. The intensity left her breathless.


    Slick with sweat, Natasha collapsed onto Tyson''s chest, her heart thundering. Awe and satisfaction mingled in her eyes as she said, "You''re something else," she whispered, voice husky with exhaustion.


    Tyson asked, "Do you have any more condoms?"


    Confusion flickered across Natasha''s features. "Yeah, why?"


    Tyson''s muscles flexed as he tugged at the cuffs binding his wrists to the bed frame. The sturdy links of the handcuffs groaned before surrendering to his strength, snapping apart with a metallic clink. He wrapped his arms around Natasha, rolling them over until she lay beneath him. Rising to his feet, Tyson padded over to where Natasha''s purse rested on the nightstand. His claws extended with a faint hiss, slicing through the remaining cuff still encircling his wrist. He dipped his hand into the purse, retrieving a fresh condom, and deftly replaced the one he wore, tossing the used prophylactic into the wastebasket. He procured a new pair of gloves, sans the telltale holes from his claws from the nightstand.


    Natasha watched with a mixture of curiosity and dawning realization as Tyson''s fangs descended once again. "Oh, you thought we were finished?" he rumbled, his voice a low, predatory purr.


    In a blur of motion, he was upon her once more. Tyson seized Natasha''s wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. She instinctively arched her back, parting her thighs in a wordless invitation. His free hand guided himself to her slick entrance. Leaning forward, Tyson brought his fangs within mere inches of Natasha''s throat as he slowly sheathed himself within her welcoming heat.


    A sharp gasp escaped Natasha''s lips as Tyson''s impressive length filled her. She could feel the warmth of his breath caressing her skin, and the implicit threat of those razor-sharp fangs poised so perilously close to her vulnerable neck sent a delicious shiver of mingled fear and desire coursing through her veins.


    Tyson leaned back, his fingers encircling Natasha''s throat in a gentle yet unmistakable grip as he began to thrust. Her eyes widened, her body tensing with each powerful stroke. The sensation was at once overwhelming and exquisite, stoking the smoldering embers of her arousal into an inferno that threatened to consume her utterly.


    "You know how easily I could snap your neck?" he whispered, his voice low, dangerous.


    Natasha bit her lip, nodding as her body responded to his touch and words. She tensed with each powerful thrust, the sensation at once overwhelming and exquisite, stoking the smoldering embers of her arousal into an inferno that threatened to consume her utterly.


    Tyson''s grip tightened fractionally, a silent reminder of the lethal strength contained within his deceptively slender frame. He treaded a razor''s edge, his words and actions designed to entice Natasha''s danger fetish without crossing the line into true harm.


    Tremors wracked Natasha''s form as her climax built within her, the pleasure and the danger of the situation coalesced into a storm of sensation. She cried out, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm, muscles clenching around Tyson''s relentless invasion. Yet still he thrust, prolonging her pleasure until the aftershocks left her quivering and pliant in his grasp.


    Tyson''s eyes locked onto Natasha''s, she read their intense, predatory gleam as he pumped into her, taking every ounce of pleasure she had to offer. Her body glistened with sweat, quivering with each thrust, a sight that fueled his desire to claim her completely. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice a silken caress against her skin.


    "Make me feel like the condom isn''t there," Natasha replied without hesitation. "Make me feel the sensation of you filling me. Make me feel everything."


    Tyson studied her face, his brow furrowing slightly as he sensed something deeper lurking beneath the surface of her desire. "Everything?" he asked, his tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.


    Natasha met his gaze unflinchingly. "Everything."


    Holding back his impending release, Tyson focused instead on the sensations coursing through Natasha''s body, attuning himself to her every quiver and gasp.


    Natasha''s walls came crashing down, emotional barriers shattering like glass. The thin latex no longer separated her from Tyson''s heated flesh.


    She felt everything.


    The ragged cadence of his breath feathering over her skin, every ridge and contour of his length sliding in velvet strokes. Heat blossomed through her body in molten waves, endorphins and dopamine cresting with each thrust. But it went deeper than physical sensations. Desire unfurled within her in a blossoming acceptance of the intimacy they shared.


    Vulnerability washed over Natasha, leaving her naked and exposed, yet she felt utterly safe in Tyson''s embrace. He possessed the power to take her in any carnal manner he wished, yet he chose to give her exactly what she craved. In that moment of aching clarity, she realized she wanted to belong to him, for him to claim her utterly as his own.


    Tyson sensed the shift and felt Natasha''s surrender as she opened herself to him completely, all resistance melting away with each rolling pulse of his hips. A primal sense of possession and control surged through him. She was his in this moment, willing to yield whatever he demanded. Her expression told her openness, want, and vulnerability, a fragile trust laid bare.


    Tyson''s muscles tensed, his breath catching in his throat as waves of pleasure crested. At that moment, every fiber of his being knew this night would be seared into his memory forever. The way Natasha had surrendered herself to him. As his release pulsed within her, completion unlike anything he''d known before washed over him. He had found something precious in this woman, something he could scarcely believe he was worthy of.


    Natasha''s body quivered with every throbbing of Tyson''s cock sending tremors through her core as he spent himself inside her. The heat of his skin against hers, the iron strength of his embrace enveloping her. But it wasn''t merely physical sensations that overwhelmed her senses. She felt the depths of his desire, and his care for her resonating through that intimate connection.


    At that moment, she knew her feelings mirrored his. The thought of letting him go, of this ending, was unthinkable. Natasha craved more. She sought to dive into the depths of these emotions, to scale the dizzying heights of their passion. As Tyson''s movements stilled and she clung to him, she understood she had found what she hadn''t realized was missing. Someone who made her feel alive and accepted. Someone who made her feel whole in a way she had never imagined possible. Someone who truly made her feel¡­

 Arc 5 - Ch 8: The Stark Expo Incident

    Chapter 55


    Arc 5 - Ch 8: The Stark Expo Incident


    Date: Wednesday, June 1, 2011.


    Location: Empire Suite, Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, NY


    Natasha''s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft light. The early morning sun crept through the curtains of the Empire Suite, bathing the bedroom in a warm glow. Beside her lay Tyson, his imposing frame relaxed against the plush pillows. His mismatched eyes were fixed on her, vibrant and piercing. The sunlight played across his rugged yet refined features, accentuating the muscular contours of his powerful body. They held each other''s gaze for a quiet moment, a wordless exchange conveying a deep meaning. She took in his brown hair and chiseled jawline.


    "Good morning," Natasha finally broke the silence, her voice hushed in the intimate space.


    "Morning," Tyson replied.


    Memories of their passionate encounter the previous night hung over them. Reaching out, Tyson gently brushed a few stray strands of hair from Natasha''s face, his large hand delicate. His expression softened into something more vulnerable.


    Feeling his bare fingers brush against his face, Natasha said playfully, "I get the feeling you''re an illusion."


    Tyson''s lips curled subtly. "Must be those secret agent instincts." he retorted.


    As Natasha lingered in the warm cocoon of the bed, Tyson mentioned, "I arranged breakfast." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before vanishing from sight, leaving Natasha''s eyes closed in contentment.


    Natasha slipped from the luxurious bed, she let the silken sheets fall away as she moved. She donned one of the Four Seasons plush, complimentary robes before entering the suite''s dining area, where an unexpected sight greeted her.


    The real Tyson was already seated at the polished mahogany table, an elaborate breakfast spread laid out before him. The aromas wafting through the sunlit room tempted the senses. Platters of freshly baked pastries, flaky croissants, cheese danishes oozing with filling, and blueberry muffins, filled the air with their warm scent. A ceramic bowl brimmed with fresh, plump, juicy berries. Fluffy scrambled eggs emitting wisps of steam sat next to strips of crispy bacon and sausage links with crackling, golden-brown skin. The crowning indulgence was a tall stack of pancakes, their spongy rounds dripping with maple syrup and topped with melting pats of butter. To drink, there was freshly squeezed orange juice and a silver pot of coffee, its rich, earthy aroma rising in delicate tendrils.


    Natasha took a seat. The sumptuous spread and, more importantly, Tyson''s thoughtful gesture filled her with warmth that had little to do with the morning sun streaming through the windows.


    Natasha and Tyson began filling their plates. He expressed his appreciation for the intimacy they had shared. "I had an incredible night with you," he said, his voice tinged with affection.


    Natasha, usually so composed, found herself momentarily disarmed by his words. A blush of flattery colored her cheeks before subtle sadness shadowed her features.


    The conversation between Tyson and Natasha naturally flowed into the dynamics of their relationship. Though Natasha maintained an air of professional detachment, a subtle warmth still lingered beneath the surface as she spoke. "I''m still your handler. We need to maintain professionalism in public," she reminded him firmly.


    Tyson understood the reality of their situation, the need for discretion, and the fine line they walked between their romance and their duties.


    "What about in private?" he asked tentatively.


    "I enjoyed everything about our time together," Natasha admitted, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. "I''m open to future dates, so long as our lives allow it."


    Tyson felt relief at her response. "At least you''re open to the idea of a second date," he joked lightly before confessing, "I was concerned you were going to give me the ''it''s not you, it''s me'' speech." His tone was gently teasing but hinted at his sincere apprehension.


    "I thought about it," Natasha responded, her voice lilting with humor, "but I''m awesome, so it wouldn''t be true." Her playful demeanor shifted as she revealed unexpected vulnerability. "I have my hang-ups. I don''t trust easy, and while you''re past that, I''m still worried about what you''ll think when we touch."


    Tyson noted her choice of words and pointed it out delicately. "You said ''when,'' not ''if''," he emphasized, the subtle yet significant distinction.


    Natasha''s expression settled into a mix of acceptance and contemplation as she conceded Tyson''s observation with a nod. It was a telling admission. The dynamic between them took a playful turn as she pointed an accusatory finger at Tyson. "Don''t get any ideas about us being a couple," she ordered.


    Tyson responded by dramatically clutching his chest as if shot. "Ouch. Rejected. I guess I''m doomed to be an eternal bachelor," he quipped, arranging his features into an exaggerated mask of resignation.


    Natasha rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "You''re doing pretty well for yourself," she reminded him. Then Natasha jokingly suggested, "You must have some potent pheromones. Maybe that''s your secret weapon." Her voice rang rich with amusement.


    Initially taking her joke in stride, Tyson paused as he considered the possibility more seriously. He thought he recalled Logan possessing enhanced pheromones somewhere in his metaknowledge. Since Tyson shared a similar powerset to Logan''s, could he too wield such an unseen influence?


    As he considered, Natasha''s demeanor shifted, her tone taking on a business-like cadence as she outlined her plans for the day. Gone was the easy banter and intimacy of their earlier conversation. In its place was the cool efficiency of the consummate professional, focused on the tasks at hand.


    Natasha explained that she had a meeting with Pepper and the Hammer Industries presentation that evening. Sensing her transition back into the spy role, Tyson asked with a hint of reluctance, "Do you have to get ready soon?" His simple question carried an unspoken wish to prolong their time together.


    Natasha nodded, her response a mix of resignation and duty. "Yeah. I do."


    In a last-ditch effort to recapture the lightness of earlier, Tyson quipped playfully, "Do you want to go another round or three first?" There was a glimmer of hope that she might delay her departure a little longer.


    "Sorry, I''m out of condoms," Natasha replied deliberately casual.


    Tyson shrugged, "Most people would be out of luck, worried about getting pregnant, but that''s not a problem with illusions," he said lightly.


    His offhand comment hit harder than he expected. Natasha''s gaze grew distant, her expression turning sad, introspective. She walked over to the terrarium, seemingly lost in thought as she watched the spider within.


    Tyson mentally kicked himself, realizing the unintended implication of his words. Though he hadn''t meant to evoke such a reaction, the subtle shift in Natasha''s mood was unmistakable. As she stood silently by the terrarium, Tyson wondered if she would open up and share the emotions his thoughtless words had stirred. He hoped she would trust him enough to voice the memories his remark had awakened. Tyson stood nearby in silent companionship, conveying his support should she wish to unburden herself.


    "The Red Room was never a choice," Natasha began after a long moment, her gaze growing distant as she summoned decades-old memories. "I was just a child when they came for me, scarcely old enough to retain more than fragmented memories of the life I left behind." Her voice held a bitter edge as she described a stolen childhood. "The Red Room recruits were plucked from families across Russia, our pasts methodically erased and our fates decided for us."


    "We were taken to hidden facilities where our training began. The Red Room valued unthinking loyalty and obedience without question. We were taught to fight, deceive, and kill if commanded." Natasha''s account painted a chilling picture of innocence corrupted by forces beyond any child''s control. Regret and anger resonated in her tone. "They stripped us of our identities, shaping us into tools instead of people. We had no choices, no futures except what the Red Room decreed for us."


    Turning to meet Tyson''s sympathetic gaze, Natasha''s eyes brimmed with emotion. "The Red Room was more than a training ground for spies and assassins," she continued, steeling herself before delving into deeply personal territory. "They sought to control us so completely that we could never live normal lives, never pose a threat or become compromised. So they made certain we could never have children."


    Her bleak admission hung in the air between them. Tyson listened with compassion, making no move to interrupt or interject. Natasha''s revelations provided a glimpse into her painful and traumatic past, illuminating the sacrifices and violations inflicted upon her. It was a profound moment of vulnerability and trust, as she shared truths with Tyson known to few others.


    Natasha''s voice tinged with melancholy as she continued. "It was a way to control us, to keep us focused solely on our missions with no attachments or distractions. But in taking away that choice, they also stripped away a piece of our humanity, a basic right that most people take for granted." Though Natasha kept her composure, the pain in her words was palpable


    As Natasha finished, a solemn silence descended upon the room. This was a moment of vulnerability for her.


    Tyson was moved that she shared these private pains. "I''m sorry that happened to you. But I want to make sure you know that not being able to have children doesn''t make you any less human, any less of a woman, or any less valuable," Tyson finally responded, his voice gentle yet firm with conviction. "It''s not talked about openly much, but many women face difficulties conceiving or experience miscarriages. I''m so sorry that your choice was taken from you, and for what was done."


    Tyson moved closer, offering a comforting hug as he continued. "Natasha, none of that was your fault." His words were meant to reassure her of her humanity. As he embraced her, Tyson hoped his support could help shoulder the burden of her tragic past. Pulling back, Tyson met her eyes with compassion. "I don''t want to give you false hope, but who knows what the future may hold," he said cautiously.


    Natasha''s reply was soft, her voice weighted by the deep wounds that her past had carved into her spirit. "I''m scarred for life," she said, the words a quiet reflection of the trauma that had been inflicted upon her.


    Tyson met her gaze, his expression gentle. After a moment of contemplation, he began sharing, "You know I can kill people by touching them," he confessed solemnly. "A year ago, I was told by the world¡¯s leading expert on mutants that I''d never be able to have physical contact with anyone for the rest of my life." He paused, taking a slow breath before continuing. "Two months later, I met a sorceress, and she gave me an amulet that allowed me to have sex."


    Natasha''s eyes widened in surprise at his unexpected words. She let out an incredulous snort and playfully slapped Tyson''s chest, the tension of the moment broken. "That''s not funny. I''m being serious," she chided, though a hint of amusement lurked beneath her stern tone.


    Tyson''s face set with sincerity. "Actually... so am I," he replied, "But if you didn''t know magic was real, can we keep it between us for now?"


    Natasha searched his eyes, wrestling with disbelief. "You''re being serious?" she asked slowly.


    Tyson gave a solemn nod, his expression leaving no room for doubt. "Sadly, yes. And who knows, a year from now, I might have complete control over my powers." He let out a contemplative breath. "This world is quickly becoming unbelievable. I can heal from nearly any wound. What''s to say that one day, you won''t be able to too?" Though fantastic, his words resonated with possibility and hope.


    Natasha took a moment to absorb his words, weighing the enormity of the possibilities they evoked. Then her facade cracked. "Your life is so weird," she remarked, amusement and admiration for their bizarre reality coloring her tone. "And that means something coming from me."


    Tyson chuckled lightly in response, the mood between them lifting. "Yup. It''s pretty cool though," he agreed good-naturedly.


    Natasha and Tyson held each other in a comforting embrace. Eventually, her gaze drifted to the terrarium, her curiosity sparking once more. "I''m confused. Why exactly do you only have a single, small spider contained in there?" she asked.


    Tyson hesitated, conflicted, but eventually decided to share another of his secrets with her. Recalling a previous conversation of theirs, he asked, "Do you remember when I asked if you would take the Super Soldier Serum if I had access to it?"


    Natasha nodded, the memory coming back to her. "Yes, I remember. I declined because I was concerned about how it might affect me," she replied somberly, her worries about the potential consequences of such power still present.


    Tyson gestured toward the terrarium containing the solitary spider. "That," he said, his voice lowered conspiratorially, "is far better than any super soldier serum."


    Natasha''s gaze snapped back to study the spider intently, noticing for the first time its unique coloration. Vivid splashes of red and blue called to mind the iconic costume of Spider-Man himself.


    The realization struck her like a thunderbolt, causing her to inhale sharply. She was overwhelmed by the implications. "How does it work?" she managed to ask in a whisper, trying to wrap her head around the enormity of the revelation.


    His explanation was straightforward yet left her with more questions than answers. "You get bit, you get sick, you get powers. Pretty straightforward," he said casually. But to Natasha, none of this felt simple in the least.


    Natasha knew there had to be risks or unforeseen consequences. Her training had always emphasized precision, control, and reliance on her skills and instincts.


    Was Tyson making an offer by disclosing the small creature''s capability? Her mind raced through various scenarios, trying to comprehend what it would mean to have spider-like powers. Would they enhance her natural abilities or throw off the delicate balance she had cultivated over years of intense training? There was a part of her that was tempted, that wondered what it would be like to push past human limitations, to reach new heights of capability on her missions. The spider held the potential to alter the course of her life in ways she couldn''t yet grasp. Was she ready to take that leap?


    Natasha''s internal deliberations were interrupted by Tyson''s unexpected question. "Do you want children one day?"


    She was caught off guard, the question striking a deep chord and reminding her of choices that had been taken away in her past. Her surprise must have been evident because Tyson quickly clarified, "The reason I ask is because the powers from the spider are remarkable, but I don''t know if they will help you heal. When Spider-Man was bitten, his vision went from poor to beyond perfect overnight, it''s the best example I can give. He didn''t have any significant medical issues comparable to your situation. So it''s not likely that you''ll be healed, though also not beyond possibility." His words were gentle, providing context without overstepping.


    Natasha paused, considering his point. While the prospect of new abilities was enticing, would they truly address the deeper issues she still grappled with from her past? She appreciated Tyson''s insight and empathy. This was not a decision to make lightly, either for the sake of power or from a misplaced hope that it would somehow fix the unresolved wounds within her. Natasha took a slow breath, gazing at the spider once more as she carefully weighed her response.


    Tyson''s gaze softened as he whispered, "I''m here to support you regardless of what you decide." It was a simple statement, but the unconditional nature of his support was clear.


    Natasha''s eyes lingered on Tyson''s face as she processed the gravity of the choice. This was not merely about gaining new abilities from the spider''s venomous bite. Tyson''s earlier question about children had forced her to consider the broader implications of accepting or rejecting the offer. This decision would shape far more than her physical powers. It would influence the very course of her future and the identity she wished to build for herself.


    Throughout the turmoil of indecision, Tyson''s steady presence remained a fixed point in her thoughts. His support was unwavering, yet the choice remained hers alone to make. She stood at a crossroads, fully aware that her decision here would have cascading effects on her abilities, her relationships, and her sense of self.


    Natasha''s gaze shifted back to the spider, then returned to meet Tyson''s patient eyes. After years of having choices made for her, the freedom to make this monumental decision herself was both liberating and daunting. That Tyson respected her autonomy and would stand firmly beside her, no matter what she chose, was proof of the bond forming between them.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson slid his motorcycle to a stop as the buzz of his phone cut through the background noise of the Stark Expo. He fished the phone from his pocket and answered.


    The familiar voice of Tony Stark came through, casual yet tinged with urgency. "Hey, Houdini. I''m gonna be in your city soon. You busy?"


    Tyson couldn''t help but smirk at the nickname. "Funny, I just rolled up to your little science fair," he replied lightly.


    Tony wasted no time. "Perfect. Here''s the sitch," he began, a weight of concern in his voice. "Remember Anton Vanko? The guy with the electric whips who came after me? It was all over the news. Turns out he''s not out of the game. He''s still kicking and he''s got a vendetta."


    Tony''s tone shifted, all business now. "Vanko''s not just a thug in a suit. He''s smart, resourceful. And he''s holding one hell of a grudge. I don''t wanna underestimate him. I''m betting he''ll make a move at the Expo. It''s too big a stage to resist. A perfect chance to make a statement. And like the last time, it won''t be subtle."


    The picture became clearer for Tyson with Tony''s words. He knew Nat was attending Hammer''s presentation at the Expo, which was why he''d come. Tony just confirmed his suspicions about what was going down.


    "We gotta be ready, Mirage. Keep your eyes peeled and stay sharp."


    Tyson responded, "I''ll be ready. And I''ll call in backup. See you soon."


    As the call with Tony Stark came to an end, Tyson swiftly dialed another number, calling for the reinforcements he had in mind. The phone rang briefly before Peter Parker''s cheerful voice answered.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Hey Pete, are you busy?" Tyson inquired without preamble, getting straight to the point.


    Peter''s response was prompt, tinged with curiosity. "Not really, what''s up?" he replied, his tone casual and relaxed.


    Tyson did not mince words or waste any time. "There''s another situation developing at the Stark Expo. Come casual, but bring your suit. We could really use your help. And you''ll probably get to meet Iron Man," he explained.


    At the prospect of meeting Iron Man, Peter''s voice swelled with excitement and eager anticipation. "Really? I get to meet Iron Man?" he exclaimed, unable to conceal the enthusiasm in his voice. "Man, this is incredible! I mean, I''ve always looked up to Tony Stark. He''s a genius, his tech... it''s just amazing," Peter continued, his admiration for Tony Stark evident in every earnest word he uttered. "I''ve been following his work and career for as long as I can remember. The chance to meet him in person, to see Iron Man in action..." His voice trailed off, infected with infectious enthusiasm. "I''m on my way!"


    As Tyson navigated his way through the sprawling Stark Expo, the spectacular extravaganza of innovation and technology unfolded around him. The expo was a dazzling array of the latest advancements in various scientific fields. Futuristic renewable energy solutions and groundbreaking medical technologies stood alongside cutting-edge defense systems and prototypes of revolutionary transportation models. Attendees marveled wide-eyed at exhibits that seemed to tug the future into the present. Screens displayed videos of technological marvels, while interactive booths beckoned visitors to experience these innovations firsthand. The atmosphere was electric, a melting pot of ideas and creativity, showcasing the best and brightest minds in science, engineering, and innovation.


    Tyson navigated through the dense crowd, heading in the direction of the main pavilion where Hammer Industries was scheduled to present its latest innovations. The pavilion was an impressive sight; a massive domed structure adorned with an enormous Hammer Industries logo.


    Using his abilities, Tyson discreetly bypassed the various security checkpoints surrounding the pavilion, the guards failing to notice his presence as he blended into the surroundings. He ensured that he remained undetected amidst the distraction and excitement that permeated the atmosphere of the expo.


    In contrast to the energetic hubbub outside, the backstage area Tyson entered was far more secluded and carefully guarded, reserved only for VIP guests and key industry figures. Tyson''s eyes methodically scanned the area, searching for any sign of Justin Hammer himself but finding nothing. He contemplated his next move, weighing his options when a sudden commotion at the entrance heralded the arrival of Hammer''s entourage.


    Moments later, Justin Hammer himself strode into view, surrounded by assistants and security personnel. He moved with a confident, attention-grabbing swagger that was unmistakably his. "Make sure everything is perfect, people. It''s Hammer Time!" he announced.


    Impeccably dressed in an expensive tailored suit, Hammer exuded an air of success and self-assurance, greeting guests with his trademark charm and charisma as he navigated through the room. "Remember, we''re not just selling technology here," he remarked to one of his associates, "we''re selling the future!" His tone was energetic and optimistic, ready to wow the crowds and promote his vision.


    Tyson was still shrouded beneath his illusory disguise as he made his way toward Justin Hammer''s private staging room. As the CEO reached for the door handle, Tyson closed the distance between them. His hand darted out and made brief contact with the back of Hammer''s neck before retreating.


    Hammer let out a startled yelp, his hand flying up to smack at the sudden pain. His usual mask of cool confidence slipped for a moment.


    He watched a wasp tumble to the floor, wings still twitching feebly.


    Crying out dramatically, he began swatting at his neck, face contorting in an exaggerated mask of shock and annoyance.


    "Of all the blasted things! A bee?" he exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of his entourage. "Get me some ice, now! And find out where that devilish thing came from. There better not be a whole nest of the monsters lurking around here!" Hammer ordered irritated. His associates scrambled to fulfill his demands, some struggling to contain their amusement at this unexpected turn of events.


    "I can''t believe it, stung by a bee at my own event! This is supposed to be a high-tech expo, not some backwoods nature park!" He continued ranting, gesticulating wildly as if performing for an invisible audience.


    In the brief moment, Tyson''s life-draining touch connected with Hammer''s neck, a rush of memories and moments from the CEO''s life flashed through his mind. Tyson experienced these memories in a dizzying cascade as if he were living Hammer''s entire life in mere seconds.


    He was a child, fascinated by machines and gadgets. His parents were wealthy and distant, often leaving him to his own devices. He was always tinkering, taking things apart to see how they worked. His drive led him to create Hammer Industries, his technological empire. His early successes encouraged him to push boundaries, sometimes recklessly, driven by a need to be acknowledged as a genius in his field. But Stark always overshadowed him, a constant reminder of what he had yet to achieve. He became determined to prove he was more than a second-rate Tony Stark. He made alliances, sometimes with questionable individuals, to outdo Stark. His obsession grew, clouding his judgment, and leading him down paths he hadn''t intended to tread. The contracts, the deals; they were all part of a grand plan to cement his legacy. He felt outmaneuvered by Stark, whose charisma and genius were always one step ahead. His attempts to best him often backfired, leaving him more determined but increasingly desperate. He was a man driven by ambition, shaped by rivalry, and haunted by the shadow of Tony Stark. But now he had a chance to step out of the shadow and into the spotlight, with Vanko working behind the scenes and Stark¡¯s tech under his control.


    Tyson''s brief glimpse into Justin Hammer''s memories granted profound insight into the man''s inner world. Where once, Tyson had dismissed Hammer as nothing more than a second-rate knockoff of Tony Stark, he now saw a driven and ambitious, if flawed, individual.


    Though ambition and rivalry had led Hammer down questionable paths, Tyson realized that at his core, Hammer was a man seeking recognition and fighting to emerge from the overwhelming shadow cast by Stark''s genius. Tyson saw how Hammer''s obsession with surpassing his rival had steadily consumed him over the years, clouding his judgment and spurring increasingly desperate and ill-advised gambits. The backroom deals, like the one he''d made with Ivan Vanko, were all part of Hammer''s relentless crusade to cement his legacy beyond just imitating Stark.


    As Tyson subtly disengaged, leaving behind an illusory bee to occupy Hammer''s team, he mulled over the revelations from Hammer''s memories. He recalled the constant pressure Hammer felt to measure up to Stark in the public eye, how Hammer''s ingenious attempts to outmaneuver his rival often backfired spectacularly. Yet Tyson also glimpsed Hammer''s charisma and determination, the sheer force of will that had built Hammer Industries from nothing into a multi-billion dollar player in the tech sector. However much he imitated Stark, Hammer was undeniably brilliant in his own right. Tyson felt a twinge of admiration for the man who, despite lacking Stark''s advantages, had still carved out an empire through tenacity and grit. Hammer might never escape Stark''s shadow, but he had proven himself exceptionally capable nonetheless.


    As Hammer''s team scrambled about searching for the imaginary beehive, Tyson sifted through the flood of memories, seeking anything that might reveal Hammer''s base of operations or clues about Vanko. Though he didn''t intend to change much in the upcoming event, Tyson felt better equipped to face what was coming.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The energy in the Stark Expo surged to new heights as an announcement echoed through the massive venue''s sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the main pavilion for Justin Hammer''s presentation, beginning shortly."


    Amongst the sea of attendees were Tyson and Peter Parker, who had secured prime VIP seating near the stage thanks to Tyson''s skillful illusions.


    It wasn''t long before Natasha noticed Tyson, seated just a few rows ahead. Her sharp eyes quickly spotted him amidst the crowd. She slipped her cell phone from her pocket and rapidly typed a text.


    ''What are you doing here?''


    Tyson typed back a succinct yet informative response.


    ''Stark on the way. Vanko alive. Expecting trouble.''


    His summary made Natasha aware of the looming danger over the Expo while providing key details.


    The atmosphere in the pavilion shifted as dramatic, upbeat music began playing through the sound system, signaling the start of Hammer''s presentation. The lights dimmed, focusing all eyes forward towards the stage.


    Centered within the expansive pavilion was an elaborate high-tech stage, featuring a massive LED screen as a backdrop displaying slick, dynamic graphics. State-of-the-art lighting cut brilliant beams through the atmosphere, an ambient glow surrounding the stage. As the crowd''s eager anticipation peaked, Justin Hammer made his entrance.


    With a dramatic flair that was uniquely his, Justin Hammer danced onto the stage as upbeat, catchy music fueled his energetic movements. He glided across the platform, displaying confidence and showmanship in his dance routine. Hammer grabbed the microphone with a charismatic smile, finishing his lively performance as the music faded. In contrast to Tony Stark''s entrance days earlier, the crowd''s reaction was subdued.


    "Yeah. That''s what I''m talking about. Thanks for coming," Hammer began, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. The audience responded with scattered, polite applause.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, for far too long, this country has had to place its brave men and women in harm''s way," he continued, his tone shifting to one of solemn conviction. "But then the Iron Man arrived, and we thought the days of losing lives were behind us." He paused briefly, allowing the weight of his words to permeate the air.


    "Sadly, that technology was kept out of reach. That''s not fair. That''s not right. And it''s just too bad." Hammer''s words were pointed, a direct critique of Tony Stark''s decision to monopolize the Iron Man technology.


    A few rows away, Tyson heard Pepper Potts'' disbelief and exasperation as she uttered under her breath, "Oh, Lord."


    On stage, Hammer continued his dramatic speech, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of skepticism spreading through the audience. "Regardless, the Iron Man technology was an impressive innovation. One that grabbed headlines around the world. Well, today, my friends, the press will face a difficult problem. They are about to run out of ink." he declared, in a provocative theatrical tone.


    As he spoke, two assistants hurried onto the stage to remove the podium.


    "Yea. Get that out of here." Hammer impatiently commanded. The billionaire''s offhand remark meant to be heard only by the assistants, was inadvertently broadcast to the entire room by his still-live microphone. Undeterred by the minor mishap, Hammer pressed on eagerly with his grand announcement.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, today I present to you the new face of the United States military¡­ The Hammer drone!"


    With his bold declaration, the floor of the stage began to shift and separate mechanically, revealing rows of hidden compartments from which the drones started to rise dramatically. The first group was announced with a commanding "Army!" as they emerged atop a rising platform. The drones were painted in earthy blends of greens, browns, and blacks, camouflage patterns mimicking those used in the army''s rugged field gear.


    The crowd was captivated by this impressive display. With each subsequent announcement, the stage continued to transform further, the floor opening to reveal more of Hammer''s arsenal.


    The commanding shout of "Navy!" heralded the emergence of the next group from within the rising platform. Dark blues and grays adorned the paint that coated each sleek new form, echoing the hues of naval uniforms. The drones'' hydrodynamic lines and specialized equipment evoked a sense of undersea operations. Glossy finishes reflected the bright lights in rippling waves as if the stage had become the ocean.


    When the call for "Air Force!" rang out, new drones ascended with bodies honed for unmatched maneuverability amongst the clouds. Painted sky blue and cloud, with additional repulsors implying tremendous speed and increased maneuverability in the skies.


    The final announcement of "Marines!" brought forth rugged drones adorned in forest and digital camo patterns befitting the Corps'' versatile operational environments. Robust frames and heavy armor plating spoke of resilience and frontline positioning. The visible weapon systems looked formidable.


    Hammer''s excitement escaped in an enthusiastic shout, "Yeah! Yeah! Woo! That¡¯s a hell of a lot better than some cheerleaders, let me tell you!" The pride and competitiveness were palpable, emphasizing his eagerness to outperform his rival Tony Stark''s flashy presentation.


    Justin Hammer''s presentation took a dramatic turn as he continued, his voice swelling with pride, "But as revolutionary as this technology is, there will always be a need for man to be present in the theatre of war." He paused, letting the moment build. "Ladies and gentlemen, today I am proud to present to you the very first prototype in the Variable Threat Response Battle Suit and its pilot, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes." Hammer''s announcement rang out across the crowded pavilion.


    In the audience, Pepper Potts'' clear voice cut through the excited murmur of the crowd. "What?!" she exclaimed in surprise and disbelief. The revelation that Rhodes, a trusted ally and friend, was involved with Hammer Industries was entirely unexpected.


    With a mechanical whir, a platform in the center of the stage began to rise, revealing the imposing armored form of the War Machine suit. The armor was gunmetal gray, with subtle hints of silver and black that lent it a dangerous edge. An array of deadly armaments bristled across its surface. Shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, wrist-mounted guns, and a mini-gun protruded menacingly over its right shoulder.


    The platform settled onto the stage with a solid thunk, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes stood tall and commanding. He raised one gauntleted hand in a crisp salute. In perfect synchronization, the rows of Hammer drones around the stage responded, their arms snapping up in echoing salutes. War Machine flanked by the ranks of drones behind him created a powerful image.


    Justin Hammer''s voice rang out across the silent pavilion, grandiose and swelling with pride. "For America and its allies, Hammer Industries is reporting for..." His words were abruptly cut off by a distant yet unmistakable sonic boom, drawing the startled attention of everyone gathered under the pavilion. All eyes turned upward, searching for the source of the unexpected sound.


    The crowd''s attention was abruptly drawn skyward by the unmistakable sonic boom reverberating through the air. All eyes searched for the source of the unexpected disruption. Their curiosity was soon satisfied as the gleaming red and gold form of Iron Man descended from on high. With a burst of his repulsor jets, the sophisticated suit glided downward, landing next to Rhodes with a dramatic flair that only Tony Stark could manage.


    The assembled masses erupted into raucous cheers and applause at Iron Man''s surprise appearance, the excitement swelling to a fever pitch. Stark waved to the adoring fans. Amidst the crowd, Tyson leaned close to Peter Parker, seizing the moment to confer privately. "Do you have your suit on?" he asked, eyes darting about to ensure their conversation went unnoticed.


    Peter gave a subtle nod in reply. "Under my clothes," he confirmed softly.


    "Get your mask ready. I have a feeling we''re going to need to evacuate civilians," Tyson advised. He discreetly palmed his own Mirage mask, prepared to don it at a moment''s notice.


    The atmosphere in the pavilion took on an ominous charge as Warmachine and the array of Hammer drones abruptly swiveled in unison, their weapons locking onto the hovering form of Iron Man.


    Stark hovered, assessing the multitude of armaments aimed in his direction.


    Tyson pulled on his Mirage mask as Peter followed suit, the fabric of the Spider-Man mask concealing his features. Tyson pointed upwards urgently. "The ceiling is glass. Can you quickly spin some web nets? If they open fire, it''ll rain shards down on the crowd."


    Stark fired his repulsor jets and rocketed upwards through the dome attempting to evade the impending onslaught. No sooner had he cleared the ceiling than it shattered in a hail of bullets from the drones below. War Machine and the other aerial drones blasted through the ragged hole in hot pursuit, unleashing relentless weapons fire at the fleeing Iron Man.


    Spider-Man sprang into action. He unleashed streams of webbing towards the shattered ceiling. Strand after silvery strand shot forth, crisscrossing and interweaving. In mere moments, he had created a vast, intricate web pattern above the crowd, a makeshift net designed to catch the largest, most dangerous pieces of falling glass.


    The pavilion erupted into pandemonium as the crowd realized the mortal danger raining down from above. Fear transformed the atmosphere of celebration into one of barely controlled panic. People scrambled for safety, their excitement turning to naked terror at the deafening sound of gunfire and the sight of the pursuing drones.


    Spider-Man and Tyson wordlessly fell into a well-practiced rhythm. Spider-Man continued to reinforce and expand the webbing above, ensuring its stability against the unrelenting shower of debris.


    As screaming civilians stampeded for the exits, Tyson acted decisively to prevent disaster. Recognizing the risk of people being trampled in their panicked flight, he swiftly conjured a series of illusionary Iron Man suits with his unique psionic abilities. The illusions were indistinguishable from the real thing, and therefore ideal for crowd control against the oblivious Hammer drones.


    Sprinkled strategically throughout the fleeing mob, the Iron Men began directing the evacuation with an aura of authority. "Please remain calm and quickly proceed to the exits," the illusions instructed in cool, synthesized tones, their movements precise and coordinated.


    Utilizing his illusion powers further, Tyson projected his voice directly to Peter, who was busy reinforcing the protective webbing above. "Focus on keeping civilians safe, I¡¯ll handle the drones," Tyson communicated, his telepathic voice clear in Peter''s mind despite the chaos around them.


    With Peter dedicated to safeguarding the crowd from above, the real Tyson turned his attention to the more immediate threat, the Hammer drones. Charging towards the nearest group of ''army'' drones, he unleashed the full extent of his capabilities. His adamantium claws, sharp and indestructible, extended from his fingertips with a distinct metallic sound. Tyson moved with feline precision and agility, slicing through the drones with his claws. The metallic bodies of the machines were no match for the unparalleled strength and razor-sharpness of adamantium. Each swipe and thrust of his claws tore through the drones, disabling them one by one until they lay in crumpled piles of sparking metal and frayed wires.


    Outside the main pavilion, amidst the chaos and commotion, stood a young boy, around 8 or 9 years old, with warm brown skin and dark wooly hair. He was decked out in an Iron Man costume, complete with a plastic mask and fake repulsor gloves, the small lights in their centers glowing. The boy caught up in the moment, raised his hand at a Hammer drone that had exited the pavilion, playfully mimicking an attack with his mock repulsor.


    However, the situation quickly turned serious when the drone, programmed to target Iron Man, looked down at the boy and identified him as a threat. Its weapons began to lock onto the young, unsuspecting fan, a dangerous misunderstanding by its targeting system. The boy was oblivious to the peril he was now in as the drone''s guns hummed to life and took aim.


    But before it could unleash its deadly payload, a red and blue blur swung into view. Spider-Man delivered a powerful kick to the side of the drone, knocking it off course and sending the metallic menace crashing to the ground with a resounding clang.


    Mirage rushed up and dove onto the downed drone, his adamantium claws making short work of its armor plating. Sparks flew as he tore through circuitry, neutralizing the threat.


    With danger averted, Spider-Man turned to the wide-eyed boy, offering a friendly reassurance. "Good work, buddy. Let''s help you find your dad." Though his tone was light, it contrasted the situation they had narrowly avoided.


    At that moment, a man in a police uniform came rushing up, relief and gratitude etched on his face. "Thank you for saving my boy, Spider-Man," the officer said, his voice thick with emotion.


    Spider-Man gave a casual thumbs-up in reply. "No problem, Officer... Morales," he said, reading the nametag. Tyson''s head snapped up at Peter''s words. With Mirage there, Spider-Man swung away to ensure the safety of others evacuating the expo.


    Tyson zeroed in on the officer and boy. Morales? That couldn''t be just a coincidence. He studied the young boy''s face intently, recognizing the familiar features.


    Miles Morales.


    Unless he was mistaken, this young boy was destined to take up the Spider-Man mantle in another world, and perhaps this one as well. Tyson noted that he would need to follow up and check in on the boy.


    Mirage raised his hands, crafting an illusion to further assist the officer and his son. A duplicate of Mirage appeared, gesturing for the two to follow. "This way," it instructed, guiding them away from the danger zone and toward safety.


    Mirage ran up to Natasha Romanoff''s side. She did not hesitate, immediately demanding, "Situation?"


    He quickly relayed the critical information. "Vanko''s alive. He''s been building the Hammer drones and has hacked into Rhodes''s armor. He''s controlling it remotely from the Hammer Industries facility here in Queens."


    Natasha absorbed the update swiftly, her mind already strategizing her next move. "How are you sure?"


    "I touched Justin Hammer briefly, gained his memories." Tyson explained, then asked, "What do you need?"


    "My uniform from the car and a ride to Hammer''s facility," Natasha replied succinctly, her tone focused and decisive.


    In response, Tyson scooped her up without preamble and sprinted towards the Stark corporate car parked nearby. With a single, powerful punch, he shattered the driver''s side window, reached in, and retrieved Natasha''s slim suitcase containing her SHIELD uniform.


    "Feel free to change here. My illusions will keep you covered unless there are cameras around," he said, tossing her the keys to his motorcycle as he set her down.


    Natasha wasted no time. She popped open the suitcase, gathering her uniform.


    Natasha regarded Tyson carefully as she began to strip off her civilian clothes, noting the trickle of blood dripping from his nose. "Your nose is bleeding," she commented dryly. "This isn''t the time for you to be joking around with your anime illusion fetish."


    Tyson wiped at his nose absently, a troubled expression crossing his face. His reaction gave Natasha pause. "I''m running a dozen separate deep illusions on people so I can see what''s happening across the expo through their eyes," Tyson explained, his voice strained. "I''m trying to figure out where I''m needed most."


    As he spoke, Tyson staggered slightly, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the car. Natasha''s eyes narrowed. "Drop half of those connections. Now!" she ordered sharply.


    Obediently, Tyson closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, he stood up straighter, the strain in his face easing as he looked more like his usual self.


    Natasha nodded curtly. "I believe you finally touched your limits," she said. "Don''t do that again. Understood?"


    He agreed and she tossed him an earpiece, then continued stripping. She noticed Tyson''s gaze lingering as she changed but continued undisturbed by his attention. "Shouldn''t you be out there saving people?" she asked.


    Tyson, maintaining his characteristic cheekiness even amidst the tense situation, retorted, "Oh, the real me left right after you tossed the earpiece over. I''m just an illusion. It was worth dropping one of the other illusions to see this. Plus, watching the femme fatale suit up is always the best part of the movie. You can''t blame me. You''re like a real-life Bond girl. No, even better, you''re like James Bond, but if he was a sexy badass." Tyson gasped, "Oh my god. Is this what women feel like watching James Bond movies?"


    Natasha rolled her eyes at the comment as she finished slipping into her uniform, unphased by his flirtatious banter. It was a brief moment of levity amidst the urgency and danger surrounding them. Now fully suited, Natasha mounted Tyson''s motorcycle and raced off toward the Hammer facility.

 Arc 5 - Ch 9: Whiplash

    Chapter 56


    Arc 5 - Ch 9: Whiplash


    Date: Wednesday, June 1, 2011.


    Location: Stark Expo, Flushing Meadows, Queens, NY


    The red and gold armor of Iron Man lay on the soft grass. Above him loomed the dark gray War Machine suit, its massive gauntlet clenched into a fist. The two armored titans had crashed down among the carefully cultivated trees and flowers of a biodome.


    Inside the golden helmet of Iron Man, Tony Stark''s eyes darted about frantically, searching for some way to slip out of Rhodey''s grasp. But the heavier War Machine armor had him pinned.


    "Tony," Rhodey''s voice rang out, tense and strained. Trapped within the War Machine armor, he was helpless to stop it as the suit moved of its own accord. The minigun mounted on the armor''s shoulder let out a rising whine as it prepared to unleash a torrent of fire at point-blank range. He could only watch in horror as the weapon systems charged, moments from ending his friend''s life in a hail of bullets. Desperately he shouted a warning, though he knew there was little hope Tony could evade the inevitable.


    Then, a soft chime sounded within the armored suit. Rhodey''s armor powered down, the lights on its surface fading.


    Hydraulics hissed as Tony tossed the War Machine armor off from atop him.


    Natasha allowed herself a grim smile as she watched the feed from Vanko''s station within the Hammer facility. She worked the controls, having hacked past Vanko''s digital defenses. Her voice came through the comms, "Reboot complete. You''ve got your friend back, Stark."


    "Thank you, Agent Romanoff," Tony replied with audible relief.


    "Well done on the new chest piece," Natasha noted, observing data from Tony''s suit. "I am reading significantly higher output and your vitals all look promising."


    Tony quipped, "Yes, for the moment, I¡¯m not dying. Thank you."


    Pepper Potts'' anxious voice suddenly broke in. "What do you mean, you''re dying? Did you just say you¡¯re dying? Tony, what have you not been telling me?"


    Tony cringed inwardly. He should have known Pepper would be monitoring his comms. "No, I¡¯m not. Not anymore. It was...a temporary situation," he hedged. "I was going to fill you in. I didn¡¯t want to alarm you.."


    Pepper''s voice rose in disbelief. "You were going to tell me? You really were dying?"


    Tony cringed again, cursing himself for letting it slip. "You didn''t let me," he protested weakly.


    "Why didn''t you tell me that?" Pepper demanded, her voice shrill with worry and anger.


    Tony ran a hand over his face. This was not how he had intended her to find out. "I was gonna make you an omelet and tell you," he said lamely. "Over breakfast, where you''d be sitting down already. So you wouldn''t faint or anything."


    Natasha interrupted firmly. "Hey, hey. Save it for the honeymoon. You got incoming Tony. Looks like the fight¡¯s coming to you."


    Tony refocused in an instant. "You''re right, this isn''t the time. Pepper, raincheck on the heart-to-heart?"


    Pepper''s voice was shrill with worry as she demanded, "Are you okay now?"


    Tony answered, "I am fine. Don''t be mad. I will formally apologize for not telling you about my condition sooner.."


    Pepper''s eyes flashed. "I am mad!" she retorted.


    "¡­when I''m not fending off a Hammeroid attack." Tony finished.


    Pepper pressed her lips together. "Fine," she bit out.


    "We could have been in Venice," Tony said wistfully.


    "Oh please," Pepper scoffed, though her expression softened slightly. She knew Tony was trying to lighten the mood, even as he prepared to throw himself into harm''s way yet again.


    Tony''s faceplate rose. He leaned down and tapped his metal-encased fingers against Rhodey''s helmet. "Rhodes? You in there, buddy? Snap out of it. I need you. They''re coming any second. Let''s roll. Up and at ''em."


    The tension that had crackled between Iron Man and War Machine dissipated as Rhodey''s helmet slid open, revealing his face. He groaned, blinking up at Tony, and said, "Oh man. You can have your suit back."


    Tony extended a gauntleted hand and helped haul him to his feet. "You okay?"


    "Yeah. Thanks," Rhodey replied in an apologetic tone. "Tony, look...I''m sorry, okay?"


    "Don''t be," Tony said, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand.


    But Rhodey insisted, "No, really. I should have trusted you more."


    Tony admitted, "I''m the one who put you in this position. Forget it."


    Rhodey shook his head, adamant. "No, it''s my fault. I just wanted to say I''m sorry."


    Appreciating the sentiment, Tony clasped his friend''s armored shoulder. "Thank you. That''s all I wanted to hear. Partner." He then shifted his focus to the impending threat, "Enemy closing fast. ETA any second. What''s the play?"


    Rhodey thought for a moment, tactical training kicking in. "High ground. We''ll set the biggest gun up on that ridge."


    Tony nodded. "Got you. Where do you want to be?" as he started walking toward the indicated hill.


    "Where are you going?" Rhodey asked, confused.


    "What''re you talking about?" Tony replied, eyebrows furrowing. "You have a big gun. You are not the big gun."


    Rhodey laughed. "Tony, don¡¯t be jealous. It¡¯s called being a badass."


    Tony scoffed, though his tone held no real irritation. "It¡¯s subtle all the bells and whistles."


    A new voice came through the channel. "Am I too late for the dick-measuring contest?"


    James Rhodes frowned at the unfamiliar voice. "Who is that?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone. "Who else is on this line, Tony?"


    The cocky reply came, "Mirage has entered the chat." He paused, then added with amused nonchalance, "Oh and my girlfriend is in here too."


    Natasha Romanoff immediately shot back over comms, "I''m not his girlfriend." Her voice was flat, clearly unimpressed.


    "It''s a work in progress," Mirage responded lightly.


    Tony''s grin was audible in his voice as he enjoyed the banter. "Fine. All right. Rhodes, you go up top. I¡¯ll draw them in."


    James shook his head firmly. "Don''t stay down here. This is the worst place to be."


    Tony considered Rhodes'' protest for a moment, before finally nodding in acquiescence. "Okay, you got a spot. Where''s mine?"


    Rhodey''s expression sobered. "Don''t stay on the low ground. It''s a kill box, Tony. This is where you go to die."


    As Stark and Rhodes strategized, their banter was abruptly cut short. With a mechanical whine, over a dozen Hammer drones descended from the sky, encircling the two armored heroes in a menacing formation as they stood in what Rhodey had just described as the ''kill box''.


    Through the comms, Mirage said, "I''m on the way. Save me a few."


    The air hung heavy over the open courtyard, thick with the promise of violence soon to come. Iron Man and War Machine stood back to back, encircled by a menacing array of Hammer drones that surrounded them with cold, robotic intent. The suits'' mechanisms lowered metal masks over the faces of Tony Stark, and James Rhodes with a hydraulic hiss. The sound was a signal. The drones attacked as one, a cacophony of gunfire shattering the tenuous calm. Iron Man and War Machine moved in perfect synchronicity like they''d had years of fighting side-by-side. Repulsors flared, bullets flew, and rockets screamed as the heroes unleashed their arsenal. Iron Man''s repulsor blasts picked off drones, while War Machine was an immovable pillar of heavy ordinance, minigun spinning relentlessly as it scythed through swathes of robotic foes.


    The drones responded in kind, the courtyard becoming a maelstrom of clashing energy and weapons fire. Missiles streaked through the air, trailing tails of smoke before blossoming into explosions that sent debris raining down around the battling armors. Stark''s return fire was lethally accurate, repulsor beams lancing out to pierce drone after drone. War Machine was a juggernaut, the minigun''s barrel glowing red-hot as it churned through round after thundering round.


    "See that?" Tony called out over the screech of rending metal.


    "Yeah, yeah. Nice," Rhodey responded tersely, his attention focused on systematically demolishing the drones attempting to overwhelm his position.


    On and on the drones came, pressing the attack. Iron Man and War Machine battled with equal relentlessness, their suits'' capabilities tested to the limits by the sheer numbers arrayed against them. The courtyard grass slowly disappeared beneath accumulating piles of broken drones.


    Amid the battle, Iron Man spotted a momentary opportunity. He called out, ¡°Rhodey, get down!¡±


    James Rhodes, instantly responded to the warning, throwing himself flat against the debris-strewn ground. Iron Man spun rapidly as he unleashed the full power of an experimental cutting beam built into his suit. A brilliant coruscating beam of intense light erupted forth, slicing through the air and the encircling drones with equal ease. The powerful laser cut a swath through the ranks of robots, bisecting their metal bodies which fell sparking to the ground in a cacophonous shower of metal plating and circuitry.


    In the wake of this devastating attack, an almost eerie silence descended on the decimated courtyard. In an unexpected twist, a towering tree in the path of the deadly laser, groaned and toppled to the ground, adding to the destruction.


    Rhodes stood and raised his faceplate to survey the effectiveness of Iron Man¡¯s attack. ¡°Wow, I think you should lead with that next time.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sorry boss. I can only use it once. It¡¯s a one-off.¡± Tony replied, raising his helmet. As he spoke, a smoking husk was ejected from his armor, proving the expendable nature of the powerful laser.


    The two comrades shared a brief moment of victory, standing amidst the smoking wreckage of their mechanical foes. But their hard-won moment of triumph was abruptly shattered as Natasha Romanoff¡¯s urgent voice crackled over the communications link, ¡°Heads up. You''ve got one more drone incoming. This one looks different. The repulsor signature is significantly higher.¡±


    The air was pierced by the scream of high-powered propulsion as an armored form dropped from the sky, landing with a resounding boom.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The reinforced suit towered over them.


    Compared to the polished designs of Iron Man and even War Machine''s reinforced suit, this armor was bulkier, with an industrial and almost brutish aesthetic; all thick cables, heavy hydraulics, and heavy armor plating. The armor looked like a hulking mechanical beast designed for nothing but destruction. Menacing lengths of electrified whips crackled and hummed with deadly energy, extending from each arm. The armor''s design seemed a further evolution of the same tech that Ivan Vanko had used when attacking Tony at the Monaco Grand Prix.


    The faceplate of the newcomer''s armor slid upwards with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing the weathered features and coldly determined eyes of Ivan Vanko. The three men stared at each other, face to face in their armor.


    Vanko''s heavy accent cut through the silence left in the wake of his arrival.


    "Good to be back," he declared in a tone that promised violence.


    One moment Vanko arrived, the next another figure was there, moving with supernatural speed. Mirage raced across the biodome, he lept, his momentum making it seem almost as if he flew toward Whiplash.


    Then with ferocious intensity, Mirage wound his fist back and shouted.


    "Detroit Smash!"


    Mirage launched a full-force punch directly into the center mass of the Whiplash armor.


    The impact resounded through the biodome like a clap of thunder, the sheer kinetic force of Mirage''s blow sending the armored form of Vanko flying. The Whiplash armor tumbled end over end, crashing violently into the base of a nearby cliff. The sound of rending metal screamed out as the armor crumpled against unyielding rock. In an instant, the once imposing figure now lay in a mangled, twisted wreck. Jagged rents now marred the armor''s surface, leaving it looking as though it had taken a massive beating from some epic struggle.


    Had Natasha heard Tyson announce his massive attack with an anime-style shout, she would have rolled her eyes and chided him. However, the next words through the comms came from Rhodes as he asked incredulously, "Did you know he was that strong?"


    Tony could only shake his head, stunned into silence by the raw physical power Mirage had displayed in dispatching the Whiplash armor.


    The three heroes, Iron Man, War Machine, and Mirage, approached the Whiplash suit.


    The armor lay in a mangled heap, crumpled and rent by the ferocity of Mirage''s attack. Inside the wreckage, Ivan Vanko stirred feebly, barely clinging to consciousness. Blood dripped from his mouth as he uttered two final words with grim certainty.


    "You lose."


    His eyes then closed for the last time, a chilling declaration filled with spite and defiance.


    Suddenly, the arc reactor on Vanko''s chest began to blink red.


    In ominous unison, similar crimson flashes echoed from reactors across the biodome, emanating from the scattered remnants of the Hammer drones.


    Rhodey quickly grasped the grave implications of the flashing red lights. "All these drones are rigged to blow. We gotta get out of here now!" he shouted urgently.


    Mirage took off in a blur of speed, evacuating the area.


    The repulsors in Rhodey''s boots flared as he rocketed skyward.


    "Pepper!" Tony called out as he ignited his repulsors. Consumed by the need to ensure her safety, he streaked off in desperate search of her last known location.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson ran at his top speed, desperate to catch up to the armored suits of Iron Man and War Machine as they crashed into the biodome. He arrived just in time to witness Tony Stark and James Rhodes engaged in a light-hearted argument over who had the bigger gun. Tyson jumped into the banter but remained hidden in the background, observing silently.


    Tension ramped up inside the biodome as, one after another, the Hammer drones began landing around Iron Man and War Machine with heavy thuds. Soon the heroes were surrounded by the looming robots.


    The ensuing battle was a spectacle of technology and weaponry as Iron Man and War Machine engaged the drones, their suits aglow with the bright flare of repulsor beams and blurs of ammunition. Explosions lit up the interior of the biodome, the sound of the blasts echoing off the curved glass and steel. In return, the drones targeted the two heroes with their own integrated weapons systems.


    Throughout the raging battle, Tyson remained a silent out-of-sight observer, his presence unregistered by the drones and unnoticed by the battling duo. After Iron Man executed a devastating laser sweep that sliced through the ranks of Hammer drones, Tyson prepared himself for the moment he had been waiting for.


    Natasha¡¯s voice crackled through his earpiece. ¡°Heads up. You''ve got one more drone incoming. This one looks different. The repulsor signature is significantly higher.¡±


    By the time the sound of powerful propulsion announced the drone¡¯s arrival, Tyson was already in motion. The Whiplash Mark 2 armor descended from the sky, landing with a heavy thud near Iron Man and War Machine. When the armor''s visor was raised to reveal Ivan Vanko himself, Tyson made his move. All three armored men had exposed their faces. Tyson dashed directly in front of Vanko, invisible to their eyes thanks to his illusions.


    He then projected an illusion of Vanko declaring triumphantly, "Good to be back."


    Meanwhile, Tyson reached out, touching Ivan Vanko''s face and looking directly into his eyes. As he did, a torrent of Vanko''s life memories flooded through Tyson''s mind.


    His father worked alongside Howard Stark but was deported back to Russia in disgrace, forgotten, and discredited. He grew up with a sense of betrayal festering deep within him. His childhood was marked by poverty and struggle. Despite the hardships, he inherited his father''s intellect and aptitude. He honed his skills in mechanics, engineering, and physics, often operating on the fringes of legality. His life was a mix of academic brilliance and criminal undertakings. The defining moment came when he learned of Tony Stark''s Iron Man. This revelation reignited the smoldering embers of his vendetta, driving him to create his own suit of armor. He made his first public appearance against Stark, a dramatic confrontation that brought him to the world''s attention. Though he was defeated, he entered into a reluctant partnership with Justin Hammer. Hammer gave him the idea to attack Tony Stark¡¯s legacy. So, he built the drones and the new suit, each a weapon aimed to do just that.


    Tyson acted decisively upon emerging from the flood of Ivan Vanko''s memories. Projecting a flawless illusion of Mirage charging forward to deliver a knockout blow, he bought himself the crucial moments needed.


    With the illusion in place, Tyson grabbed the half-ton heft of the Whiplash suit, hoisting its weight with an effort that tested his remarkable strength but landed within its limits. Breaking into a run, he carried the inert form of the real Whiplash suit while maintaining the illusion within the biodome.


    To the gathered heroes, the illusory Mirage approached the crumpled form of the imagined Vanko, flanked by the real Iron Man and Warmachine. This clever ploy provided ideal cover as Tyson enacted the next stage of his plan. Using Vanko''s memories, he tapped a few commands into the armor, activating the self-destruct sequence on all the Hammer drones, careful to exempt the Whiplash suit from this order.


    Across the grounds of the Stark Expo, downed Hammer drones began flashing crimson, heralding their imminent obliteration. Rhodey recognized the imminent explosions and instructed everyone to evacuate. Tyson''s illusory Mirage darted away while Iron Man flew off in search of Pepper.


    Tyson kept his hold on Ivan Vanko. After carrying the armor out of the blast radius of any drones, he scanned the Expo grounds, intent on finding suitable transportation. His gaze settled on a box truck, used for delivering Expo supplies. Despite the surrounding destruction, it appeared intact.


    Approaching the vehicle, Tyson was relieved to see the keys dangling from the ignition. He hauled open the truck''s rear door and hefted the Whiplash armor inside, securing it firmly. With the suit stowed, he turned his attention to Vanko. Still enthralled by Tyson''s power, the man stood motionless. Tyson locked his will upon Vanko''s mind, imprinting firm instructions to remain inside the truck. Vanko''s eyes glazed over as the compulsions took hold, eliminating any chance of disobedience or escape. Tyson nodded, satisfied, and hopped out, closing the back of the truck and dashing off to complete his deception.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tony Stark landed on the rooftop with Pepper Potts after saving the CEO from the self-destructing Hammer drones. The final remnants of the drones'' fiery self-destruction still lit up the night sky, leaving the expo a bonfire, and explosions like fireworks in the night sky.


    Overwhelmed by the harrowing events of the evening, Pepper expressed her distress, fear, and frustration in her trembling voice. "Oh my God, I can''t take this anymore," she exclaimed.


    "You can''t?" Tony responded.


    "I can''t take this," Pepper reiterated, shaking her head. "My body literally cannot handle the stress. I never know if you''re going to kill yourself or wreck the whole company."


    Trying to lighten the mood with his usual confidence, Tony replied, "I think I did okay." His comment was punctuated by another explosion flaring in the distance.


    But Pepper would not be swayed by his charm this time. "I quit. I''m resigning. That''s it," she declared. Her decision was born from the culmination of stress and fear for Tony''s well-being over the years.


    Tony blinked in surprise, though perhaps he should not have been taken aback. He studied Pepper''s face, seeing the creases of tension and weariness etched there. "You''re done?" he asked finally, hearing the faint echo of incredulity in his voice. "That''s surprising." A pause. "No, it''s not surprising. I get it. You don''t have to make excuses."


    Pepper''s jaw tightened, her eyes flashing. "I''m not making any excuses," she bit out. Her spine was rigid, her hands clenched. She had finally been pushed to a breaking point. She needed this to be over.


    Tony held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You actually were just making excuses," he pointed out. "But you don''t have to. I understand." He kept his tone easy, trying to ease the sudden spike of tension between them.


    Pepper bristled, color rising in her cheeks. "No, I wasn''t making an excuse," she insisted, her voice sharp. "I''m actually very justified in this."


    Tony''s expression softened, the casual confidence dropping away. "Listen," he said quietly. "Hey. You deserve better. You''ve taken such good care of me. I''ve been in a tough spot, but you got me through it. Right?"


    The simple honesty in his words defused Pepper''s frustration. "Thank you," she murmured.


    "Yeah."


    A hint of Pepper''s usual unflappability returning. "I''ll handle the transition," she assured, "It''ll be smooth."


    Finally Tony cleared his throat. "Okay, what about the press? Because you only had the job for a week. That''s gonna seem..." He trailed off.


    Pepper quipped, "Well with you it''s like dog years."


    "I know," he said simply, a wealth of understanding in those two small words.


    Pepper''s smile widened slightly, a glimmer of humor returning to her blue eyes. "I mean, it''s like the Presidency," she added. The sudden breeze of levity blew away the tension that had crackled between them.


    Unable to resist, Tony leaned forward and captured her lips in a tender kiss. As they parted, he murmured, "Weird."


    Pepper shook her head. "No, it''s not weird," she insisted.


    "It''s okay, right?" Tony couldn''t keep a hint of uncertainty from creeping into his voice as he sought reassurance.


    "Yeah," Pepper affirmed.


    Emboldened, Tony tilted his head towards her. "Run that by me again," he said with a roguish twinkle in his brown eyes. Pepper smiled indulgently as their lips met once more.


    The intimate moment was shattered by a familiar voice. "I think it was weird," James Rhodes commented drily. Tony and Pepper jerked apart, surprise flickering across their faces. They turned to see Rhodey still encased in the silver and gunmetal armor of War Machine, sitting nonchalantly with a bowl of popcorn in his metal-gloved hands. "You guys look like two seals fighting over a grape," he added.


    Beside Rhodey, Mirage stood casually, also enjoying a bowl of popcorn. Spider-Man was perched on the rooftop''s edge, his masked face tilted as he observed the couple with interest. It was a surreal sight, the three heroes lounging around amidst the chaotic aftermath of the battle.


    Tony felt a flush creep up his neck, embarrassed, but amused at the sight. "Where did you get popcorn?" he asked, unable to keep a note of incredulity from his voice.


    Mirage raised a hand. "I conjured it," he replied.


    Tony playfully suggested to the group, "You should get lost." with a wave of his gauntleted hand, his tone light despite the recent battle.


    Rhodey, unruffled by the quip, retorted "We were here first. Get a roof," while casually tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth.


    Never one to miss a beat, Tony shot back, "I thought you were out of one-liners."


    "That''s the last one," Rhodey replied smoothly, keeping pace with their back-and-forth wit.


    "You kicked ass back there, by the way," Tony said, his voice ringing with sincerity.


    "Thank you," Rhodey responded, dipping his head in appreciation. Then he added, "Listen, my car got taken out in the explosion earlier, so I''m gonna have to hang on to your suit for a minute, okay?"


    Tony, half-jokingly, waved both hands in refusal, "Not okay. Not okay with that," he protested.


    Rhodey stood, brushing popcorn kernels from his hands, and said firmly, "It wasn''t a question." Then with a whine of repulsors, he launched himself into the sky in the borrowed Iron Man armor.


    Mirage stood and tossed his bowl of popcorn over his shoulder. As it hit the ground, the bowl dispersed into a flutter of butterflies instead of spilling and shattering.


    "Thanks for the invite," he said, "You throw the best parties."


    Tony quipped in response, "Off to see your girlfriend? I can''t believe you let me introduce you when you already knew her. I thought I was hooking you up."


    "You did!" Mirage replied enthusiastically. "Your birthday party scored me a date. Good looking out." He paused for a moment, glancing around. "But nah, I''m going to give her some space. She likes to play the mysterious one, but that''s my bag. We''ll see how it goes. Plus a mess like this usually means cleanup or paperwork. I''m not about that life. Tony, Spidey, Miss Potts - Mirage signing off."


    With a final nod of farewell, Mirage''s image began to shift and distort. Faint lines appeared across his form as it wavered from side to side. Then, like an old television set shutting off, his image collapsed in on itself and disappeared completely.


    As Mirage disappeared, Spider-Man stepped forward, extending his hand towards Tony Stark. "Hi, Mister Stark, I''m Spider-Man, and I''m a huge fan," he introduced himself, unable to keep the excitement and respect from his voice.


    Tony clasped the young hero''s hand and shook it firmly. "I''m a fan of yours too," he replied smoothly. "Anyone who can swing around the city in pajamas and still look cool has my respect." Tony''s voice took on a more sincere note as he continued, "I saw Mirage''s show, your story. You''re a real hero." It was an honest compliment, acknowledging the bravery and vital contributions Spider-Man had made to the city.


    Though Peter was humbled by the words, meeting Tony Stark, a figure he had long admired and looked up to, was a significant moment for the young hero.


    Until Tony Stark asked, "What''s it like fighting villains in your underoos?"

 Arc 5 - Ch 10: Weird Shit

    Chapter 57


    Arc 5 - Ch 10: Weird Shit


    Date: Thursday, June 2, 2011.


    Location: Shield field base, outside Puente Antiguo, NM


    Tyson had left New York early intending to be among the first to arrive at the site in New Mexico. But the lengthy trip took longer than he anticipated. By the time he finally reached his destination late in the afternoon, the SHIELD base was already a fully operational hub of activity. Standing at a distance, he surveyed the scene, his mind momentarily wandering as he thought of Natasha and the time they could have spent together that morning.


    The SHIELD camp sprawled before him in a circular formation, with temporary structures forming the perimeter. Each served a distinct purpose; some housed research and analysis teams, others stored equipment, and yet another had been converted into a makeshift command center. At the center of the camp sat Mjolnir, cordoned off in a clear zone under heavy guard. Agents patrolled the perimeter vigilantly as scientists worked with technical equipment all aimed at understanding the mysterious hammer. Large floodlights surrounded the area, ensuring it stayed well-lit regardless of the time of day or night. Vehicles ranging from standard SUVs to specialized transport trucks were parked near the camp¡¯s edge. The presence of a few armored trucks hinted at the gravity with which SHIELD was approaching the situation. Satellite dishes and communication antennas were visible on every structure and even some vehicles.


    A burly agent built like a linebacker stepped forward to intercept Mirage''s approach, one hand raised. "ID," he rumbled, features set in a stoic mask. Despite the man''s size and the aura of intimidation he projected, Tyson was unfazed. Mirage complied, passing over his credentials. The guard scrutinized them thoroughly before returning them with a nod. "Follow me," he instructed, leading Mirage into the encampment.


    They wound their way through the controlled bustle. Mirage took note of the state-of-the-art equipment and stern-faced agents they passed, all single-mindedly focused on their tasks. Finally, they reached a pair of agents coordinating things. Mirage recognized one of them and broke into a smile. "Agent Coulson, good to see you again," he said warmly, offering his hand.


    Coulson accepted his handshake. "Mirage. Same," Coulson replied in his usual clipped tones. He inclined his head towards the nondescript agent at his side. "This is Agent Sitwell, my second-in-command."


    Sitwell was a bald man with brown skin and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He gave Mirage a curt nod in greeting. Mirage returned the gesture, noting how Sitwell''s gaze quickly sized him up before moving on.


    Something about Sitwell nagged at the back of Tyson''s mind, a sense of familiarity he couldn''t quite place.


    The mood of the group was all business. Tyson''s arrival was just another piece to factor in to the well-oiled machine. Mirage looked to Coulson questioningly. "Anything you need from me at the moment?"


    The lead agent considered him. "Not currently. You''re unfamiliar with our procedures, and your skills aren''t specialized for research. Stand by for now."


    Mirage accepted the orders easily. He was an outsider here and would follow the agent''s lead. Tyson understood the importance of working alongside other agents. "Maybe I''ll try to get my hands on a SHIELD operations manual and start studying," he commented.


    "Good idea. It would help you contribute more effectively to the team." Coulson responded approvingly.


    At this point, Agent Sitwell, who had been listening to their exchange, spoke up, "I can help with that," he offered.


    Tyson walked off down the hallway with Sitwell. As they moved away from the main group, the agent extended his hand toward Mirage for a handshake. Tyson, still bothered that he recognized the man, but couldn''t place him, locked eyes with the SHIELD agent and subtly used his powers to override the man''s senses. Instead of shaking Sitwell''s hand, Tyson quickly removed the glove and made quick skin contact. Thanks to his illusions, Sitwell didn''t register the movement, the accompanying pain, or the drain on his life force. To Sitwell, Mirage firmly shook his hand.


    He grew up in Norfolk, Virginia in a middle-class family. Even as a child, he was fiercely competitive, always striving to be the best in everything. Academics, sports, and popularity. He craved being admired and respected by his peers. In high school, he excelled and was heavily recruited by colleges, but his path took an unexpected turn when a representative approached him from an exclusive academy. Enticed by promises of power, influence, and being part of something greater, he accepted their offer.


    At the academy, Sitwell underwent rigorous training, not just in espionage and combat, but also in HYDRA''s ideology. Upon graduation, HYDRA arranged for him to join SHIELD, ostensibly in the administrative division, but in reality as their undercover operative. As a SHIELD agent, Sitwell was the model of professionalism and efficiency on the surface. He advanced up the ranks, gaining more and more trust and access. All the while, he secretly passed sensitive intel to his HYDRA handlers and manipulated events from the shadows to further their agenda. He recruited loyal HYDRA operatives to fill the ranks of SHIELD agents, so they would be ready to proceed with HYDRA plans when ordered.


    However, occasionally he felt pangs of guilt, seeing the friendships and camaraderie among his SHIELD colleagues, knowing he would ultimately betray them. He pushed those doubts aside, telling himself that HYDRA''s vision was the only way to bring true order to a chaotic world. The sacrifices were necessary and justified.


    As Tyson absorbed the man''s memories, it jogged his recollection from the meta-knowledge he possessed. Sitwell was a HYDRA agent who would become prominent during the events surrounding Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Tyson barely remembered him because he had played such a background role before being killed.


    Sitwell''s voice held a hint of respect as he commented, "I read the reports of how you handled the Green Goblin. I look forward to seeing your skills in action."


    Tyson accepted the compliment smoothly, replying "If you don''t get the chance to observe my powers during this operation, you can always call House of M. I keep a few VIP seats reserved; a high-ranking operative like yourself qualifies for that status. Feel free to drop by the next time you''re in New York."


    Sitwell seemed to appreciate the gesture of goodwill. He then led Mirage to a small, spartan room, ideal for studying. The space held just the bare essentials; a table, chair, and a single bright overhead light. The double agent handed Tyson SHIELD''s thick operations manual.


    Mirage looked into Sitwell''s eyes as he sat across from Tyson. Tyson drew him into his power and said, "I''d be the perfect recruit." Mirage held his gaze for just a moment longer, then released him.


    Sitwell blinked, his expression momentarily unfocused before regaining his composure. He studied Mirage intently as if seeing him for the first time.


    "You know, Mirage, your skills and abilities are truly remarkable," Sitwell began, his tone taking on a conspiratorial edge. "Have you ever considered using them for a greater cause?"


    Mirage arched an eyebrow, feigning curiosity. "I''m already a consultant for SHIELD, isn''t that the point? Did you have something else in mind?"


    Sitwell leaned forward, his expression conveying intense interest. "I watched your testimony before the Senate Armed Forces Committee," he said, lowering his voice as if to share a confidence. "The way you handled those questions was impressive. You want to help and you''re doing what you think is right. Someone with your abilities could be an invaluable asset, and it''s obvious that you want to serve the greater good," he pressed on. "A consultant role hardly does you justice. You have the potential for so much more, to be part of something greater, more than just another government agent."


    "I''m listening," Mirage said, his tone neutral yet encouraging Sitwell to elaborate.


    "There''s an organization, a group operating within SHIELD itself," he began, his words carefully chosen. "We''ve been working towards a vision of a better world where true order and security reign supreme."


    Mirage''s brow furrowed slightly, feigning confusion. "You''re talking about HYDRA, aren''t you?"


    Sitwell''s expression wavered, "You know about HYDRA?" He asked.


    Tyson''s brow furrowed slightly as he answered, "You said you saw my testimony. I mentioned William Stryker." He paused, considering how much to reveal. "During my encounter with him, he mentioned Hydra."


    Sitwell nodded, unfazed. "Stryker went rogue and used our resources to his ends. The man was a problem." He shrugged as if discussing something trivial. "Fortunately, his actions brought about his downfall."


    His casual words confirmed a part of the circumstances around Stryker''s death. Tyson was able to read between the lines. Sitwell and his superiors had considered Stryker a loose end. But they hadn''t been the ones to tidy him up.


    It was a mutant, not HYDRA that killed Stryker.


    "We prefer to think of ourselves as the solution, not the problem," Sitwell countered smoothly. "SHIELD is too bound by bureaucracy. They lack the resolve to take the necessary steps to safeguard humanity."


    Leaning back in his chair, Mirage considered Sitwell''s words. "And what steps would those be, exactly?"


    "Whatever it takes," Sitwell stated, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. "HYDRA understands that sacrifices must be made for the greater good. We cannot allow sentiment or misguided ideals to stand in the way of true progress."


    There was a ruthless conviction in the agent''s voice, a willingness to embrace the most extreme measures in pursuit of HYDRA''s goals.


    Mirage''s eyes narrowed as she studied Sitwell. "When you say things like doing what''s necessary to safeguard humanity... you sound an awful lot like Stryker," she said, her tone guarded. "Where do you stand when it comes to mutants?"


    Sitwell raised his hands in a placating gesture, his palms outward. "Mutants are progress," he replied smoothly. "But like humans, they need to be controlled."


    Tyson''s frown deepened, his brow furrowing. He did not care for the implication behind Sitwell''s words.


    Unperturbed, Sitwell continued. "Hydra works in cells. Compartmentalization is key. Cut off one head, two more take its place. I don''t know who the leaders are, but there''s a council, or so the rumors say. At least one of them is a mutant, supposedly." His tone was matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather rather than the clandestine inner workings of a terrorist organization.


    "We receive our orders directly from the World Security Council." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "We''re an elite group, dedicated to safeguarding the world. You could be an invaluable asset to our cause."


    Mirage maintained a neutral expression, giving nothing away. "That''s quite an offer," he said slowly. "What would be expected of me?"


    Sitwell''s gaze was intense, his eyes boring into Mirage''s. "Loyalty and discretion, of course. But in return, you''d be part of something greater than yourself, working to shape the course of human events for the betterment of all."


    Mirage considered his words carefully, already knowing the truth behind Sitwell''s recruitment pitch. After a moment, he nodded. "I''m in," he said, "When do I start?"


    Satisfaction flickered across Sitwell''s features. "Excellent. We already have a liaison in mind. She''ll be contacting you soon." He rose from his seat, extending his hand to Mirage.


    Mirage clasped the offered hand firmly, sealing the deal with a firm shake. As Sitwell turned to leave, he leaned in close. "Hail, HYDRA," he whispered.


    With that, Agent Sitwell departed, leaving Mirage alone with the SHIELD operations manual and the knowledge that he had just been recruited into the very heart of the enemy''s ranks.


    With the door closed behind him, Tyson settled into the hard metal chair, opened the thick SHIELD operations manual, and immersed himself in the procedures and protocols.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The throne room of Asgard was a majestic and awe-inspiring sight that embodied the grandeur and power of the realm of the gods. Vast in size, the soaring chamber was adorned with intricate designs etched into the golden walls, speaking of remarkable craftsmanship. The high-vaulted ceilings reflected the light making the entire room glow with an ethereal luminescence as if infused with the god''s radiance.


    The great doors swung open with a resounding boom that echoed through the cavernous hall. Striding through the entryway came the Warriors Three, Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, and Volstagg the Valiant, led by the formidable Lady Sif. Their armor clinked softly with each purposeful step across the gleaming floor. They were the epitome of Asgardian warriors, brave and formidable. Fandral carried himself with a swashbuckler''s grace and dashing flair. Hogun was stoic, exuding a quiet strength. Volstagg carried a heart that matched his massive frame. Sif moved with a warrior''s poise, her prowess evident in her every motion. They approached the throne urgently, concern etched on their noble features.


    Sif took the lead, stepping forward with haste. "Allfather, we come before you with grave tidings and request an immediate audience," she announced, her voice echoing through the silent hall.


    But as they raised their eyes to the throne, they stopped short, shock replacing their somber expressions. There sat not Odin, the venerable Allfather, but Prince Loki. His emerald cape cascaded down the sides of the elevated seat, the sharp horns of his ceremonial headdress rising menacingly from his slicked-back raven hair. In his grip, he held Gungnir, the legendary spear symbolizing Asgardian authority.


    Loki''s confident bearing made it clear he had claimed the mantle of leadership.


    Volstagg''s disbelief broke the stunned silence that had fallen over the hall. He demanded, "What is this?"


    With a self-assured smirk, Loki responded, His words dripped with mock surprise as if their ignorance of his new status was merely a trifling matter. "My friends, surely you have heard? I am now the Ruler of Asgard."


    Fandral gave voice to the question that weighed heavily upon them all. "Where is Odin?" He asked bluntly.


    A flicker of solemnity broke through Loki''s smug facade. "Father has fallen into the Odinsleep," he revealed. "My mother fears he may never awaken again."


    This startling news sent a fresh wave of alarm through Sif and the Warriors Three. The Odinsleep was a deep slumber Odin periodically entered as part of his natural cycle, but its unexpected onset along with Loki''s sudden rise to power aroused their gravest suspicions.


    Sif and the Warriors Three exchanged meaningful looks, their unspoken consensus apparent. Sif turned her steely gaze upon the newly crowned king, requesting, "We would speak with Queen Frigga."


    Their silent communication had not gone unnoticed. With calculated composure, Loki replied, "She refuses to leave my father''s bedside. You may bring this ''urgent'' matter before me, your King." Though his words flowed smoothly, they carried an unmistakable undercurrent of command.


    Hearing his bold declaration of authority, Sif quickly adapted to their new reality. She knelt in acquiescence along with the Warriors Three. "We would ask you to end Thor''s banishment," she said, directly addressing their purpose in seeking an audience with the throne.


    Loki''s face betrayed none of the calculating thoughts churning within as he responded, "My first command as king cannot be to undo the Allfather''s last," he stated, his tone firm and decided. Though his reasoning appeared sound, Sif and the Warriors Three sensed deeper meaning than he let on. The set of Loki''s jaw and the glint in his emerald eyes hinted at ulterior motives and deeper machinations at work. Loki''s justifications rang hollow to their ears, like a pleasant fiction masking hard truths. But outwardly they showed no reaction, schooling their features into expressions of polite attention.


    Loki continued, "All of us must stand together, for the good of Asgard," he declared, emphasizing the need for unity in this difficult time. He was the picture of a benevolent ruler, yet his words lacked true sincerity.


    "Of course," Fandral replied carefully neutral.


    With a final bow of acquiescence, Sif and the Warriors Three took their leave of the throne room. But the tension remained palpable. Their doubts and unspoken concerns were evident in the set of their shoulders and the furrow between their brows as they exited.


    Loki''s gaze lingered on their retreating figures, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Their obvious loyalty to Thor did not escape his notice, and he was wary of their potential interference. Though he was the rightful king and his commands had been clear, Loki knew he could not fully trust them. In his mind, he began contemplating ways to deter their meddling, to ensure his rule remained unchallenged.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    A slow, cunning smile spread across Loki''s face as the seeds of a plan took root. It involved a certain individual, one perfectly suited to aid his purposes. His grin turned wicked at the thought, his mind already spinning with possibilities.


    With his devious plan firmly in mind, Loki rose from the immense throne. In his grip he carried Gungnir. Though his claim to the throne remained tenuous, holding the legendary spear lent him authority, marking him as the ruler of Asgard. But Loki knew even the mythic spear''s power had limits. Full obedience could not be guaranteed, not when doubts lingered about the rightness of his rule.


    Loki strode through the majestic halls, then the streets. The presence of Gungnir cleared his path, any who saw the spear offered no challenge to his passage. He moved with purpose, the tapping of the spear''s butt on the streets marking his progress.


    His destination loomed ahead, one of the immense towers of Asgard that seemed to scrape the very heavens. Loki climbed to the highest level, to the apex of the soaring spire, and found himself before an opulent door. Runes of warding covered its surface. Loki lifted Gungnir and brought the butt of the spear to the door in three sharp raps. The spear''s magic interacted with the wards, announcing the presence of Asgard''s ruler. The protections recognized his authority and granted him entrance.


    As the door swung open, Loki stepped into the lavish chambers beyond. Silks and tapestries adorned the walls, and elegant furnishings filled the spaces. At the sound of the opening door, the apartment''s sole occupant had fallen to her knees in reverence. Head bowed, the woman spoke, "Allfather, I welcome you. How may I serve?"


    Loki regarded the kneeling woman, her cascading blonde hair spilled over green dress robes that matched her eyes. "You may rise, Amora," he instructed, "I wish to speak with you candidly."


    At the sound of Loki''s voice, Amora jerked her head up, eyes flashing. She had expected Odin, not the self-proclaimed god of mischief. Suspicion was plain on her features as she sprang to her feet. "What trickery is this, Loki?" she demanded, though her tone held a note of caution.


    Loki dismissed her concerns with a shake of his head. "No trickery, Amora. Please, sit," he urged gently, motioning to a nearby chair. "Let me explain."


    Amora sank into the proffered chair, her emerald eyes fixed on Loki. Though his words claimed sincerity, she knew better than to trust the Trickster outright.


    "Thor has been banished," Loki began, "He is exiled to Midgard, stripped of his powers, and left to live as a mortal." Amora straightened, intrigue flashing across her features. This twist could shift the balance of power in Asgard, and if Loki wielding Gungnir was an indication, it already had. She focused her attention on Loki, waiting for him to continue. "You are likely aware of the frost giant attack during Thor''s coronation ceremony." Amora gave a single nod in acknowledgment, prompting Loki to continue. "Against Odin''s orders, Thor led an assault on Jotunheim, provoking our ancient enemies and endangering the fragile peace."


    Loki painted a picture of Thor''s rashness posing a real threat to Asgard''s stability. Amora''s eyes narrowed, thoughts churning behind her lovely face as the implications became clear.


    "In his wisdom, Odin decided Thor needed to learn humility," Loki continued. "He stripped Thor of his powers and hammer before casting him out to live as a mortal on Earth." Amora absorbed this, understanding the gravity of a banishment for one as powerful and beloved as Thor. "Odin has fallen into the Odinsleep," Loki went on, his expression a mask of solemn duty. "With Thor banished, the burden of ruling Asgard has fallen to me as next in the line of succession."


    "There is more." Regret tinged Loki''s voice. "The Allfather placed a worthiness enchantment upon Mjolnir as a trial for Thor. Should Thor fail to lift his hammer, he could be stripped of his birthright, forever."


    Loki''s expression turned grave as he voiced his concerns. "I fear Sif and the Warriors Three do not grasp the gravity of Thor''s trial," he confided. "They may try to interfere, which could result in Thor''s permanent exile." Emotion filled his voice. "Though I love Thor more than any of them, even I cannot overturn the Allfather''s decree."


    Turning to Amora, Loki''s gaze locked with hers. "Will you help me, Amora? Help me aid Thor and Asgard in this difficult time."


    "What would you have me do?" she asked hesitantly.


    Loki''s eyes glinted with cunning as he regarded Amora. "As the rightful king of Asgard, I appoint you as the guardian of Thor''s trial on Midgard," he declared.


    Amora''s brow furrowed slightly, considering the implications of such a role. "You would have me oversee the prince''s banishment?" she asked.


    "Precisely," Loki affirmed, leaning forward in his seat. "I need someone I can trust to ensure Thor''s trial proceeds as intended, without interference from those who would undermine the Allfather''s decree."


    A slow smile spread across Amora''s face as she recognized the opportunity Loki presented. "You honor me with such a pivotal task, my king," she purred, her emerald eyes alight with ambition.


    Loki nodded, gratified by her acceptance. "You possess unparalleled skill, Amora. Who better to monitor Thor''s progress and safeguard the integrity of his trial?" Loki continued. "Thor must rely solely on his abilities to face the tribulations ahead. Preventing outside interference is imperative to ensure his trial is not improperly influenced."


    Amora nodded, relishing the challenge. Outmaneuvering Thor''s loyal followers would be difficult, but not impossible for one of her talents.


    Loki''s lips curved into a satisfied smile. The enchantress was hooked, just as he had anticipated. Now all that remained was dangling the allure of status and recognition before the vain enchantress, and he would secure a powerful, if clandestine, ally.


    Loki''s piercing green eyes fixed intently on Amora, "Your assistance in this matter will not go unrewarded," he promised, "I assure you, the rewards will be fitting of your station and formidable abilities."


    Amora''s eyes sparkled with interest. "And what form might these rewards take?" she inquired, unable to restrain her curiosity.


    Loki laid out his proposal. "Imagine if Thor returned triumphant, having passed his trial. Those who ensured the impartiality of his test would surely find favor in his eyes." He let the implication hang for a moment before continuing. "You, Amora, could gain status as a trusted ally, even a confidante. A position you have long desired." Loki''s voice was smooth and compelling as he spoke. "Let us just say that your cooperation could elevate your status among Asgard''s elite in ways you have long desired. Perhaps even a candidate for Queen, when Thor inevitably claims his birthright." The suggestion was tailored to Amora''s ambitions.


    Amora''s emerald eyes glinted with ambition as the implications of Loki''s offer took shape in her mind. This was the opportunity she had coveted for so long. A chance to prove herself, to gain prestige and favor in the eyes of Asgard''s elite. She could practically taste the power.


    However, Loki added a cautionary note to temper her growing enthusiasm. "But be mindful, Amora," he warned, his voice lowering. "Failure could earn not only Thor''s lasting enmity but might also see his power and princely station in Asgard irretrievably lost." Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "While the rewards for success are great, the consequences of failure are equally dire."


    Amora''s excited expression faded as she nodded slowly, the full weight of Loki''s words settling upon her. She understood the tremendous risks and high stakes involved in this covert mission. This was not just an opportunity for personal gain. It was a test of her magical skills and a challenge that could irrevocably define her future standing in Asgard.


    "I understand completely, liege Loki," she finally said, steeling her voice to sound resolute and unfazed. "You have my word that I will not fail you in this."


    Loki nodded, apparently satisfied with her confident response. "I trust you won''t, Amora. For both all of Asgard''s sake," he replied gravely. With those final portentous words, the gravity of the precarious task was firmly etched in the air between them.


    The tower grew quiet, as King Loki took his leave, giving way to the Enchantress'' contemplation. A sly smile slowly spread across Amora''s lips, hinting at anticipation and excitement for the challenge ahead. She relished the chance to assert her influence and demonstrate her cunning. Amora the Enchantress was renowned across Asgard for her skill in magic, guile, and her ability to subtly weave spells. This mission presented the perfect opportunity to showcase her talents and secure her position in Asgard''s hierarchy.


    With a clear sense of purpose, Amora wasted no time preparing for the task set before her by Loki. She swiftly moved through her opulent chambers, gathering an assortment of mystical trinkets and arcane artifacts. Each item was carefully selected for its specific magical properties. With her preparations complete, Amora did not linger. Her emerald robes flowed behind her as she moved with haste through Asgard. Her destination was the Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, an engineering marvel powered by Asgard''s advanced magic.


    Amora strode purposefully along the shimmering Rainbow Bridge. As she approached the gateway of the Bifrost, she found Heimdall at his post, ever vigilant as he stood watch over the realms.


    Amora faced the guardian of Asgard''s gateway, his piercing gaze seeming to look through her. "Heimdall, Watchman of the Bifrost," she began, bowing her head in respect. "I humbly request transport to Midgard."


    The towering Asgardian scrutinized her, "Midgard?" he queried, his deep timbre hinting at unease regarding her intentions.


    Carefully considering her response, Amora chose her next words. "Our king chose me to watch over Thor as he seeks to reclaim Mjolnir. I am to serve as the arbiter while he seeks to prove himself worthy," she explained, meeting Heimdall''s gaze directly. "I intend no disrespect. I am sure you keep close watch over Thor already, but I was appointed this task by Loki himself."


    Heimdall contemplated her words silently. After a moment, he stepped aside, "I know you wish Thor no harm," he rumbled, yet his eyes narrowed. He added in a grave tone, "Remain vigilant, Amora. Not all is as it appears."


    Unsure of his full meaning but acknowledging the caution in his words, Amora gave a single nod in return. One did not casually dismiss the Watchman''s words. Heimdall raised his ornate sword, the ancient runes along its blade flaring with power as he plunged it into the Bifrost''s control mechanism.


    The bridge surged to life in a maelstrom of cosmic energy and coruscating light. Shimmering emerald, sapphire, silver, and gold hues swirled around Amora, coalescing into a tunnel that stretched skyward, piercing the very fabric of space itself. The crystalline floor thrummed beneath her feet, vibrating with the unleashed forces contained within it.


    In a flash, she was enveloped completely in the bridge''s brilliance. The universe blurred, a prismatic stream around her as she was propelled forward at an impossible speed. Crossing the vast gulfs between realms, Amora hurtled through the Bifrost toward her destination. The journey through the Bifrost was brief but intense, a dizzying voyage through the very fabric of the cosmos. Amora passed swirling nebulae and distant galaxies in a blur. Just as suddenly as the journey had begun, it ended. Amora emerged from the shimmering portal of the Bifrost, finding herself in the realm of Midgard.


    The transition from Asgard''s celestial majesty to Midgard was jarring. Gone were the spires of her home. In their place spread a mundane desert landscape. Yet Amora had a mission to fulfill, and nothing would stand in her way.


    Upon arriving on Earth, the Enchantress wasted no time concealing her presence. She wove an illusion over herself, blurring her form from the eyes of any who would look upon her.


    Amora could have used her sorcerous abilities to scry and locate Thor directly. But there was no need. The thunder god''s enchanted hammer, Mjolnir, shone like a beacon to her mystical senses. She only had to head toward it, knowing that wherever the hammer lay, its master would not be far behind.


    As Amora neared the site, she discovered that the mortals had established a makeshift base surrounding Mjolnir''s impact crater. The area buzzed with activity; vehicles and equipment clustered around the mythical hammer that had crashed into their world.


    Realizing she would need a better view of the situation, Amora discreetly pulled out a scrying mirror from within her robes. The mirror, a magical artifact of minor power, provided a window onto distant places. Holding the glass before her, she whispered an incantation.


    The mirror shimmered and shifted, revealing different vantage points of the mortal encampment surrounding Mjolnir. Amora surveyed the guards, the scientific equipment, and the overall layout through its arcane lens. As she continued her surveillance, the mirror panned toward a vehicle approaching in the distance. Magically zooming in, she saw that Thor himself was inside. Amora sat back, satisfied. She would observe the thunder god''s trial and stand ready to intervene should anyone attempt to interfere.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Hours passed in focused silence as Tyson continued reading, absorbing the comprehensive rules and guidelines governing all SHIELD operations. His concentration was suddenly broken by the distant rumble of thunder, barely audible at first. Curiously raising his eyes from the text, he glanced toward the small window across the room, noting the darkening sky and considering the sudden change in weather. After a moment of considering the approaching storm, Tyson returned his attention to the manual laid out before him.


    Within a minute, however, the calm atmosphere of the evening shifted dramatically. Blaring sirens sliced through the air, echoing across the SHIELD base. Coulson''s urgent, commanding voice crackled through Tyson''s earpiece. "I need eyes up high, with a gun. Mirage, position yourself near the package."


    Tyson smiled knowingly upon hearing the directive, understanding the coded language. Quickly closing the manual, Tyson got to his feet. He headed out the door into the corridor, toward the central clearing.


    Approaching the area surrounding Mjolnir, Tyson took in a scene of heightened alertness and tension. The guards around the hammer were on edge as they scanned the rainswept darkness for any potential threat. The torrential downpour continued unabated, reducing visibility to a few feet and putting all on edge. Stepping outside, Tyson was immediately drenched by the unrelenting sheets of rain.


    Over the comlink, Barton''s voice rang out, brimming with confidence. "Target in sight. One shot, one kill, sir. Just give the word...or are you sending in more guys for him to beat up?"


    Coulson''s measured response followed a moment later, calm and controlled. "I''ll let you know," he replied evenly, keeping all options open.


    Suddenly, a figure emerged from the gloom and came into Tyson''s view. It was Thor, the legendary Asgardian God of Thunder, though he appeared far removed from his usual regal bearing. Thor was soaked to the bone, wearing only a simple blue t-shirt and jeans that clung to his muscular frame. His long blond hair was plastered against his head and neck, rivulets of water dripping down his rugged face.


    Despite his appearance, Thor exuded an undeniable aura of power and confidence. He showed no visible fatigue after fighting his way through the base. Instead, his intense blue eyes reflected a calm control, as if the forces arrayed against him were but leaves in the wind.


    Thor''s initial assessment of Mirage was frank yet tinged with amusement. "You''re big," he observed, a grin spreading across his rugged features. "But I''ve fought bigger," he added confidently, challengingly.


    Unfazed, Mirage retorted, "When I win, you''ll have to tell me about it." Though relaxed, his powerful frame was coiled and ready for battle, his feet shoulder-width apart in a sturdy stance.


    Tyson recognized that, even stripped of his mystical hammer Mjolnir, and his Asgardian powers, Thor remained a formidable fighter not to be underestimated. But Tyson had been training rigorously under the tutelage of Colleen Wing for most of the past year, and now he wanted to test just how far he had progressed in that time. So for this fight, Tyson consciously limited himself to human strength levels, not employing any of his superhuman abilities.


    The stormy skies overhead rumbled ominously as Thor charged towards Mirage.


    Tyson braced himself, expecting the Asgardian warrior to barrel into him with brute, uncontrolled force. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, his body poised to react. However, as Thor closed the distance, his fists clenched and raised in a classic boxer''s stance. He threw a swift jab aimed at Tyson''s face. Thor''s assault was measured and precise. He moved with the timing of a seasoned fighter using a tactical jab meant to test and probe his opponent''s defenses.


    Mirage parried the blow with a swift upward block, his forearm deflecting Thor''s fist harmlessly to the side. The Asgardian followed up with a powerful cross, but Tyson ducked beneath the punch. Seizing the opening, he retaliated with a precise knife-hand strike to Thor''s ribs, his fingers curled and rigid. The Asgardian grunted at the impact but quickly countered with a sweeping kick, seeking to knock Mirage off balance. Tyson leaped over the kick, his body twisting in midair with the agility of a cat. As he landed, he immediately launched into a spinning back kick, his heel aimed squarely at Thor''s chest. The Asgardian barely managed to bring his arms up in a cross-block, absorbing the blow but stumbling backward from the force.


    As Thor launched into a blistering series of rapid punches, Tyson deflected each blow with minimal, efficient movements. His arms formed a sweeping defense that allowed him to redirect the Asgardian''s strikes away from his body. Thor varied his attacks, mixing punches with kicks, seeking to find any small opening in Mirage''s guard. Tyson responded by subtly shifting his stance and footwork. He used Thor''s momentum against him, redirecting the force of each blow and causing the Asgardian to stumble slightly off balance.


    Pressing his advantage, Tyson moved in with a flurry of strikes, his hands a blur of motion. He alternated between precise finger jabs to Thor''s pressure points and open-palmed strikes designed to rattle the Asgardian''s senses. Thor bobbed and weaved, keeping his hands up in a tight guard.


    Spotting a gap in Tyson''s offense, Thor surged forward with a powerful uppercut, his fist rocketing upwards from his waist. Mirage swayed back at the last second, the punch grazing his chin. Using the momentum of his dodge, Tyson spun into a low sweeping kick, his leg scything towards Thor''s ankles.


    The Asgardian leaped over the kick, but Tyson had anticipated this. Even as Thor was airborne, Mirage rose, his elbow arcing upwards in a devastating strike aimed at the Asgardian''s chin. Thor twisted his head to the side, the blow glancing off his cheek.


    The relentless downpour had rendered the ground slick and hazardous, but both warriors adapted smoothly, never losing focus or footing. Over the coms, Barton''s amused voice crackled to life. "Well damn, Mirage broke the streak. I was starting to root for this guy too." Though his tone was lighthearted, his words acknowledged their impressive hand-to-hand skills.


    Hearing Barton''s remark in his earpiece, Mirage responded, "Warmup''s over." His bold declaration signaled a clear shift in the fight''s intensity.


    The rain continued its relentless downpour, turning the earth into a slick and hazardous battlefield. But neither warrior slowed their pace nor lost their footing on the muddy ground. They adapted smoothly, focus unbroken.


    Tyson pressed his attack, transitioning seamlessly from a high, arching roundhouse kick to a rapid barrage of surgical punches. Thor quickly raised his leg to block the kick, then countered the punches with a tight hook.


    Mirage pinned the punch between his side and elbow, then swiftly retaliated with a knife-hand chop to the Asgardian''s vulnerable neck. His counter was followed instantly by a palm strike to Thor''s sternum. The powerful thrust sent Thor staggering back with a ragged gasp, his breath coming in labored wheezes.


    With each evasion and strike, Thor was maneuvered closer to the position Tyson wanted. Mirage was outmaneuvering the fallen god, and Thor now stood exactly where Tyson intended all along.


    Sensing his opponent''s exhaustion, Tyson ruthlessly pressed his advantage. He unleashed a devastating series of kicks, using the added weight of his metal bones to amplify each blow. Thor''s upper body was pummeled relentlessly, every impact jarring. Tyson shifted lightly on his feet, then launched into a sidekick. His foot crashed against Thor''s chest with the force of a wrecking ball, sending the Asgardian tumbling heavily to the muddy earth.


    Thor lay stunned for a moment, battered and dazed. Slowly and painfully he pushed himself up with trembling arms to his hands and knees. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his addled mind. As his vision came into focus, he stared at Mjolnir, the mighty hammer lying just inches from his outstretched fingers.


    Just as Tyson intended.


    Coulson''s commanding voice suddenly crackled through the coms. "Hold. I want to see this."


    The rain poured down without mercy as Thor slowly pulled himself to his feet, grim determination etched into his features. His eyes were fixed on Mjolnir, the legendary hammer lying just beyond his grasp.


    Mirage relaxed his battle stance. He understood the significance of this moment all too well. He had, after all, coordinated his movements during their fight to orchestrate it, ensuring it happened.


    Thor took a deep breath, his muscular chest heaving with exertion and suppressed emotion. He knew that reaching for Mjolnir was the ultimate test of his worthiness. Thor was the son of Odin, a seasoned warrior, the hero of Asgard, who had faced countless challenges and emerged victorious. He would not hesitate now, not allow self-doubt or anxiety. Resolve flooded Thor''s chiseled features as he stepped toward his destiny.


    Bracing himself, the muscles along his arms corded and bulged as he tensed, veins standing out like ropes under his skin. For the span of a heartbeat, it seemed he might succeed in lifting Mjolnir, pure willpower fueling the attempt.


    The hammer remained anchored firmly in place.


    Frustration creased Thor''s brow as he struggled, his efforts growing more desperate. Grunting with exertion, he pulled and strained, trying vainly to lift Mjolnir. But the enchanted hammer, under Odin''s spell, would not move.


    It recognized only the worthy.


    And it found Thor lacking.


    Finally, after several more futile attempts, Thor''s strength gave out. He sank slowly to his knees in the mud, the full weight of his failure pressing down on his broad shoulders.


    He was no longer a god, he was just a man on his knees, broken and defeated.


    With his head bowed, the rain hid the tears on his cheeks. Thor was the picture of despair.


    "Ground units, move in. The show''s over." Coulson''s voice rang out firmly over the coms, signaling an end to the confrontation. SHIELD agents swiftly closed in, surrounding the kneeling Thor. But the fallen god seemed oblivious, lost in his anguish and thoughts of defeat. The rain continued to fall steadily, echoing the mood of the moment.


    A god, fallen, grappling with losing his power and status.

 Arc 5 - Ch 11: Worthy?

    Chapter 58


    Arc 5 - Ch 11: Worthy?


    Date: Thursday, June 2, 2011.


    Location: Shield field base, outside Puente Antiguo, NM


    Amora the Enchantress stood under a magically conjured shield. The dome isolated her from the relentless downpour that had turned the surrounding desert landscape into mud. Through her scrying mirror, she observed Thor''s progress as he fought his way through the human military encampment. The god of thunder''s combat prowess was still evident, even stripped of his Asgardian powers.


    Amora''s gaze lingered on the broad-shouldered man that now barred Thor''s path to his hammer. The man cut an imposing figure, clad neck to toe in black with a half-mask obscuring his features. She recognized him as the one referred to over the radio. The one ordered to guard Mjolnir.


    Mirage.


    Mirage engaged the diminished Thor, who remained a force to be reckoned with, even without his Asgardian might. But the masked man gave no ground and returned targeted strikes of his own. They appeared evenly matched, with Mirage landing more blows than he received.


    Amora was more concerned about the archer, hidden above with an arrow nocked. He was under orders not to interfere, but stopping an arrow at a distance was a greater challenge than stopping a brawl. For now, the outcome of his trial seemed to rest solely on the clash between Thor and the dark soldier. Her scrying mirror focused on the escalating melee. The ensuing fight between Thor and Mirage was intense, but Amora soon realized Mirage was merely toying with Thor. As the fighting progressed, Mirage continued to outmatch Thor in hand-to-hand combat.


    For a moment, Amora considered intervening, mistaking Mirage for an Asgardian due to his formidable fighting skills. She was poised to act, ready to ensure Thor''s trial remained untampered, but hesitated as she watched Mirage knock Thor to the ground near Mjolnir.


    She smiled at the sight of Thor approaching his enchanted hammer. This was the crux of his trial, the pivotal test of his worthiness. Amora watched intently, eyes fixed on the scrying mirror''s surface, as Thor extended his hand toward the hammer, that symbolic embodiment of his power and rightful heritage. This was his defining moment, the culmination of his journey to prove himself worthy.


    Amora''s breath caught in her throat as she watched Thor, the mighty Asgardian prince, reach for Mjolnir. His eyes were wide with a desperate, fragile hope that made Amora''s heart ache.


    But despite Thor''s mighty heaves, the legendary hammer did not budge from its resting place. It remained as immovable as the sadness now settling onto Thor''s broad shoulders.


    His hand dropped to his side, limp with defeat. Amora could almost feel the devastating loss reverberating through him. Where there had once been an aura of confidence and strength was now only a haze of despair. This was not the Thor Amora knew; the boisterous, unyielding warrior who laughed in the face of impossibility. The man before her was diminished, stripped of his power and purpose.


    Even Mirage seemed affected by the solemn scene. Though his expression was partly hidden behind his mask, Amora detected a sympathetic tilt to his head.


    When the human soldiers detained Thor, he offered no resistance. The prince allowed himself to be restrained and led away, head bowed under the staggering weight of this failure. Mirage watched pensively as Thor disappeared from view, then turned his attention to Mjolnir. He studied the immovable hammer with a contemplative air.


    Amora kept her focus on Thor as he was escorted away, no doubt to be questioned by the human agents of SHIELD, according to their heraldry. The once invincible hero now laid low. She wished to reach through the mirror to offer comfort, but such contact was forbidden.


    Thor sat handcuffed in the stark interrogation room, the very picture of defeat. His muscular frame seemed diminished, weighed down by the crushing disappointment of his failure. Across from him stood Agent Coulson, his posture relaxed yet professional, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the crestfallen figure before him. Though Coulson''s expression remained impassive, he felt a twinge of empathy for the stranger''s obvious distress.


    Coulson broke the heavy silence, his tone conversational yet probing. "Not many people can do what you did back there. Taking down highly trained agents like that? Impressive." Coulson continued, "You made hardened professionals look like a bunch of mall cops. It takes serious skill to manhandle them so easily. The kind of skill that comes from specialized training. Care to tell me where you picked up moves like that?"


    Thor stared straight ahead, offering no response.


    Undeterred, Coulson persisted. "Let''s see...Chechnya? Afghanistan? No, you look more like a soldier of fortune to me. Was it South Africa? Eastern Europe? Men with your talents can write their own paychecks these days."


    Still, Thor remained silent, his eyes clouded and distant.


    Coulson leaned in, his voice lowering. "Of course, there are certain organizations who pay handsomely for someone with your...expertise. The kind of groups that don''t mind getting their hands dirty."


    Thor continued to stare blankly ahead.


    Coulson sighed and sat back, studying the unmoving figure before him. "Who are you?" he asked plainly.


    After a long pause, Thor spoke, his voice leaden. "Just a man."


    Coulson stood, adjusting his tie. His expression betrayed nothing as he delivered his parting words. "We have ways of finding out what we want to know. Do this the easy way. It''ll be better for both of us." With that, he left Thor alone to wrestle with his inner turmoil.


    Thor sat motionless, his head bowed under the oppressive weight of despair. The blank walls around him seemed to close in, mirroring the numbness that had settled upon his soul. Lost in contemplation, Thor did not register the arrival of another presence in the room. "I thought he''d never leave," said a familiar voice, pulling Thor from his brooding. He looked up sharply to see Loki standing before him, concern etched across his brother''s pale features.


    "Loki?" Thor uttered in surprise. "What are you doing here?"


    Loki''s green eyes were grave as he replied, "I had to see you." His tone held a sense of urgency that set Thor''s mind racing.


    Thor searched his brother''s face, his own creased with confusion and worry. "What''s happened? Tell me!" A sudden fear gripped him. "Is it Jotunheim? Let me explain to Father¡ª"


    "Father is dead," Loki interjected solemnly.


    Thor froze, struck numb by Loki''s words. He stared at his brother in stunned disbelief. "What?" he finally managed to choke out, the single word barely escaping his constricted throat.


    "Your banishment, the threat of a new war... it was too much for him to bear," Loki continued, his voice heavy with implication.


    The full impact of Loki''s revelation slammed into Thor, forcing the air from his lungs. A swell of anguish rose within him as the notion took hold that he could be responsible for bringing about his father''s end. Grief and guilt contorted Thor''s features as he struggled to absorb the devastating news.


    Loki approached, his expression sympathetic. "You mustn''t blame yourself," he said gently. "I know you loved him." Loki''s green eyes bored into Thor''s. "I tried to tell him so, but he wouldn''t listen."


    With words chosen to deepen Thor''s despair, Loki went on. "It was cruel to put the hammer within your reach, knowing you could never lift it again." Loki''s voice held a note of consolation, even as his message sought to rob Thor of all hope.


    Thor stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused and haunted. Loki''s words washed over him, threatening to pull him further into the dark abyss of despair. The god of mischief pressed on, twisting the knife. "The burden of the throne has fallen to me now," he declared.


    At this, Thor lifted his head, some small ember of hope flickering in his electric blue eyes. "Can I come home?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.


    Loki firmly responded, "The truce with Jotunheim is conditional upon your exile. Mother has forbidden your return." the words struck Thor like a physical blow, their finality leaving the fallen prince feeling utterly defeated.


    Thor lowered his head in acceptance, the reality of his permanent banishment from Asgard sinking in fully. He was well and truly beaten, both in spirit and circumstance.


    Sensing the gravity of the moment, Loki added softly, "This is goodbye, brother. I''m so sorry."


    Thor lifted his head once more to meet his brother''s gaze, his expression etched with resignation. "No, I''m sorry," he replied heavily. "Loki... thank you for coming here." Thor''s gratitude was sincere if tinged by sorrow.


    Loki allowed his face to reflect the heartfelt emotion he did not feel. "Nothing could have stopped me," he said solemnly.


    Just then, Agent Coulson re-entered the room. Thor looked up only to find that Loki had vanished as quickly as he had come. He was left to grapple with the harsh reality of his situation, alone and adrift in this strange mortal realm. Exiled, powerless, and now seemingly abandoned by his family and his home realm of Asgard. The weight of despair pressed down upon his broad shoulders, threatening to crush the fallen prince.


    Amora''s piercing green eyes narrowed in contemplation as she continued to peer into her scrying mirror, considering the implications of Loki''s parting words to his brother Thor. Had some monumental events transpired in Asgard in the brief time since she came to Midgard, or was the god of mischief merely spinning an artful web of lies and deception? What possible motive could Loki have for misleading the banished thunder god in such a manner? Perhaps it was a calculated maneuver, intended to manipulate Thor''s emotions; to give him the push he needed to prove himself worthy. Or was this what Heimdall was trying to warn Amora about? Was she a pawn in a sinister plot to ensure that Thor''s exile from Asgard would continue indefinitely? If this golden opportunity for Loki meant Thor''s permanent exile, would it lead to her exile as well should he fail?


    With a wave of her slender hand, the Sorceress redirected her magic mirror''s focus, turning its gaze away from the crestfallen Thor. The glass surface swirled with colors and runes as the scrying spell shifted, before clearing to follow Loki. Amora watched the prince-turned-king intently through the mirror, scanning for any telling sign or clue that might hint at Loki''s genuine motives and the honesty of his words to Thor. Subterfuge and deception were well-known arts to the Enchantress, and she sought to discern the truth of the dark-haired Prince''s motivations.


    Inside the bustling SHIELD compound, agents and scientists worked diligently to repair the area surrounding Mjolnir. Amidst their activity, Loki casually approached the weapon, unseen by the oblivious mortals. An unreadable mix of curiosity and intrigue played across his features as he stood before Mjolnir, his gaze fixed on the hammer. He seemed to wrestle internally with an unspoken question, but Amora read his expression. Could he, as the acting ruler of Asgard, lift this hammer himself? Could he do what Thor could not?


    Was Loki worthy?


    Loki reached down slowly, almost hesitantly, and grasped Mjolnir. He exerted effort, straining to raise the hammer, but it remained motionless as if rooted to the very earth itself. Frustration and humiliation flickered across the dark prince''s features as he released his grip and stepped back, eyeing the hammer with contempt and disappointment. After a lingering moment, Loki turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Mjolnir where it lay.


    Observing this scene unfold through her enchanted scrying mirror, Amora was struck by the revelation that despite being the ruler of Asgard, Loki was deemed unworthy by Mjolnir. This realization raised intriguing questions in the sorceress''s mind about the true nature of worthiness and power. But before she could contemplate further, Amora''s gaze was drawn elsewhere. Amongst the agents and scientists busily working to repair the compound, one figure remained distinctly focused on Loki''s surreptitious actions.


    Mirage.


    While the others continued their tasks oblivious to the dark prince''s presence, Mirage seemed acutely aware, his attention fixed on Loki''s arrival and failed attempt to lift the hammer. His perception marked Mirage as different from the other mortals.


    As Loki vanished, returning to Asgard, Amora''s intrigue only deepened. Acting on her burgeoning fascination, the sorceress employed her magical abilities to teleport atop the sturdiest structure in the makeshift SHIELD encampment. From this elevated vantage point, she could observe the unfolding events directly with her own eyes. She watched intently from her perch as Mirage finally moved from his stationary position below. He approached Mjolnir with purposeful steps.


    As Mirage reached for the mystical hammer, a brilliant flash of lightning split the gloom, illuminating the night sky and lending an air of gravity to the scene.


    Mirage paused, glancing upward as if sensing the moment, or questioning the meaning behind the sky''s outburst. Then, resolve hardened his features as he wrapped his hand around Mjolnir''s short handle and squeezed. Bracing himself, muscles cording in his arms, he pulled. To Amora''s astonishment, the hammer shifted slightly, scraping over the muddy earth. Another crack of thunder roared overhead, as if in response to this monumental effort.


    The SHIELD agents nearby, who had been engrossed in their tasks, now stopped and turned to watch the incredible scene unfolding. Their eyes were wide with awe and disbelief.


    Mirage, perhaps spurred on by the very sky lending its support, tightened his grip and pulled again. The strain was evident in every line of his body. His muscles bulged, teeth gritted from the exertion. Once more, Mjolnir inched across the ground. The air surrounding the encampment seemed electric, charged with anticipation.


    Shouting, Mirage summoned every ounce of strength in his mortal form. Gripping the hammer with both hands, corded muscles standing out, he pulled with wild abandon. Mjolnir shifted slightly again, but despite this herculean effort, the hammer remained rooted.


    Amora found herself holding her breath. The sight of this Midgardian coming so close to lifting Mjolnir was wholly unexpected. It raised troubling questions about Mirage''s true nature and the extent of his might, setting him apart from the other mortal men.


    Mirage released his grip on Mjolnir, letting his arms fall limply to his sides as he stared down at the immovable hammer. His chest heaved with exertion and his muscles quivered from the intense strain. Though the object had shifted slightly under his efforts, it remained firmly stuck to the ground.


    Failure.


    The word reverberated through Mirage''s mind as he contemplated the mystical hammer that had denied him. He had summoned every ounce of strength and will within himself, only to be found unworthy.


    In the charged silence following his herculean attempt, the assembled agents looked on in awe and no small amount of wariness at this unexplainable feat. Though Mirage had not fully lifted Mjolnir, the fact that it had budged at all was astonishing.


    No one spoke a word, perhaps afraid to break the spell of the moment. The night air still hummed with energy, as if the very sky was weighing what had just transpired.


    Mirage stared down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. He leaned his head back, looking toward the night sky. The clouds still swirled and rumbled, echoing the tumult of emotions and questions stirring within him. He stared into the roiling expanse and wondered. A nearby rumble of thunder seemed to affirm his musings.


    Though Mirage ultimately failed to lift Mjolnir, his ability to shift the hammer was no small feat. That he succeeded where gods had failed did not escape the notice and fascination of the Enchantress. There was more to this mortal than enhanced perception and impressive fighting skills. Much more. Amora watched Mirage depart, her emerald eyes tracking his movements until he was lost from view amongst the milling agents. She drew her powers close and vanished in a swirl of emerald mist, reappearing a breath later beside the legendary hammer where it lay dormant.


    Alone now with the relic of legend, Amora reached out a slender hand to caress the worn leather grip. She could feel the thrum of power contained within the uru metal, like the heartbeat of a slumbering beast. The Enchantress knew the legends surrounding the hammer better than most. The weapon''s true power came from the God Tempest. The stories say that the God Tempest was an elder god that took the form of a great cosmic storm. When it threatened to destroy Asgard, Odin battled the God Tempest for days, and once it was weakened, Odin trapped it in a block of uru granted by the dwarves of Nidavellir. Then, the dwarves forged the uru into Mjolnir in the heart of a dying star. Even her vast mastery of Asgardian magic paled in comparison to the primordial forces contained within Thor''s hammer. She''d heard of the Allfather''s enchantment from Loki, that none but the worthy could lift Mjolnir.


    Amora eyed Mjolnir thoughtfully, contemplating if her vast mastery of Asgardian magic could override the Allfather''s enchantment. Perhaps, just for a moment, she might provide the counter to Odin''s spell. After all, the Allfather was not truly an enchanter or magic-wielder himself. Odin had full access to the Odinforce, an almost infinite power source. By channeling the Odinforce, he could perform feats akin to magic. However, Amora was a true sorceress, skilled from years of tutelage under Asgard''s greatest mystics. She ranked among the most powerful spellcasters in the realm.


    With her talent, could she hope to override Odin''s brute-force magic with a more elegant solution?


    Her fingers tingled as she drew forth her power, weaving the emerald strands of her magic to neutralize Odin''s binding.


    But try as she might, the hammer would not budge. Odin''s magic held strong, far out of reach of her skills. Sighing in frustration, Amora released her spell and drew back her hand. For all her vaunted power, she could not make it budge even a fraction.


    This failure ignited her curiosity. She found her thoughts returning to the masked man. What manner of man was he to possess such innate worth? Was it strength of character that allowed him to influence Mjolnir as no Asgardian could? Or had fate marked him for greatness in ways beyond her understanding?


    Amora realized this was no longer a mere curiosity. Discovering Mirage''s true nature had become imperative. This unremarkable mortal had done the impossible, and she needed to uncover his secret. The Enchantress now burned with the desire to peel away the layers of mystery surrounding the one called Mirage.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson trudged back into the base, not surprised, but still disappointed. The possibility of being deemed worthy enough to wield Mjolnir had sparked hope and excitement within him when the legendary hammer first shifted under his grip.


    As he walked, his thoughts turned to his meta-knowledge from his past life. Others had lifted Mjolnir; Vision and Captain America. With Vision, it''s unclear if it really ''counted'' as lifting the hammer. It''s possible that he was able to lift it because of his strength of character. However, it is nearly as likely that he could do so because he was an artificial being, not truly alive.


    Captain America''s first attempt to lift the hammer was a better metric to consider. Tyson believed that during Age of Ultron, Cap''s initial failure stemmed from humility; he was worthy and capable, but didn''t lift Mjolnir out of a desire to preserve Thor''s self-worth.


    But now, reflecting on his experience, Tyson was forced to re-examine that notion. Had it truly been a self-imposed restraint, or had Cap not been worthy then? If that was the case, what nuances of worthiness eluded Cap and now himself?


    The true question was¡­ What did being worthy even mean?


    Tyson turned his thoughts inward, sifting through memories and meta-knowledge, attempting to unravel the mystery of Mjolnir''s worthiness.


    The obvious metric was Odin''s judgment of whether someone was worthy. However, there was no way to know whether his, or Captain America''s, existence had even been noticed by the Allfather, without speaking to Odin, which was off the table.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Instead, Tyson focused on the qualities that might define one as worthy in Odin''s eye. A warrior''s spirit? An honorable heart? Tyson believed he reasonably fulfilled both criteria, though that couldn''t be all. Thor possessed these qualities and was still, for the moment, not worthy.


    So he considered the circumstances that led to Thor''s banishment and those that would restore him to his full might.


    Seeking battle with the Frost Giants led to Thor''s banishment in the first place. Then, sacrificing himself to stop the Destroyer''s rampage made him worthy.


    This led Tyson to a few possible characteristics; not aggressively seeking war, humility, selflessness, sacrifice, restraint, and wisdom.


    Tyson''s thoughts circled back to Captain America''s first attempt. Though honorable, and a consummate warrior, Cap had still been a soldier, moving from enemy to enemy; Loki and the Chitauri, HYDRA, Ultron, Tony, and ultimately the government itself. Captain America didn''t have a life beyond the fight. If self-imposed restraint hadn''t prevented Captain America from lifting Mjolnir, then it was likely that mindset.


    This forced Tyson to reflect on his actions since arriving in this world.


    He believed he had met many of the criteria to be considered worthy. Defending Xavier''s Institute from Stryker''s invading forces, though greatly outnumbered, and being captured and tortured, had shown selflessness, sacrifice, and battle prowess. He had killed, but so had Thor during his many years as a warrior, and presumably, Captain America had during World War 2.


    Overall, Tyson felt his actions had been honorable. He had not sought battles, yet neither had he avoided them. He had shown restraint and mercy, sparing his enemies. This balance of humility and readiness to fight when needed seemed in line with the requirements for worthiness.


    But then, he was forced to ask¡­ had he behaved honorably throughout his time here?


    Perhaps at first.


    However, after gaining Jason Stryker''s powers, he controlled and manipulated Ivan Vanko and Curt Connors. Perhaps turning them away from their paths was the right thing to do, but there were so many others he''d manipulated. He''d used his powers on Cindy Moon''s mother, Lady Bullseye, that HYDRA CEO, so many others he couldn''t count, and even Agent Sitwell, just earlier today.


    Did he even possess wisdom? He''d stolen half a million dollars worth of gold, putting him on SHIELD''s radar. He''d manipulated the Four Season''s management into giving up their best suite for him to live in.


    Yet, the hammer had allowed him to shift it briefly. Tyson wondered if that indicated something deeper. Unlike the others who tried to lift Mjolnir, Tyson contained multiple psyches¡­ residing within him. Perhaps he was worthy. But containing Sabertooth, Jason Stryker, or even Rogue was holding him back.


    Or maybe¡­ Tyson was overthinking things.


    Captain America may have been worthy during the events of Age of Ultron, just as he was during Endgame, and always had been. And the simple truth might be¡­


    Tyson was not.


    These thoughts occupied Tyson''s mind as he made his way toward Coulson. The concept of worthiness was not straightforward and would continue to gnaw at him for some time. He replayed the moment he wrapped his hands around the hammer''s handle making him wonder what inner virtue he lacked that had made the mystical hammer deem him unworthy.


    It seemed there were things he needed to atone for. Virtues he needed to cultivate. And maybe even, his own power he needed to learn to control before he could be considered worthy.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement¡ª


    Coulson stood with several agents around him, conversing with a newcomer as Tyson approached.


    "Donald Blake," Coulson said, a hint of skepticism flavoring his words. "That''s his name?"


    The newcomer nodded, "Doctor Donald Blake. He''s part of my research team."


    Coulson''s expression remained neutral, but the set of his shoulders, the way his weight shifted slightly back on his heels. He wasn''t buying it. "You seem to have some dangerous coworkers, Dr. Selvig," Coulson remarked mildly.


    Selvig held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Oh no. Donald isn''t dangerous, just...troubled." He dropped his hands and his expression turned regretful, sympathy in his voice. "The seizure of our work hit him hard. It was years of his life, gone in an instant when SHIELD took over the site. He got depressed, and started drinking heavily... well, I''m sure you know how it goes." Coulson said nothing, silently prompting Selvig to continue explaining. "He''s a good man," Selvig insisted earnestly. "Brilliant physicist, one of the most insightful minds I''ve worked with. But this whole situation has been hard on him. His actions today were... out of character." He spread his hands, appealing to Coulson''s reason. "Surely you can understand the turmoil he''s going through?"


    Coulson''s expression remained noncommittal, giving no indication of his thoughts. But he weighed the scientist''s words. Selvig resisted the urge to fidget under that assessing look, keeping his expression open.


    Coulson did not indicate that he accepted Selvig''s explanation. "Uh-huh. You mind if we take a moment to verify his identity?" he asked politely, though his tone made it clear it was not a request. He motioned to a technician stationed at a nearby computer terminal to run a search on the name Donald Blake.


    Selvig acquiesced with a small sigh, realizing he had little choice. "Certainly," he said, spreading his hands in a conciliatory gesture. As the technician initiated the search, Selvig continued his earnest attempt to explain Blake''s perspective. "You can understand how a man could go off like that, can''t you?" Selvig appealed to Coulson''s reason. "I mean, a big, faceless organization like yours, coming in with their jack-booted thugs and just taking private property..." he trailed off for a moment, then added, "Well, that''s how he described it, anyway."


    After a thoughtful pause, Coulson pointed out, "That doesn''t fully explain how he managed to tear through our security so easily," he said, leaving the implicit question open.


    Selvig scrambled for an explanation, offering somewhat facetiously, "Steroids. He''s a bit of a fitness nut, you know." He gave a small shrug, trying to rationalize how Blake could have exhibited such extraordinary fighting ability.


    On the technician''s monitor, a DMV record from the State of New York appeared, showing "Dr. Donald Blake" as the name and displaying a license picture of Thor. It was obvious that the photo had been taken on a cellphone. A flashing graphic appeared on his screen.


    ''SHIELD Security Analysis in Progress...''


    Coulson watched over the man''s shoulder, scrutinizing the information as it appeared. A security alert flashed over the image.


    ''Security Alert: Falsified Data.''


    After a long moment, he turned back to face Dr. Selvig. "It says here he''s a medical doctor," Coulson stated flatly, referencing the details on the DMV record still displayed on the technician''s monitor. But he didn''t give any indication of the security analysis results.


    Selvig nodded slowly, his mind racing to adapt to the unexpected situation. "He is...or rather, he was," Selvig explained after a brief hesitation. "He recently made a career change. Switched over to physics instead. He''s quite brilliant in the field, truthfully." Selvig''s response was an attempt to weave a plausible narrative around Thor''s assumed identity.


    Selvig then made a tentative request, his tone earnest and hopeful. "If you would just release him to me, I promise to keep a close eye on him."


    Agent Coulson considered Selvig''s words for a long moment, his sharp gaze sizing the scientist up as he deliberated over the decision. Finally, he gave a curt nod to one of the nearby agents.


    "Release Dr. Blake to Dr. Selvig," Coulson instructed briskly.


    The technician looked up sharply from his monitor, visibly surprised by Coulson''s decision. Coulson, however, was quick to add a condition to his order. "Make sure he stays in town for the next few days, in case we need to speak with him again," Coulson said.


    Relief washed over Selvig''s anxious features. "Thank you," he said earnestly, shaking Coulson''s hand. This had gone far better than he could have hoped.


    As the heavy metal door shut behind Dr. Selvig as he was escorted to Thor, Coulson turned to Tyson. "Impressive work out there," he remarked. "A dozen of my best men couldn''t bring that guy down, but you managed it without breaking a sweat."


    Tyson shrugged, "Just doing my job, sir. I''m not sure if Director Fury informed you, but I''m an expert at handling weird shit."


    Coulson studied him a moment longer before jerking his head toward the hallway. "Let''s go keep an eye on them."


    Tyson mumbled, "Damn, not even a smile."


    They emerged just as Selvig guided the muscular ''Donald Blake'' toward an old pickup truck. Coulson called out, halting their progress.


    "Keep him away from the bars, Doctor. The last thing we need is a repeat of that brawl."


    Selvig called back, "I will. You have my word."


    As the two men piled into the vehicle, Tyson saw an opportunity. "I can trail them for a while. With my abilities, they''ll never know I''m there."


    Coulson considered it briefly before nodding. "Not a bad idea. Go ahead, but keep your distance. With Barton in place, the camp is secure."


    Tyson headed toward an SUV leisurely, sliding behind the wheel and cranking the engine. He knew Selvig''s destination; there was only one town for miles. As long as he hung back out of sight, neither the doctor nor his companion would suspect a tail, plus he had illusions to mask his presence if necessary. Tyson pulled out slowly, following in Selvig''s tracks.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Thor and Dr. Selvig sat across from one another at the bar, each with a mug of beer and a shot of whiskey before them. Without hesitation, Selvig tipped his shot into his beer and drank deeply, eager to dull the edges of recent events. Thor watched his companion closely and mimicked the action, pouring the harsh liquor into his ale and drinking it down in one long pull.


    Selvig regarded Thor with a wry twist to his lips. "Seems Darcy''s a terrible intern, but a talented hacker," he remarked, acknowledging the unconventional way they had managed to free Thor from SHIELD custody.


    Thor met Selvig''s gaze, his blue eyes earnest. "Thank you for what you''ve done," he said sincerely.


    Selvig waved away the thanks with a shake of his head. "Don''t thank me. I only did it for Jane''s sake," he replied gruffly.


    Curiously Thor asked, "Are you in love with her?"


    "Of course not!" Selvig scoffed, quick to dismiss such notions. "Jane is like a daughter to me. Her father and I taught together at the university. He was a good man." Selvig''s voice held a note of old sadness. "But like Jane, he never listened to reason."


    Thor absorbed this quietly, ruefully reflecting, "Neither did I." He thought of all the times he had stubbornly ignored good counsel.


    "I don''t know if you''re just delusional or if there''s something to all this. Frankly, I don''t care at this point." Selvig said skeptically, "I just care about Jane''s welfare. I''ve seen the way she looks at you."


    Thor met the older man''s gaze. "I swear to you, I mean her no harm."


    Selvig searched Thor''s face for a long moment before giving a gruff nod, apparently satisfied. "Good. In that case, I''ll buy you one more drink, and then you''ll leave town tonight."


    The Asgardian prince considered Selvig''s terms, his stormy eyes clouded in contemplation. After a prolonged silence, Thor inclined his head in acquiescence and took a long draught from his mug.


    "I had it all backward. I had it all wrong," he mused, his resonant voice tinged with revelation. Thor''s countenance was grave as he reflected upon the humbling journey that had brought him to this bar.


    Selvig studied him closely, noting the subtle transformation. This was not the same cocksure man Darcy had hit with their truck. The man before him now was more introspective.


    Selvig offered, "It''s not a bad thing, finding out that you don''t have all the answers. That''s when you start asking the right questions."


    Thor took in the scientist''s words, recognizing their fundamental truth. "For the first time in my life, I have no idea what I''m supposed to do," he confessed plainly.


    Selvig said, "Anyone who''s ever going to find their way in this world has to start by admitting they don''t know where the hell they are."


    The simple profundity of the statement resonated with Thor, who acknowledged it with an inclination of his golden head. Their meaningful exchange, however, was interrupted by the unwelcome approach of a drunk and belligerent townie. The man recognized Thor from the diner earlier that day. Swaying tipsily, he leered, "Hey, I know you, man... You were in the diner with that hot girl." he said crudely.


    Visibly irritated by the man''s inappropriate comments, Thor maintained his composure. Rising to his full imposing height, he stated firmly, "I have no quarrel with you. But she''s a lady. You should be more respectful."


    The drunk''s aggression went undeterred by Thor''s warning. "And you should shut the hell up, princess," he spat mockingly.


    Selvig watched the exchange unfold with growing concern, expecting the towering Asgardian to react violently to the insult. But to his surprise, Thor remained calm and resolute. "I will not fight him," he declared, showing a restraint that impressed Selvig.


    Emboldened by Thor''s nonviolence, the sneering drunk pressed further. "Then it''ll be easy to kick your ass," he slurred, swaying unsteadily on his feet.


    Before the situation could deteriorate into a brawl, Selvig quickly intervened. Rising from his seat, he placed himself firmly between Thor and the posturing townie. Holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture, he urged, "Gentlemen, please. Let''s keep our heads here."


    In a sudden, unexpected move, Selvig, bolstered by his beer-balls, swiftly headbutted the drunk. Thor looked on with newfound respect, clearly impressed by the scientist''s bold action.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Coulson had instructed Selvig to keep Thor away from bars and predictably, that was exactly where they went first. Finding the seedy bar where Thor and Selvig had gone for drinks proved no challenge for Tyson. He''d even taken the time to change from his wet costume into his normal clothes. But upon approaching the garish neon sign emblazoned ''Cheeks,'' he couldn''t help muttering sardonically under his breath, "Classy."


    It wasn''t just a bar¡­ It was a strip club.


    Stepping inside, Tyson was immediately met with a concerning scene. Dr. Selvig had just headbutted an aggressive local unconscious, an uncharacteristically forceful act from the mild-mannered physicist. Tyson paused in the doorway, puzzling over what could have led to such an altercation. Before he could process the situation further, the downed man''s companions rushed toward Thor and Selvig.


    Tyson watched in dismay as the first local''s meaty fist collided with Selvig''s jaw, knocking the physicist back into the dingy bar. He dashed forward to intercept the impending brawl. The man who had struck Selvig received a swift punch to the face from Tyson, crumpling unconscious to the floor.


    More angry locals closed in, hungry for vengeance. Tyson pivoted as the second man swung wildly, dodging the blow. In a blur of motion, Tyson drove his elbow into the man''s soft gut before chopping the back of his neck. The man collapsed like a sack of bricks. The next pair rushed Tyson in unison. He ducked under a wild haymaker, fist thudding into the first man''s abdomen. As the man doubled over wheezing, Tyson spun, channeling his momentum into a crushing roundhouse kick. His foot connected with the second man''s chest. Both assailants hit the ground hard.


    The last of the townies stood motionless, eyes widening as he witnessed his friends swiftly dispatched by Tyson''s devastating strikes. Raising his open palms in surrender, he stammered "Alright, we get it." Tyson dismissed the man, allowing him to help his groaning friends away.


    Throughout the brief but intense skirmish, Thor had remained alongside Selvig, a spectator. For once, it was not the thunder god at the center of the battle, as the newcomer efficiently dispatched the unruly locals. Thor watched, impressed by his competence at aggressive de-escalation. Patrons slowly resumed their drinking and the atmosphere began to settle. Selvig, gradually recovering from the punch to his jaw, lifted his head to survey the aftermath. The aggressive locals were scattered and moaning on the floor around them.


    The stranger sat beside them at the bar, casually placing several hundred-dollar bills on the worn wooden surface. The bartender''s attention was instantly drawn, no doubt by the money and the recent bar fight. "I''ll cover their drinks and the cost of damages. Bring another round on me," the man said.


    Thor nodded in acknowledgment, gratitude evident in his blue eyes. He turned to face the newcomer, taking in his muscular frame and direct gaze. "Thank you, friend," Thor rumbled.


    The man extended a gloved hand in introduction. "Tyson," he said. Thor grasped the proffered hand in a firm handshake, feeling the strength coiled in Tyson''s grip.


    Responding, "Thor."


    The bartender quickly returned with three more boilermakers, the glasses hitting the scarred wooden bar with heavy thuds. Tyson''s mismatched eyes met Thor''s over the drinks. "Now I believe you owe me a story," he said with a hint of humor. "The one about the guy you fought that was bigger than me."


    Thor paused, momentarily confused. Then a flicker of recognition lit his bearded face as pieces fell into place; the man''s mismatched eyes, height, and strong build. "You were in the mask earlier at the camp," Thor rumbled. Tyson nodded.


    Thor studied him for a long moment, appreciation replaced with wariness. This newcomer had helped against the locals, yet his motives were unclear. Thor asked directly, "Why are you here?"


    Tyson answered, "I''m a consultant. The military brings me in for weird¡­ situations. And this qualified as weird." His explanation was straightforward, yet still left much unsaid. Thor remained guarded, unsure if this man was friend or foe. Then Tyson''s somber face cracked into a grin. "But to answer your question¡­ I''m here to drink, fight if needed, and see beautiful women¡­ if any ever take the stage." He lifted his boilermaker in salute as Thor chuckled, some tension easing from his broad shoulders.


    Tyson''s amiable, straightforward answer had shifted the atmosphere from strained to almost companionable. Nearby, Erik Selvig gently probed his bruised jaw, still recovering from the powerful blow dealt to him only minutes earlier.


    Tyson, leaning forward with interest, prompted, "So, what about that tale you promised?"


    Thor''s face crinkled into a grin. Grabbing his mug, he launched into a vivid narration of his invasion of Jotunheim, the icy realm of the frost giants. He described leading the charge into the frozen wasteland, his compatriots battling the towering, ferocious giants by his side. Thor recounted with pride how he had fearlessly confronted Laufey, the king of the giants, provoking chaos that had nearly ignited a war between Asgard and Jotunheim.


    As Thor concluded his tale, Tyson stared back, clearly impressed. "How big are these frost giants exactly?" he asked.


    "Easily three times your height," Thor replied matter-of-factly.


    Tyson let out a low whistle, envisioning the scale. Signaling to the bartender, he casually placed another hundred-dollar bill on the worn wooden bar. "Another round, please," Tyson requested.


    When the drinks arrived, Tyson lifted his mug in a toast. "To you, Thor Odinson," he proclaimed. "May you find whatever you''re searching for here on Earth." His words marked a gesture of respect for the Asgardian prince stranded in a world far from home.


    Thor raised his mug in response, the Asgardian and human warriors toasting one another in a show of newfound camaraderie. As the night wore on, they continued to share stories and drinks, their boisterous laughter filling the dive bar. Selvig''s eyes grew heavy, either from the alcohol or the blow he took earlier, his head drooping closer and closer to the worn bar top.


    When it seemed the astrophysicist was nearing the point of collapse, Thor extended his hand to Tyson in a gesture of gratitude and respect. "Thank you for the drinks, tales, and aid this night, Tyson the Mirage," Thor rumbled, his voice resonating with sincere appreciation.


    Tyson firmly grasped the proffered hand, returning the sentiment. "The pleasure was all mine, Thor Odinson," he replied. "I wish you well on your sojourn here on Earth."


    Effortlessly, Thor gathered the inebriated Selvig in his arms, hoisting the smaller man over one broad shoulder. Selvig offered no protest in his current state, head lolling as Thor carried him from the bar. The prince strode into the night, bearing his friend.


    Left alone at the bar, Tyson lingered for a moment longer, finishing his drink as he mulled over the evening''s events. He had decided it was time to take his leave, then, the atmosphere underwent an abrupt transformation.


    The overhead lights dimmed while spotlights mounted along the perimeter of a small stage flickered to life, redirecting the attention of all those present toward the elevated platform. Tyson realized his assumption that the strip club operated solely as a bar on this particular night had been mistaken. As the opening notes of a sultry melody began to play from hidden speakers, a figure emerged from the curtains and made her way onto the stage, undulating with the music. The spotlight captured her, demanding the focus of every lingering patron. Tyson found himself momentarily transfixed, his plans to depart temporarily forgotten.


    She was striking, so much so that she seemed almost out of place in the seedy club. An emerald bikini with accents of shimmering gold adorned her slender yet shapely frame, accentuating every curve. Her long, golden hair cascaded down to her hips in gentle waves. As she moved, her dance was both seductive and mesmerizing. Each movement flowed effortlessly into the next as if she were an integral part of the melody. The most captivating aspect of her performance, however, was her eyes. They locked onto Tyson with an almost tangible intensity, as if she could reach out and caress his soul with nothing more than her gaze. The hint of mystery within those emerald depths drew Tyson in, holding him captive in a near-hypnotic trance.


    Tyson found himself utterly enchanted by her presence. The rest of the seedy bar seemed to fade into the background, becoming the backdrop of her flawless performance. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched her dance, unaware of the moment he had risen from his barstool and sat at the edge of the stage. With the gap between them closed, Tyson was completely captivated by the lithe, blonde dancer. Each sway of her hips and arch of her back drew him deeper into her siren''s enchantment.


    Her body bent and twisted in time with the provocative rhythms in a display that was both athletic and intensely erotic. Yet underneath the raw sensuality in those hypnotic motions, there was an undercurrent of something more.


    Something¡­ magical.


    It lurked there in her eyes, in the coy smile that teased the corners of her full, red lips. Tyson leaned forward in anticipation, hungry to catch another glimpse of that primal essence behind the facade. She had him now, heart and soul, and they both knew it. He was already hers for the taking.


    As she danced, the woman leaned down towards Tyson, her presence managed to be commanding yet inviting. Despite the pounding music filling the room, her voice was clear as it reached him. "What''s your name, handsome?" she asked in a playful tone.


    "Tyson," he replied, momentarily unable to form more complex thoughts.


    As she continued to dance, her eyes never left him, and Tyson could not look away from her hypnotic stare. "Hello, Tyson. What brought you here tonight?" she asked casually, though her question held an undercurrent of true interest.


    Tyson responded openly, "Oh, just some weird shit out in the desert earlier today. Found a magical hammer lodged in the ground that belongs to a fallen Norse god named Thor. No big deal, pretty normal day for me," he answered breezily, the words flowing effortlessly from his lips under her spell. As soon as he finished speaking, he blinked, unsure where this sudden urge to reveal his secrets had come from. But the dancing woman just laughed, a rich, musical sound that returned his thoughts from surprise solely to her presence.


    "Is that so? You certainly lead an exciting life, Tyson," she purred, regarding him now with unveiled fascination lighting up her exotic eyes. Tyson wondered what about this woman compelled him to lower his guard and speak so freely.


    Amora the Enchantress smiled subtly as she listened to Tyson''s candid response, pleased at his willingness to divulge information. Though she appeared merely a dancer, her guise was proving effective at gathering intelligence from this intriguing man. Seamlessly weaving her questioning into the hypnotic rhythm of her dance, Amora probed gently, "And the hammer. Could you lift it?"


    Tyson''s expression became visibly troubled for a second time, his willpower straining against her enchantment. Sensing his internal struggle, Amora raised her hand in a graceful flourish that blended seamlessly into her dance, yet channeled a reinforcement of her magic''s hold over him. Unnoticed by Tyson, the renewed strength of her spell eased the tension within him once more.


    "I thought for a moment that I could, but I couldn''t. I''m not sure why," he confessed, a flicker of remembered hope and subsequent disappointment in his voice as he revealed his brief belief that Mjolnir would yield to his grasp. She maintained the hypnotic cadence of her dance, ensuring her magics kept Tyson''s guard lowered and his secrets flowing freely.


    "Don¡¯t be disappointed, you¡¯re very impressive for this¡­ place," Amora reassured him. As the sultry melody of Amora''s dance ended, she leaned in, her body undulating sensuously. Her voice was a siren''s whisper, intrigued and beguiling. "I''ll be seeing you soon," she murmured, her lips nearly brushing his ear. With a coy smile, she turned and sauntered gracefully off the stage, hips swaying.


    Tyson shook his head as if emerging from a daydream. His memory of the past few minutes was hazy, lost in a fog of magic and desire. He recalled only impressions. A dancer of such stunning beauty she rivaled, perhaps surpassed any other woman in his mind. And the sense that she had taken a particular interest in him.


    With a nonchalant shrug, he left a hundred-dollar bill on the stage for the nameless enchantress.


    Stepping out into the night, Tyson walked away briskly. The memory of the incredible stripper lingered, her beauty and magnetism imprinted in his mind. But the details of their encounter, her true identity, and the subtle workings of her magic remained hidden, lost in the sensual haze of her performance.

 Arc 5 - Ch 12: Battle of Puente Antiguo

    Chapter 59


    Arc 5 - Ch 12: Battle of Puente Antiguo


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Puente Antiguo, NM


    Tyson stirred awake, roused from his rest by the insistent buzzing of the earpiece nestled in his ear. It was an unusual occurrence for the mutant. He rarely rested, and even more seldom did he allow himself to drift into such a profound, lengthy sleep. The bright morning sunlight filtered into the rear compartment of the appropriated S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle serving as his makeshift bed.


    An amused voice emanated through the earpiece carrying a playful tone as it announced, "Base, we''ve got Xena, Jackie Chan, and Robin Hood." A voice in the background commented, "Is there a convention in town?"


    Tyson''s mind snapped into sharp focus, comprehending the humorous code names.


    Thor''s Asgardian allies. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three.


    He tersely responded over the coms, "Mirage trailing."


    Agent Coulson swiftly issued an order in response, "Observe, do not engage," he directed.


    Stepping out of the truck, Tyson employed his illusions to remain unnoticed as he moved through town. While he could observe most people without detection, he remained uncertain of how well his powers would function against the Asgardians. Reaching an intersection, he caught sight of them.


    The quartet was impossible to miss. Each member of the group carried themselves with the self-assurance of seasoned fighters, radiating confidence and power.


    Volstagg''s booming voice carried down the street as he led the group through the town. The largest of the Asgardians, he was a mountain of a man, his massive frame barely contained by armor. Fiery red hair and a beard framed his face like a lion''s mane, complementing his larger-than-life persona. In one meaty fist, he hefted a double-bladed axe. Several paces behind strode the remaining trio, their footsteps falling lightly in comparison.


    Lady Sif occupied the center position, tall and striking, with raven hair spilling down her back. Her armor blended elegant craftsmanship with functional design, articulated plates curving smoothly over firm muscle. One hand rested upon the hilt of her sheathed sword while her shield was strapped to her off arm. On Sif''s left sauntered Fandral, blond and handsome, with an easy grace and disarming smile that evoked the image of a charming rogue. His lightweight armor allowed maximum mobility, well-suited to the rapier hanging at his hip. To Sif''s right strode Hogun. His heavy brows and piercing eyes weighed and measured all before him. In contrast to the other''s armor, Hogun''s bore an Eastern style, layered leather and mail covering his compact frame. His weapon of choice was a spiked mace.


    Their outlandish appearance stood out starkly amidst the town''s residents. Conversations lulled and heads turned as the Asgardians strode by, their presence impossible to ignore.


    Elsewhere in town, Amora began weaving an intricate spell to alter her appearance, murmuring ancient words of power while gesturing with fluid motions. Green wisps of magic swirled around her lithe frame, transforming her Asgardian robes into contemporary Midgardian clothes of emerald and gold that clung to her curves. With a final utterance, the spell settled over her seamlessly, blending otherworldly elegance with modern fashion. Thus disguised, Amora strode confidently into the town as if she belonged there.


    Subtle enchantments rippled out ahead of her, gently diverting the attention of passersby. To their eyes, she was just another human moving through the streets, albeit a striking beauty. But Amora''s mind was sharp and focused on her critical mission; to ensure Thor''s trial proceeded without outside interference from Asgard. Gliding through the town, Amora''s spells kept her shrouded, yet she remained acutely alert for any signs of meddling.


    Suddenly, Amora''s innate mystical attunement to the Nine Realms flared to life. The distinctive energies of the Bifrost resonated within her senses.


    Someone had opened the bridge between Asgard and Midgard.


    A realization crystallized within Amora''s mind. Loki had warned this would happen. It was time for her to serve the purpose for which she had been recruited. It had to be Sif and the Warriors Three. Their dedication to Thor often bordered on recklessness, and their actions reeked of such impulsive foolhardiness. To Amora, their loyalty was admirable but misguided, veering into the realm of stupidity. Steeling herself for confrontation, she glided toward the main street of the town. She knew the character of Sif and her companions well. They were renowned warriors, but they were not subtle. Likely, they would brazenly announce their presence in the most direct and tactless way. Amora wouldn''t be surprised if they strode down the main thoroughfare without care for discretion or the need to keep a low profile.


    As Amora neared Main Street, she scanned the bustling crowd for the first glimpse of Sif''s raven hair or Volstagg''s imposing frame. Sure enough, Sif and the Warriors Three made their grand, conspicuous entrance down Main Street. Clad in full Asgardian battle armor and brandishing their weapons, they cut striking figures amidst the quaint human town setting. Their sudden appearance was so out of place on Earth that it immediately drew startled stares and hushed whispers from the local townspeople. Amora couldn''t help but roll her eyes at their predictable lack of discretion.


    Her gaze fixed on Volstagg. His imposing warrior''s frame and boisterous, echoing voice created a presence that dominated the street. Amora quickly formulated a plan. Nearby, there was a restaurant quaintly named ''Diner''. It presented the perfect first distraction.


    With a subtle gesture of her fingers and a whispered incantation, Amora wove strands of magic through the air. Her spell drifted unseen towards Volstagg and settled upon him. Though she stood at a distance, her enchantment took hold of his mind, amplifying an already considerable appetite for a man of his imposing size. The magic worked its influence slowly, gently nudging Volstagg''s thoughts towards the scents of sizzling meat and baked goods that wafted from the nearby diner. To Volstagg, the desire seemed to arise naturally from within. Such was the subtlety and cunning of Amora''s spellcraft. If her magic did not directly harm its target, it could often work undetected, unless the victim was warded against such enchantments.


    Now wholly captivated by the notion of eating, Volstagg drifted towards the source of the tantalizing aromas. His abrupt change in course caught the attention of his companions, who exchanged puzzled glances at his behavior.


    From her vantage point, Amora allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. The first part of her plan had succeeded flawlessly.


    As Volstagg wandered towards the diner, Hogun''s dark brows drew together in concern. "Where are you going, Volstagg?" he called out to his comrade.


    Volstagg turned back to face them, his bearded face alight with enthusiasm. "It may take time to find Thor," he proclaimed, "we should fill our bellies before beginning the search."


    Though his words seemed perfectly reasonable in Volstagg''s mind, they deepened the confusion of his companions. His focus on sating his appetite was apparent as he ambled towards the diner. Sif and Fandral exchanged a look conveying their skepticism at their companion''s priorities given their urgent mission.


    "Volstagg, we have been tasked with a quest of grave importance," Fandral called out, a hint of frustration creeping into his usually cheerful tone. "As much as we all enjoy a fine meal, finding Thor must be our first and only objective for now. Earthly delicacies, however tempting, will simply have to wait."


    Sif nodded, her beautiful yet stern features etched with concern. "Thor''s predicament here in Midgard is precarious," she added. "We cannot fritter away valuable time on frivolous diversions, not when our sworn duty is to aid our friend in his time of need."


    "Aye," rumbled Hogun in his somber baritone. "Thor''s welfare and the success of this mission must take precedence over our cravings."


    Volstagg halted, turning to face his companions with a pleading look. "Come now, friends, surely a small meal will help prepare us for the trials ahead!" he cajoled. "A warrior fights best on a full stomach, after all."


    But despite Volstagg''s coaxing, his comrades remained steadfast. They were Asgardian warriors, disciplined and devoted to their duty above all else. While they understood their friend''s legendary appetite, the situation demanded immediate action, and they could ill afford unnecessary delays, not when Thor''s fate hung in the balance.


    Amora watched the warriors'' exchange from a distance, pleased that her spell had created precisely the diversion she had hoped for.


    As Volstagg continued pleading with his companions about the necessity of a meal, Amora shifted her focus to Fandral. She knew him well. His dashing appearance, ready charm, and silver tongue had them crossing paths in the past. While formidable, his charisma was no match for Amora''s talent for manipulation. Sensing an opportunity, Amora subtly cast a spell designed to exploit Fandral''s desires and emotions. She targeted him specifically, aiming to twist his charms toward Sif. For a sorceress of Amora''s skill, such spells were child''s play. Lady Sif, though committed to the warrior''s path, remained one of Asgard''s great beauties. That fact alone amplified the potency of Amora''s enchantment. In Amora''s eyes, though she hated to admit it, Sif was her greatest rival for Thor''s attention.


    With a gesture and whispered incantation, Amora spun her web, directing its insidious threads at the unsuspecting Fandral.


    The spell took hold, working a subtle change over Fandral. His eyes now held a distant, glazed look. Slowly, as if in a dream, his gaze turned toward Sif, no longer seeing a comrade-in-arms but instead viewing her through the lens of desire and infatuation.


    Absorbed in her attempt to convince Volstagg away from the diner, Sif did not notice the subtle change in Fandral''s demeanor as Amora''s spell took hold. The enchantment went undetected, silently working its influence over his mind.


    Under the veil of the spell, Fandral''s perspective shifted. He turned to Sif. When he spoke, his tone sounded reasonable, yet it was tinged with the effects of Amora''s magic. "Volstagg is set on having a meal," he pointed out. "We''re wasting time arguing with him when we should be searching for Thor. Why not just let him eat? We can split up. Volstagg can go sate his hunger while you and I search this way, and Hogun can go another way."


    "We shouldn''t separate in a realm unfamiliar to us," Sif countered, "It could lead to unforeseen dangers."


    Hogun nodded in agreement. "It is foolish to split apart when we do not know what threats this land may hold," he added.


    However, swayed by his gnawing hunger and Fandral''s reasoning, Volstagg sided with Fandral. "Fandral makes a fair point," he argued, "If you won''t join me, we''ll cover more ground by splitting up."


    Unseen by the bickering warriors, Amora observed the drama with satisfaction. The division within the group served her purpose, creating delays and distractions that would hinder their search for Thor. With her plan steadily unfolding and sowing discord among the warriors, Amora decided to weave one final spell.


    Amora''s lips moved silently as she wove another enchantment, the whispered words imbued with sorcery that slithered unseen through the air toward Hogun. The spell was intended to creep into his mind, subtly twisting his perception of his trusted companions.


    As the magic took hold, Hogun''s view of the situation began to morph. His comrades now appeared not as allies, but as rivals competing amongst themselves for personal glory. In his warped perspective, Volstagg''s insistence on stopping to eat was not an attempt to regain strength, but a deliberate ploy to distract the group from their urgent mission. Fandral''s suggestion to divide their forces, and his eagerness to partner with Sif, seemed a calculated maneuver to monopolize any honor or glory from aiding Thor, no doubt to embellish his tales of yet another grand exploit. This distorted view eroded Hogun''s loyalty, twisting it into a possessive jealousy. The notion that his trusted allies, with whom he had fought countless battles, were now seeking to outshine each other for selfish reasons was abhorrent to him.


    His customary stoicism gave way to heated words laced with suspicion. "Why must we be divided by such trivial matters? Are we not united in our purpose here for Thor? Or does some other motive drive you? Perhaps it''s the desire to claim individual glory?" He accused.


    Volstagg, growing increasingly impatient and hungry, finally declared, "Enough pointless talk," he bellowed, turning resolutely toward the diner, single-minded in his desire to finally eat.


    The enchantment cast by Amora clouded Hogun''s perception, causing him to view Volstagg''s departure as a betrayal of the group''s unity. As Volstagg turned to leave, Hogun reached out and grasped his shoulder, holding him back. "Why are you so eager to split the party?" Hogun demanded.


    Feeling suddenly constrained, Volstagg reacted without thinking. He whirled around, shoving Hogun with his substantial strength and sending the slighter warrior stumbling several feet backward.


    "All I want to split with you is a meal!" Volstagg shouted, his impatience finally boiling over.


    As the confrontation escalated, Fandral turned to Sif, gently taking her hand in his. "Let''s search together, you and I," he suggested smoothly, "Let Hogun and Volstagg work out their quarrel. We can reunite with them later, once they''ve regained their senses."


    Sif felt torn. She quickly grew concerned that her companion''s worst qualities were becoming so pronounced.


    Tyson watched from a short distance as the camaraderie between the Asgardian warriors rapidly deteriorated into heated arguing. Hogun and Volstagg in particular seemed on the verge of coming to blows, their voices raised in anger. He tapped his earpiece. "Adventuring party has devolved into an argument, permission to de-escalate?" Tyson requested calmly, ready to intervene and restore order among Thor''s friends if needed.


    There was a brief pause on the line as Coulson considered Tyson''s request. Tyson waited patiently for a response, his gaze fixed steadily on the increasingly volatile Asgardians, prepared to act the moment Coulson gave the order.


    After a few seconds of hesitation, Coulson''s voice finally responded over the comms, "Negative. Do not interfere," he instructed firmly.


    Tyson frowned. He disagreed with the decision but given his low rank within SHIELD, he decided not to break the chain of command¡­ yet. "Understood," he responded simply and continued observing the scene unfold. Though he subtly began casting illusions, directing the civilians away from the area.


    Sif found herself increasingly puzzled by Fandral''s behavior. His hand still clasping hers, Fandral spoke with uncharacteristic sentimentality. "We''ve been adventuring together for years and we''ve never taken comfort in each other''s arms," he said, his tone oddly wistful. "Thor''s banishment made me realize that we aren''t truly immortal and that I need to make the best of every moment."


    Sif gazed at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She had fought alongside Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun for years. Now, each of her companions was displaying unusual behavior that seemed increasingly erratic. She wondered if there was some contaminant or influence in Midgard affecting them. Yet the townspeople seemed unaffected. She ruled out the possibility. If something was affecting the Asgardians it would be doing far worse to the humans.


    Sif tried to piece together the puzzle. Fandral¡¯s excessive romantic gestures, combined with Volstagg''s abrupt insistence on food and Hogun''s sudden jealousy.


    A dawning realization came over her.


    The obvious clue was that only the Asgardian men in her company were behaving so strangely. It pointed towards a specific kind of manipulation; one that preyed on desires and emotions.


    Enchantment.


    A subtle, yet potent magic that could influence minds without leaving any visible trace. Enchantment was particularly potent when cast by a magic user of the opposite sex.


    In the realm of Asgard, there was one who was notorious for weaving such deceptive spells. Amora the Enchantress. Sif suspected she was behind this, using her sorcery to manipulate the Warriors Three for some hidden purpose. It was a troubling thought, yet Sif knew she needed to act. Her companions were not themselves, their minds and judgment compromised. She would need to break the Enchantress''s hold over her friends.


    Sif''s eyes darted over the boulevard, searching for any sign of the Enchantress''s presence. Though Amora''s spells were cleverly designed to avoid notice, rendering her unremarkable to those around her; now focused intently, Sif''s senses became attuned to what she previously overlooked. The humans that had dotted the streets were now mostly gone, she spotted a figure who remained, their mundane appearance failed to disguise the stark beauty of the sorceress within.


    "Amora!" Sif''s voice rang out in a battle cry, sharp and clear.


    With Sif''s cry shattering the enchantment, Amora''s hold on the Warriors Three vanished. The fog clouding their minds lifted and awareness returned to their eyes. Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun blinked with dawning comprehension as the manipulations fell away. Their attention snapped to Amora, confusion shifting to recognition.


    Amora stood, revealed, her intricate schemes and spells undone with a word. No longer could she operate from the shadows, subtly pulling strings. Now she faced Sif and the Warriors Three directly. Though exposed, the Enchantress was far from helpless. If she could not rely on guile, she would confront them diplomatically, should that fail, she would resort to sorcery and power.


    Shedding all pretense, Amora let her disguise as an ordinary townswoman fall away. Her true form emerged dramatically from the illusion, green and gold clothes morphed into her sorceress garb. The Enchantress met their gazes with regal confidence befitting her status as a powerful sorceress.


    "Greetings, Lady Sif, Warriors Three of Asgard," Amora announced, her voice carrying a subtle blend of defiance and poise.


    Sif stepped forward, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Dispense with the pleasantries, Enchantress," she spat. "We know you''ve been using your magic to meddle in our affairs here on Midgard. Now reveal your true purpose at once!"


    Amora smiled calmly, adopting the patient tone of an adult explaining simple truths to a confused child. "My purpose? Very well¡­ I was merely trying to prevent you from committing treason against the throne of Asgard," she claimed, choosing her words carefully to justify her actions.


    "Treason?!" Sif declared incredulously, taken aback by the accusation. "You dare accuse us of treason?!"


    Amora elaborated, "Loki now sits upon Hlidskjalf as acting king. And he has charged me with overseeing Thor''s trial of banishment, to ensure it is completed without interference."


    Sif''s eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "What trial do you speak of?"


    "Thor''s powers were stripped and his hammer was enchanted by Odin Allfather himself. A test, a trial if you will, for the fallen prince to prove his worth and reclaim his status in Asgard." Amora elaborated. She met Sif''s gaze directly. "By attempting to aid Thor prematurely, you would undermine this trial and defy the will of your king¡­ Hence, treason."


    Sif furrowed her brow, processing Amora''s words that cast recent events in a very different light.


    Amora pressed her perceived advantage. "I serve Loki only in this matter, to see Odin''s will done. Thor must face this test alone. You would be wise not to interfere."


    Though still wary, Sif could not deny the Enchantress''s words held some truth. Perhaps there was more to Thor''s banishment than she considered.


    Sif''s determination was evident as she appealed to the Enchantress with a sense of urgency in her voice. "Amora, you know as well as I that Loki is treacherous," she implored, trying to find common ground.


    But Amora remained steadfast, unmoved by Sif''s appeal. "Does he not wield Gungnir?" she countered, referring to the powerful spear that was a symbol of Asgard''s kingship.


    Reluctantly acknowledging this truth, Sif admitted, "He does," a hint of frustration creeping into her tone.


    Seizing on this concession, Amora pressed her argument. "He wields the king''s spear. He is the son of the king. That makes him the rightful ruler of Asgard," she emphasized, her voice ringing with conviction. Then Amora turned the tables, her eyes flashing as she accused Sif directly. "Loki has a legitimate claim, regardless of what you think about his character. You''re trying to choose which successor you want on the throne," she charged, her voice sharp with accusation. "Your actions, coming here to interfere with Thor''s trial, are the very definition of treason and a blatant attempt to incite civil war."


    Sif and the Warriors Three were momentarily taken aback, stunned into silence by Amora''s bold words. The accusation of treason was a serious one. The situation was complex, with their loyalty to Thor clashing against their duty to respect the laws of succession. While their suspicions about Loki''s true intentions only further muddied the waters. They were torn, wavering between supporting their friend, obeying their king, and remaining loyal to the realm.


    Sif remained resolute, the weight of their actions settling upon her shoulders. "Yes, it is treason," she admitted solemnly, her voice tinged with regret. Though it pained her to defy Asgard''s laws, she could not abandon Thor to exile. Turning to Amora, Sif regarded the Enchantress with grudging admiration. "I respect your dedication to Asgard, Amora. Which makes me regret what I must do now."


    With those fateful words, Sif raised her shield and drew her sword, adopting a battle-ready stance. Beside her, the Warriors Three reacted in unison, bonded by their unflinching loyalty. The imposing Volstagg hefted his heavy double-bladed axe in anticipation. Fandral unsheathed his slender rapier with a flourish, and the taciturn Hogun gripped his studded mace.


    Together, the four Asgardians stood united against Amora, their weapons drawn in defiance. For the sake of their sworn oaths, they would brave any consequences to uphold their duty to Thor.


    In response to their open rebellion, Amora wasted no time in unleashing her sorcery''s full fury. Weaving her slender hands in intricate patterns, she conjured a maelstrom of crackling arcane energy. The air around her hummed with power as she prepared to subdue these defiant enemies.


    The shimmering arcane bolts shot forth from Amora''s outstretched hands, zigzagging through the air toward Fandral, Hogun, and Sif. Fandral reacted with the swift grace of a dancer, nimbly sidestepping the magical projectiles. Hogun''s dark eyes remained fixed upon Amora, his awareness allowing him to dodge clear of her assault. Sif raised her shield just in time, the sturdy metal absorbing the full impact of the sorceress''s attack. Amora''s magic flared brightly against the Asgardian steel before dissipating into the air. Volstagg charged toward Amora. The Enchantress had ignored the imposing Volstagg in her first volley. Seeing his approach, Amora acted quickly to defend herself. Moments before the impact, she vanished in a swirl of sparkling magic, reappearing several feet away, coalescing out of thin air.


    Weaving her slender hands in intricate patterns, Amora summoned the full might of her mystical powers. Bolts continued shooting from her palms, forcing the Asgardian warriors to scatter and roll across the ground to avoid the magical onslaught. The Enchantress alternated her offensive spells with defensive shields of shimmering light, swiftly conjuring magical barriers whenever one of her opponents managed to draw too close. But Amora''s most powerful offense was her conjuring of rock and stone golems that flanked the warriors and struck at them when distracted. Sif slashed at one construct with her glinting sword, only to have the blade firmly lodged in the middle of the golem''s dense body. Hogun shattered another golem with a crushing blow from his mace, but two more materialized to take its place. The conjured minions divided the Asgardians'' attention, preventing them from directing their full might toward the sorceress herself.


    Yet for all the chaos sown by Amora''s golems, the warriors of Asgard demonstrated the skill that had made them legends. Seamlessly they adapted their tactics, fighting as one unified force, covering each other''s blind spots, and coordinating their strikes. While the Enchantress''s spells could not halt their advance, neither could the Asgardians get close enough through the elementals to land a decisive blow.


    Recognizing the need to alter her strategy, Amora prepared a more potent enchantment. Unlike her earlier, subtle attempts, this one was designed to cloud the minds of men as easily as she conjured her stony allies. She fixed her gaze upon Fandral, her eyes now glowing with supernatural power and coercion.


    "Help me, Fandral!" Amora cried out, her voice shaped into a desperate plea though her words were but a honeyed snare. "They''re trying to kill me!"


    The spell took hold immediately. Fandral the Dashing fell under the Enchantress''s ensorcellment. In but a moment, his demeanor transformed, and he now saw Amora not as a dangerous foe, but as someone in dire need of his protection. Compelled by her magic, he moved to defend the Enchantress.


    Fandral launched a swift lunge with his rapier, aimed at the back of his nearest ally. The Enchantress''s spell had turned his mind, transforming friend into foe in an instant.


    Sif''s warrior instincts, honed over centuries of battle, allowed her to react just in time. Shifting her shield, she deflected Fandral''s blade mere inches from piercing her body, preventing a skewering but still shocked by her friend''s sudden betrayal. Fandral''s rapier glanced off Sif''s shield with a ringing clang of metal on metal, the force of the redirected thrust throwing the spellbound warrior off balance. Sif whirled to face her enchanted comrade, dismay written clearly across her face.


    "Fandral! What are you doing?" Sif demanded, unwilling to raise her sword against an ally. But the confusion in her voice fell on deaf ears. His eyes burned with supernatural compulsion, Amora''s magic allowing no room for reason or loyalty. With a guttural cry, he recovered his stance and pressed his attack once more. Sif parried the next thrust with gritted teeth. She only hoped the others would find a way to break Amora''s spell before she was forced to seriously hurt her friend.


    Fandral''s companions understood at once that he had fallen under some sinister enchantment. Hoping to subdue their comrade, Volstagg and Hogun acted swiftly. The enormous Volstagg approached from behind, wrapping his thick arms around Fandral in an unyielding bear hug that pinned his arms to his sides. Though Fandral struggled violently against the restraint, Volstagg''s formidable strength kept him immobilized.


    At the same time, Hogun resorted to more direct means to break the spell''s hold over Fandral''s mind. Though he held no desire to injure his friend, each of Hogun''s quick jabs was aimed at the head, to jar Fandral to his senses.


    The blows disrupted the insidious magic.


    Fandral blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. The glaze of enchantment faded from his eyes. He stared at his friends in bewilderment, realizing he had been manipulated into attacking them. Though still reeling from the broken spell, shame washed over Fandral at the deception he had suffered.


    Satisfied that the spell''s hold over their friend was broken, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif turned their attention back to where the Enchantress had been standing just moments before. To their surprise, Amora was nowhere to be seen. While they had been focused on freeing Fandral from her magic, the sorceress had seized the opportunity to vanish.


    The Asgardian warriors scanned their surroundings, searching for any sign of Amora, but she had managed to slip away undetected.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "She''s gone," Sif said through gritted teeth, her frustration evident. The others shared her sentiment.


    "That witch is slippery as an eel," Volstagg grumbled. "No matter. We''ll find her."


    The Warriors Three and Lady Sif regrouped, taking stock of their situation. Though relieved to have Fandral returned to his right mind, Amora''s escape posed a new challenge. The encounter with the Enchantress had been a significant setback, but they remained determined to fulfill their duty. The fate of their friend and the welfare of Asgard itself hung in the balance.


    "We must make haste," Hogun said solemnly. "Thor may be in grave peril."


    The others nodded.


    Now invisible to normal sight, Amora still watched from a rooftop. She noted the Midgardian, Tyson, was nearby. He used his own type of magic to obscure himself. But Amora possessed a resistance to mind magics that allowed her to pierce his illusions with little effort. Analyzing the nature of his abilities, the blonde woman realized they were not true magic like her own, but rather psionic in nature. This only further intrigued her. He possessed more abilities than he''d revealed previously.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The skirmish erupted suddenly between the striking blonde woman clad in an emerald green gown and Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. Tyson was glad he''d already weaved illusions to steer the nearby townsfolk away from the chaotic scene. The citizens remained blissfully unaware of the clash between the Asgardians in the middle of town.


    Tyson activated the communication device concealed within his ear. "Coulson, we have a situation here. A confrontation has broken out between a mysterious new woman and the Renaissance Faire crew. I''ve redirected civilians away, but things are escalating quickly."


    Coulson''s steady voice responded through the earpiece, "Understood, Mirage. We''re monitoring things closely. Do not engage or interfere unless absolutely necessary. As long as they''re ignoring bystanders, consider it an internal matter for the time being. Containment and gathering intelligence on these unknown players are our priorities."


    Tyson shrugged. He was curious about the Asgardians'' capabilities and how he matched up. He scrutinized the blonde woman, Amora, if Sif''s shout was to be believed. She wielded startlingly potent magics; conjuring elementals, arcane bolts, and defensive shields. Tyson was intrigued, he had never encountered sorcery of this magnitude in person. He marveled at the possibilities such tremendous power could offer but for now, he would only observe, as Coulson instructed.


    Tyson watched as the Warriors Three and Lady Sif presented a formidable opposition against the mysterious sorceress. Despite her incredible magic, the Asgardians appeared seasoned combatants who operated in seamless unison. After distracting the Asgardians, the blonde woman executed a tactical retreat.


    Tyson sniffed the air. The scent of exotic incense, dusty ancient stone, and an enticing floral perfume still lingered, remnants of the sorceress'' presence. With a jolt, Tyson realized the scent was familiar. It matched the alluring stripper from the previous night. He was confused as to how or why the seductive woman was somehow this same sorceress, Amora.


    But more worryingly, none of this should be happening.


    Amora wasn''t supposed to be here.


    Tyson thought back to the invasion of the institute, and the time when Kraven showed up at the battle with the Green Goblin. Was this another instance of an unexpected character surfacing and complicating events that he thought himself prepared for?


    Even worse, he didn''t know much about Amora. He vaguely remembered the name, but she didn''t appear in movies that he recalled.


    Tyson was drawn from his thoughts by a strange disturbance on the horizon. Heat lightning flashed and crackled through clouds where no storm should be brewing. Suddenly, a funnel cloud descended rapidly from the roiling sky, swirling towards the earth below like a tornado. A burst of static sounded in his earpiece, cutting off Coulson''s voice mid-sentence. Tyson tried to re-establish contact, letting Coulson know the fight had ended, but only radio silence answered his hail. It seemed communications were disrupted. For the time being, Tyson realized he was alone.


    Weighing his options, he dismissed the idea of returning to the makeshift SHIELD base. Coulson''s last discernible words echoed in his mind.


    ''Gather information''.


    Tyson smiled. He could do that, but while doing so, he also had his own priorities. This was an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the visitors from Asgard. Making a decision, he dropped his illusion and approached Sif and the Warriors Three openly, hands raised in greeting to show he meant no harm.


    "Hail, friends!" Tyson called out respectfully but directly. "I am Tyson, though some know me as Mirage. I am a defender of this world. Might I have the honor of your names and purpose here?"


    The Asgardians turned as one, weapons raised warily before the Lady Sif stepped forward. "I am Lady Sif, and these are the Warriors Three. Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun," she proclaimed, indicating each of her compatriots in turn. "We come seeking our comrade Thor, who was banished to this realm. Do you know of his whereabouts, mortal?"


    Tyson''s smile broadened, though he was careful to keep it friendly rather than predatory. "Fortune smiles upon our meeting. Just last night I shared drinks with a mighty warrior who could be none other than your missing companion. He introduced himself as Thor." Tyson inclined his head respectfully to Lady Sif. "If you wish, I can lead you to where he has taken shelter."


    Sif''s stern expression softened slightly at Tyson''s words. She gave a single nod. "Your aid is appreciated, mortal. Please, lead us to Thor with haste."


    At her words, the Asgardians sheathed their weapons. Tyson gestured for them to follow and set off at a brisk walk down the street, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif close behind. Leading them to Thor would strengthen this tentative alliance. He guided the Asgardians toward where he knew SHIELD had confiscated Jane Foster''s equipment after Thor''s arrival.


    Tyson led Sif and the Warriors Three through the streets of Puente Antiguo. As they approached the building where Jane Foster had set up her research operation, Tyson spotted a broad-shouldered figure through the large ground-level windows.


    Thor stood at the stove, spatula in hand, brow furrowed in concentration as he tended to a sizzling pan of eggs and bacon. Oblivious to his audience outside, the fallen prince of Asgard seemed utterly absorbed in the task of cooking breakfast.


    Tyson rapped his knuckles against the glass pane, catching Thor''s attention. When Thor''s bright blue eyes met his, Tyson pointed eagerly behind him to the small company of Asgardians.


    "Greetings Thor. I found your friends!" Tyson called out, his voice muffled through the window.


    Thor''s bearded face lit up, eyes widening in delighted surprise. The spatula slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor as his eyes set upon his comrades with unrestrained joy.


    Volstagg''s impressive girth nearly blocked the others from view as he jostled forward, waving a meaty hand in enthusiastic greeting. The elegant Fandral and stern Hogun peered out from behind their larger companion, relief warming their tired faces. After days of separation, uncertainty, and failure, the reunion of Thor and his loyal warriors was a welcome and heartening sight. He crossed the small kitchen in two long strides and threw open the front door, the force of his excitement nearly pulling it from its hinges.


    "My friends!" Thor''s voice boomed out like thunder as the Warriors Three pushed past Tyson to get inside. Thor''s face split into a wide grin as he heartily embraced each of them, laughter rumbling in his broad chest. "This is a most welcome surprise. Come in, come in!"


    Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun crowded in, chatting and joking loudly as they clasped Thor''s arm and clapped him on the back. They ribbed him good-naturedly about his predicament on Midgard while poorly concealing their profound relief at finding their prince unharmed.


    Tyson stood back observing the joyous reunion. Thor''s Asgardian comrades appeared utterly delighted to see their banished prince safe and well in this mortal realm. The relief on Lady Sif''s usually stern face was evident as she grasped Thor''s arm, her dark eyes roaming his casual Midgardian attire with interest. "We feared for your safety after your banishment. You look...well," she said, a warm smile gracing her features.


    Thor''s grin only widened at this unexpected reunion. He led them eagerly into the kitchen, retrieving the slightly blackened eggs from the stove. "Indeed, I have fared alright here among these mortals," he replied, sincere gratitude etched on his face as his eyes met Tyson''s. "Thanks to the friends I''ve gained on Midgard." He gestured expansively around him. "Please, join us for breakfast."


    As the Asgardians and Thor caught up over generously laden plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, Tyson joined the group but remained a silent observer. He was pleased that he could facilitate this reunion while gaining the Asgardians'' trust. If he recalled correctly, the strange atmospheric disturbance from earlier marked the arrival of the Destroyer armor. For now, Tyson was content to enjoy a hearty breakfast.


    As Erik Selvig entered the room, he stopped short at the sight of the armor-clad Asgardians crowded raucously around the table.


    "I don''t believe it..." Selvig muttered, staring wide-eyed at the unexpected guests.


    Darcy Lewis poked her head around Selvig to get a look at the commotion. "Who are they?" she asked.


    "Lady Sif and the Warriors Three," Volstagg proclaimed between bites of pancake. "Surely you''ve heard tales of Hogun the Grim, Fandral the Dashing, and I, Volstagg the Svelte?"


    Selvig looked pointedly at Volstagg''s massive gut spilling over his belt.


    "Well, perhaps I''ve put on a little more muscle since I was here last," Volstagg amended with a chuckle.


    "That would have been a thousand years ago?" Jane Foster cut in. "In northern Europe?"


    "Exactly!" Volstagg confirmed enthusiastically. "Those lovely herring people. They worshipped us!"


    The Asgardians regaled the group with tales of their adventures on Earth a thousand years ago, their voices booming with laughter and merriment as they shared their stories over a hearty breakfast.


    As Tyson listened, a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head. He turned to Thor, a mischievous glint in his eye, and asked, "So then, Thor is obviously the god of thunder, but Lady Sif, does that make you his wife? The goddess of the harvest?"


    The warriors three burst out in laughter, their guffaws echoing off the high ceilings of the hall. Thor glanced at Jane before turning back to Tyson. "The mortals of the time took some creative liberties in their stories," he chuckled. "While I am... was the god of thunder, Sif and myself have only ever been comrades-at-arms. We have never been romantically engaged."


    Tyson pressed on. "I thought the legends spoke of your golden hair?" he asked, turning to Sif. "Was that a mistelling as well?"


    The warriors three suddenly fell silent, their laughter dying on their lips. Fandral shot Tyson a look that spoke volumes, a warning that he had stepped into dangerous territory. Sif''s expression turned murderous, her green eyes flashing with barely contained rage.


    "No," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "That was no mistelling. Loki, the trickster, used magic to change the color of my hair in a cruel jest."


    Sif''s eyes took on a distant look as she began to recount the tale, her voice trembling with emotion. "It was during a time of peace when the realms were in harmony. There was little fighting to be done, leaving us a bit bored, honestly. Loki, ever the mischief-maker, decided to play a trick on me. He snuck into my chambers while I slept and used his magic to turn my golden locks as black as night." The warriors three shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes downcast as Sif continued her story. "When I awoke, I was horrified to find my hair had been changed. I confronted Loki, demanding that he restore my golden tresses, but he refused, claiming that the dark color suited me better."


    Sif''s hands clenched into fists, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. "I was furious, humiliated. I demanded that Odin punish Loki for his transgression, but the Allfather only laughed, claiming that it was a harmless prank."


    As Sif finished her tale, Tyson spoke "Loki is a fool," he said softly, "And a creep for sneaking into your room while you were sleeping. I won''t back his claim that dark hair suits you better, as I never saw you blonde. But I can say that your black hair doesn''t detract from your beauty. It emphasizes the depth of your green eyes."


    Sif''s eyes widened, a flash of surprise crossing her face. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find a response.


    Volstagg broke the tension with a booming laugh. "It seems our young friend here is the second man to flirt with Sif this day!" he guffawed, slapping his thigh in amusement.


    Fandral, his face flushing with embarrassment, shot Volstagg a glare. "I didn''t do it intentionally," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was under enchantment."


    The Asgardians all burst into laughter once more, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the morning sun. Sif shook her head in amusement.


    "You are a smooth talker, Tyson," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "But do not think that your pretty words will sway me so easily. I am a warrior, not some maiden to be wooed with flattery."


    Tyson bowed slightly. "I would never presume to think otherwise, Lady Sif," he said, "I''m certain your battle prowess is as admirable as your beauty."


    Sif rolled her eyes.


    Thor''s laughter died down as he laid a heavy hand on Volstagg''s broad shoulder. "My friends, though I''ve never been happier to see anyone, you should not have come," he said, his voice tinged with regret.


    Fandral shook his head, blonde locks swaying. "We''re here to take you home," he insisted.


    At his words, Jane''s face fell, crestfallen. She had hoped for more time with the man who had so abruptly entered her life. Thor sighed, the weight of responsibility bowing his shoulders. "You know I cannot. My father is dead because of my recklessness. I must remain in exile to atone for my sins."


    The warriors three exchanged puzzled looks. "Thor..." Lady Sif began gently, placing a gauntleted hand on his arm. "The Allfather yet lives."


    Thor reacted with shock, nearly dropping his fork to the floor. He was momentarily stunned into silence as he processed this revelation. Grasping Sif''s arm with sudden urgency, he demanded "What? But how can this be? Loki told me Odin had perished and that the line of succession fell to him. He claimed the throne with the Allfather gone. But if what you say is true..."


    Sif''s expression was grave as she interrupted, "Loki conspires to unlawfully seize the throne of Asgard. Even now he wields Gungnir in your father''s stead and has enlisted Amora the Enchantress to aid his cause."


    "She seemed to give you all a real challenge." Tyson commented, "Any idea why she''d be involved in whatever scheme Loki is hatching?" He asked as much in hopes of gaining their insights as fitting her presence into his metaknowledge.


    Sif''s face was grim as she responded, "She claims Loki sent her here to prevent our interference." She turned her piercing gaze to Thor, urgency lending steel to her voice. "We cannot delay. You must return with us at once to challenge Loki''s false claim to your father''s throne."


    The discussion was abruptly cut short by a commotion outside, the sound of shouts and cries of alarm filtered through the outer walls of the building. The Asgardians exchanged worried glances, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons as they rose from their seats. Tyson followed the warriors as they stepped outside momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, he saw it off in the distance.


    Amid the swirling sands of the desert, a giant metal figure was approaching, its form glinting in the harsh light of the sun.


    The figure was massive, towering over the landscape like a colossus of old. Its body was constructed of gleaming metal, a patchwork of interlocking plates and gears that shifted and whirred with each step. The head was a featureless mask, a blank slate that seemed to stare out at the world with cold, unfeeling eyes.


    The Asgardians recognized the figure immediately. "The Destroyer," Thor said, his voice low and tense. "Odin''s weapon of last resort."


    "What is it?" Jane asked, her voice trembling with worry.


    "A construct of pure magic and metal," Thor replied, "Designed to protect Asgard from any threat."


    Sif studied the approaching figure. "But why is it here?" she asked, her voice filled with suspicion.


    "Loki would release it on Midgard?" Thor said in disbelief.


    Tyson could feel the tension ratchet up among the Asgardians as they too peered out at the approaching threat.


    "The Destroyer is an engine of destruction forged ages ago and kept as guardian of Odin''s vault," Sif explained grimly. "It is nigh indestructible."


    Thor''s expression was grave as he turned to Jane, "You must leave this town now. Get yourself and your friends to safety."


    Jane asked, "What are you going to do?"


    Thor met Jane''s concerned gaze steadily, though his eyes held a glimmer of regret. "I must stay and fight," he stated, "The Asgardians look to me as their prince. I may be mortal now, but I am still a warrior at heart, and will stand with them in this battle."


    Volstagg''s bearded face creased into a disapproving frown as he shook his head. "You''re naught but a mortal man now, Thor. You''ll only get yourself killed!"


    Fandral nodded emphatically, "Or one of us, trying to protect you from harm."


    Sif placed a gauntleted hand on Thor''s shoulder, meeting his eyes with sincerity. "The wisest course is for you to get these mortals to safety. Leave the battle to us."


    Thor surveyed the bustling street filled with townspeople; families, shopkeepers, young and old, all unprepared for the arrival of the hulking metal behemoth lumbering toward the vulnerable town. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to Sif and nodded. "You speak truthfully. I will ensure no harm comes to these people." Surprise at his compliance flickered in Sif''s eyes. Squaring his broad shoulders, Thor faced Jane, Selvig, and Darcy with newfound resolve. "Help me clear the streets. I''ll let none of these innocents die this day."


    Together, Thor, Jane, Selvig, and Darcy began herding the crowd away from the oncoming Destroyer. Parents clutched their children''s hands tightly, shopkeepers abandoned their livelihoods, and curious residents peered and murmured over the strange commotion. But under Thor''s insistent direction, the streets soon emptied. As the depowered god hurried the citizens to safety, Sif and the Warriors Three strode with purpose in the opposite direction, weapons gripped tightly in anticipation of the coming battle. Fandral the Dashing, Hogun the Grim, and Volstagg the Valiant were unafraid to face the Destroyer head-on. The four friends had battled all manner of beasts and villains across the realms, always emerging victorious together. Now, they would stand united once more against a formidable foe.


    Though focused on his task, Thor could not help stealing glances across the town, anxious for his friends to confront the Destroyer without him. But he trusted in their abilities and remained resolute in his mission; protecting these innocent mortals.


    With Jane''s assistance, Thor cleared the diner and neighboring shops of lingering patrons. Darcy marched up and down the sidewalks, herding stray pedestrians away from the main street with impatient urgency. Selvig stood at the town''s entrance, waving approaching vehicles away from the impending battle. Soon, an eerie quiet settled over the normally bustling town, the streets now emptied under Thor''s insistent direction.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    From her hidden vantage point atop the roof, the Enchantress Amora watched invisibly as Tyson approached the Asgardian warriors three.


    "As a defender of Earth, I insist upon joining you in this battle," Tyson declared, fixing each of the Asgardians in turn with his mismatched eyes.


    Hogun the Grim was quick to reply, doubt plain in his tone. "The Destroyer was created by Odin himself to safeguard Asgard. What could a mere mortal hope to accomplish against such a foe?"


    The Lady Sif''s reply was gentler, but no less firm in conviction. "We appreciate your courage, but perhaps your skills could be put to better use elsewhere. You could assist in the evacuation of the mortals."


    Tyson paused, carefully weighing their words. Amora watched him closely from her hidden vantage, curious whether his pride would insist he join the fray. But after a thoughtful moment, he simply nodded in acquiescence. "Very well. I shall go where my efforts may prove most needed."


    Satisfied, Sif and the Warriors Three turned and marched onward, striding forth to confront the Destroyer, which had begun laying waste to the mortal town. Tyson watched them depart, then lifted his head as if catching a scent upon the wind. His eyes narrowed, homing in unerringly on Amora''s concealed rooftop location.


    The Enchantress pursed her lips in consternation. The mortal''s senses had already allowed him to observe Loki''s covert actions at Mjolnir and now seemed able to pinpoint her veiled presence as well. She would need to exercise greater caution around this unusually perceptive one. For now, Amora turned her focus back to the impending confrontation with the Destroyer, certain it would prove quite the spectacle.


    Tyson caught a whiff of a scent on the desert wind, his enhanced senses picking up the faint aroma of exotic incense and floral perfume. He turned his head, nostrils flaring as he tried to pinpoint the source. Frowning, he stared at the rooftop where he was certain the scent originated but failed to spot the elusive Enchantress.


    With a shake of his head, Tyson strode down the main street, projecting illusions to help herd the remaining stragglers to safety. An elderly couple shuffled by, the woman clutching a framed photograph to her chest as her husband guided her with a gentle hand.


    Up ahead, a battered pickup truck rumbled down the street, its rusted bed overflowing with people. Tyson squinted against the sun''s glare, recognizing the figure behind the wheel. It was the same old man he''d encountered outside the Federal Reserve. The same old man who''d been working as the librarian at Midtown High on the day when the Lizard had attacked. As if sensing Tyson''s gaze, the old man''s eyes crinkled in a knowing wink. His calloused hand gripped the steering wheel, guiding the overloaded truck towards the town''s exit. Tyson watched as the man leaned out the window and bellowed a single word. "Excelsior!"


    Tyson couldn''t help but grin.


    An explosion rocked the ground, the thunderous boom echoing through the now deserted streets. Tyson spun around to see a plume of smoke and debris rising from the town center where the Asgardian warriors had engaged the Destroyer.


    Torn between assisting the evacuation or joining the fight, Tyson wavered only a moment before setting off at a sprint toward the rising smoke.


    Sif and the Warriors Three marched down the deserted street.


    With a curt nod to her companions, Sif split off down an alleyway, calling over her shoulder, "Keep him distracted!"


    Fandral flashed her a roguish grin. "Don''t you worry, my lady. We''ll keep our new friend plenty occupied."


    The Destroyer towered over the street, its massive metal form impassive and unmoving. The construct''s blank faceplate revealed nothing of what passed for thought in its artificial mind. Without warning, the Destroyer''s expressionless mask slid open. A blast of fiery plasma erupted from within, scorching a storefront into cinders and molten slag.


    Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg stood their ground as debris rained down around them. Weapons held at the ready, they advanced steadily on the metal behemoth. It turned with a grating, mechanical sound to face the approaching warriors.


    "Right then, no time like the present!" Fandral declared, flashing a roguish grin. He glanced between his remaining companions, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "What do you think, lads? The Svartalfheim Twist? Kiss of the Hag? Face Full of Boot?"


    Volstagg''s ruddy face lit up eagerly at the suggestions. "The Flying Mountain!" he declared, hefting his battle axe.


    Fandral and Hogun both groaned. "Not the Flying Mountain!" Fandral complained, his usually perfectly coiffed blond hair already tousled from their exertions. "It threw out my back for a year last time!"


    But Volstagg was undeterred, his bushy red beard quivering as he grinned. "Trust me, it''ll work," he insisted confidently.


    Hogun simply shook his head. He shifted his mace in his grip, dark eyes fixed on their foe. As one, the Asgardian warriors broke into a run. Volstagg let out a bellowing battle cry as he barreled towards the Destroyer.


    "For Asgard!"


    Fandral and Hogun each seized one of the rotund warrior''s arms. Muscles bulging with effort, the two smaller men heaved with all their might, sending Volstagg flying upwards on a collision course with the Destroyer.


    For a moment, it looked like their audacious gambit might actually succeed. Volstagg''s considerable mass slammed into the Destroyer with a resounding clang, actually rocking the metal behemoth back a step.


    But their triumph was short-lived. With speed belying its size, the Destroyer''s arms shot out, snatching Volstagg out of the air and holding the dazed warrior up like a rag doll. Fandral and Hogun could only watch in consternation as their friend hung limply from the construct''s unbreakable grip.


    Volstagg managed a weak grin down at them, struggling to shrug within the Destroyer''s grasp. "Worth a shot, eh?"


    The Destroyer did not share his mirth. Its empty faceplate flared with molten light and it contemptuously flung Volstagg into his two companions. A jumbled tangle of limbs and dented armor crashed to the street, the Asgardian warriors momentarily out of commission.


    It was at that moment that Sif made her move. She leaped from a nearby rooftop, twin blades of her sword gleaming. With a fierce cry, she brought the blades down in a powerful strike, burying them deep in the Destroyer''s back. The tips erupted from its chest. Sif landed gracefully atop its shoulders in a crouch, fingers still wrapped around the sword hilts.


    For an eternal second, all was still and silent. Sif held her breath, not daring to hope. Had her surprise attack felled the seemingly unstoppable metal monster? Her companions, pulling themselves out of their undignified pile, watched with awe and trepidation.


    Then, with a nearly inaudible whir of internal mechanics, the light reignited within the Destroyer''s face. Beneath Sif''s boots, it began to move, muscles of iron rotating as it adjusted to her weight on its back. Gears ground and joints realigned with a sickening series of crunches, the Destroyer slowly turning to face its assailant. Sif''s eyes widened in disbelief and mounting horror as the thing''s torso rotated 180 degrees without its legs ever moving, bringing its soulless gaze around to regard the Asgardian perched atop it. Its head rotated last, neck twisting around with a final mechanical click to fix her with a literally burning stare.


    Fandral, still extricating himself gingerly from the heap of his companions, summed up all their thoughts with a deadpan quip, "That''s not supposed to happen."


    Before Sif could leap free, the Destroyer''s arms reached up, seizing her and lifting her bodily into the air. Her sword remained buried in its torso, useless. She struggled mightily in its grasp but could not break free.


    Unbowed, Sif glared into its featureless face, refusing to look away from what might be her death. "Your might is great, creature," she ground out through gritted teeth. "but we will not yield!"


    The Destroyer seemed utterly unimpressed by her defiance. Its grip on her tightened until she could barely breathe, the edges of her vision darkening. It studied her for a long moment as if contemplating how best to extinguish this latest annoyance.


    Suspended in the Destroyer''s clutches, Sif refused to close her eyes or look away. If this was to be her end, she would meet it with all the courage and defiance of an Asgardian warrior born. The fire in the thing''s gaze burned brighter, building to a crescendo. Sif braced herself to meet her ancestors in Valhalla...


    Hogun pulled himself painfully to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his temple. His mace was held tightly in one hand. Volstagg and Fandral also began to stir, though they looked a bit worse for wear. They shook off the cobwebs, retrieving their weapons.


    Sif clenched her jaw against the pain as the Destroyer''s metal fingers dug into her torso. She could feel her ribs beginning to crack under the immense pressure. This creature was far stronger than she had anticipated.


    Suddenly, a dark blur shot out from the side of a nearby building. Sif''s eyes widened in surprise as the figure leaped onto the Destroyer''s arm and scrambled up towards its shoulder.


    As he drew closer, Sif recognized the man. Tyson.


    His hand was raised, and her eyes widened further as claws extended from his fingertips, razor-sharp and deadly. He raked those claws across the Destroyer''s metal body, leaving deep grooves in the seemingly impenetrable armor. Sparks flew from the gashes as Tyson relentlessly slashed at the construct''s head and shoulders.


    To Sif''s shock, the man''s claws damaged the Destroyer''s armor. She had thought nothing crafted by mortal hands could pierce it. Tyson moved with superhuman grace, never losing his balance even as the Destroyer thrashed beneath him, trying to dislodge its unexpected assailant.


    After a few more swipes, the creature finally released its crushing grip on Sif to grapple with this new threat. She dropped to the ground, landing lightly despite her bruised ribs. As she regained her bearings, she watched Tyson continue his relentless assault, adamantium claws carving chunks out of the Destroyer''s thick metal plating.


    The Destroyer attempted to seize Tyson in its massive fist, but he was too quick, leaping and somersaulting out of reach with astonishing agility. His claws flashed as he continued to hack away at the Destroyer''s armor, chunks of ancient enchanted metal falling away beneath his relentless barrage.


    With a graceful flip, Tyson soared over the Destroyer''s head, raking his claws down its back and shearing off thick plates that fell to the street with a resounding crash. The construct spun, trying in vain to grab hold of its elusive attacker. But Tyson stayed one step ahead, a whirlwind of flashing claws and superhuman agility.


    Despite herself, Sif was impressed. This mortal was exceeding her expectations. She''d underestimated him.


    Tyson landed atop a nearby parked car in a crouch, meeting Sif''s gaze. She noted that one of his eyes was an electric blue while the other was a striking green. Prior to the battle, she had dismissed him as just another human. Now, studying his features, she recognized powerful muscles that shifted under his skin as he moved. She realized with some surprise that she found him striking. The way he anticipated the Destroyer''s attacks and evaded them. How he had raked its metal skin, heedless of his own safety. And, of course, how he had saved her life. Sif was no maiden to be easily swayed by a handsome face or honeyed words. But she could not deny the allure of a worthy warrior who had exceeded her expectations. This mortal had proven his strength, and that excited her.


    "I believe this was where my efforts were needed most," Tyson commented cheekily. He referred to Sif''s earlier recommendation. She shook her head ruefully at his boldness even in the face of such peril.


    As if on cue, the Destroyer rounded on Tyson, molten gaze burning with barely restrained fury at this impudent mortal who dared defy it.


    Sif surged to her feet, snatching up her dropped sword. "Then let us make good use of them," she declared, brandishing her blade as she charged back into the fray to fight at Tyson''s side. The Warriors Three quickly moved to join them, encircling the battered but still deadly construct.


    Together, they pressed their coordinated assault, working in tandem to overwhelm the Destroyer through teamwork and precision rather than brute force. Tyson''s claws strategically weakened key joints and structural points, creating openings that Sif and her companions exploited with devastating strikes.


    Slowly but surely, the tide began to turn in their favor. Under their combined onslaught, the Destroyer was faltering, its movements became sluggish and erratic. Sparks flew from rents in its armor and its internal mechanisms sputtered and whined.


    Sif allowed herself a fierce smile, her blood singing with the thrill of impending victory. Today, with Tyson''s unexpected aid, they might emerge triumphant against this seemingly unbeatable foe.


    Tyson crouched atop the battered SUV, claws at the ready as he prepared to launch himself back into the fray. The Destroyer was on its last legs, ancient armor torn, molten core flickering and guttering. They just needed to press their advantage a little longer.


    He caught Sif''s eye and flashed her a wink before diving back into the melee with a whoop of exhilaration. She found herself grinning fiercely in return, swept up in his infectious bravado. As one, the alliance surged forward to bring down the mighty Destroyer once and for all, mortal and Asgardian fighting side-by-side as equals.


    Tyson''s enhanced hearing picked up the crackle of energy milliseconds before the beam of golden light lanced toward him. He threw himself into a sideways roll. His adamantium claws instinctively extended to gain purchase on a nearby SUV''s metal frame for balance.


    The energy beam sizzled past, missing him by mere inches.


    Tyson tried to identify the source of the unexpected attack. The Destroyer was still in his sights and hadn''t unleashed its devastating beam from its featureless head. So where had this new threat come from?


    For a brief, hopeful moment, he thought he had successfully dodged the surprise assault. But then, to his shock, the head of the energy beam curved impossibly in midair, unerringly correcting its course to slam into his chest with concussive force.


    Tyson had just enough time to suck in a surprised breath before the golden energy engulfed him, encasing his body in a glowing sphere of power. He could feel it permeating every cell, immobilizing him with its all-encompassing grip.


    Through the haze of scintillating light, Tyson caught a flicker of movement from a nearby rooftop as Amora, the Asgardian enchantress, shimmered into view. The invisibility spell concealing her faded, revealing her tall, lithe form.


    One elegant hand was extended towards Tyson, long fingers splayed as she manipulated the energy sphere that held him captive with contemptuous ease.


    Their gazes met across the distance, and Amora''s full lips curved into a satisfied smirk, reveling in her triumph over the troublesome mortal. With a graceful flick of her fingers, she sent the sphere hurtling away with Tyson still trapped helplessly inside.


    Buildings and streets blurred sickeningly as Tyson rocketed through the air at incredible speeds, cocooned inside the golden glow. He slammed through brick walls and plate glass windows without slowing, the energy shield continued propelling him onwards.


    After what felt like minutes of dizzying, uncontrolled motion but was likely only a matter of seconds, the glowing prison finally dissipated. Its power spent, it unceremoniously dumped Tyson onto the dusty ground in an undignified heap.


    He rolled to his feet with the fluid grace of a predator, adamantium claws sliding back into their sheaths beneath his skin as he took quick stock of his new surroundings. His jaw clenched as he realized Amora''s magic had launched him far from the town and, more troublingly, far from the ongoing battle against the Destroyer.

 Arc 5 - Ch 13: Enchantress

    Chapter 60


    Arc 5 - Ch 13: Enchantress


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Puente Antiguo, NM


    Amora stood on the rooftop cloaked in an invisibility spell as she watched the Destroyer arrive. Each of the construct''s footfalls sent tremors through the desert ground as it marched inexorably into town, smashing cars in its path with contemptuous ease.


    The Warriors Three charged to intercept the metal behemoth.


    Amora''s lips twisted into a faint sneer as they engaged the Destroyer. Their foolish loyalty had them throwing themselves against a foe they could not hope to defeat. And yet, grudgingly, she had to admit they showed courage in the face of overwhelming odds.


    Sif''s double-bladed sword speared through the Destroyer''s torso, momentarily halting its advance. Amora''s brow furrowed in displeasure. It was clear to the sorceress that The Destroyer was meant to test Thor, to see if he had proved himself worthy of wielding Mjolnir and regaining his godly powers. This must be the final trial designed for the god of thunder as only his might would be capable of stopping the construct.


    Even the combined efforts of Asgard''s finest warriors were as nothing against the Destroyer. Their valiant attempts were in vain.


    Or so Amora thought. Until the mortal, Tyson arrived.


    She watched with growing alarm as he unleashed claws from his hands and raked them across the Destroyer''s metal body with devastating effectiveness. Sparks flew as they scraped against ancient uru metal, rending the seemingly impervious armor. Tyson moved with astonishing speed and agility, dodging the construct''s powerful blows and scaling its towering frame to tear at its head and neck. Amora''s eyes widened in disbelief. She''d seen him shift the enchanted hammer, but even so, he should not be capable of damaging the Destroyer so grievously. Previously, She had thought him a curiosity, but now, his involvement threatened to ruin Thor''s trial.


    Golden magic coalesced around Amora''s slender fingers as she summoned her mystical power. With a snarled incantation, she fired a beam at the interfering mortal. He dodged her initial shot, but Amora curved the beam back around, striking him. When it made contact, a sphere of energy formed around Tyson, immobilizing him completely. The bubble hovered in midair, suspended by the force of Amora''s will.


    "You should not have interfered, mortal," Amora whispered, "This battle is not yours to fight."


    With an almost negligent gesture, she sent the sphere containing Tyson shooting off into the distance like a comet propelled by her magic. Amora watched it disappear into the horizon with a sense of grim satisfaction. The mortal''s meddling had been dealt with decisively.


    Her attention returned to the street below where the Destroyer was already repairing the damage from Tyson''s assault. In seconds, it stood whole, the rents in its armor sealed as if they had never been.


    Sif and the Warriors Three redoubled their efforts, but Amora knew it was futile. Let Thor''s loyal followers try in vain. Their inevitable defeat would serve to prove Odinson''s worthiness.


    Amora appeared nearby using her magical teleportation just as Tyson regained his bearings and was about to dash back to the battle. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Tyson charged.


    No banter, no warning.


    He moved faster than any human could hope to. But Amora wasn''t human. She was a powerful Asgardian. She fired a purple magical bolt at Tyson. It struck him in the right leg while he was running full speed. On contact, he lost all feeling and control over that leg. With his next step, it gave out, and he fell face-first into the dirt, skidding several feet. By the time his momentum drained, his healing factor kicked in, healing his scrapes, and beginning to return sensation in his leg.


    But it was too late, Amora had already fired another of the golden restraining beams. The energy surrounded him. This time, instead of encasing him in a sphere, it glowed around his skin like an aura.


    Tyson''s muscles strained against the magical restraints but he could not break free.


    Dust swirled around him from his fall as he glared up at Amora. She sauntered towards him, hips swaying, with an amused smile.


    "Did you think you could challenge me, little mortal?" Amora purred as she crouched down next to Tyson. He snarled and tried to jerk away, but the spell held him fast.


    "Thor''s friends were foolish to oppose the king of Asgard''s will," Amora continued. "As are you."


    She closed the distance between them, "Like I said, you''re impressive for this place. But I cannot allow you to interfere further."


    Her hand moved, and his stasis field rotated with her gesture. Tyson was brought upright to meet her green eyes. He hadn''t realized how tall Amora was, she likely topped six feet. It was difficult to tell exactly, restrained as he was, but he was certain she was the tallest woman he''d encountered.


    Amora studied Tyson''s face intently, searching for clues to his unusual abilities. "It''s obvious you are more than human."


    "What are you?" she demanded.


    Amora''s emerald eyes stared into Tyson''s mismatched green-blue ones as she probed him for answers.


    Tyson held her gaze unflinchingly.


    Then he smiled wickedly.


    "Got you," he said with a note of triumph. The prolonged eye contact had allowed his psionic power to seat itself more deeply in her mind.


    Amora tensed, sensing the intrusion into her thoughts.


    The bright desert sun beaming down on them was suddenly eclipsed. Dark clouds coalesced overhead punctuated by jagged lightning strikes. Mjolnir, the legendary hammer of Thor, flew into Tyson''s outstretched hand and Asgardian armor materialized around his body. With Mjolnir''s power at his command, Tyson easily shattered Amora''s holding spell, freeing himself from her mystical bonds.


    But Amora merely smiled, unimpressed by the display.


    "That''s a cute trick," she commented drily. With a casual wave of her hand, Tyson''s illusion dispersed like mist in a gentle breeze. The conjured clouds vanished along with Mjoldnir and his armor. Tyson remained suspended in Amora''s magical grasp, empty-handed and unarmored. She stripped away his illusion revealing that he had never escaped her spell.


    "I saw you fail at lifting the hammer earlier," Amora said in a chiding tone. "And I witnessed your little tricks guiding the mortals in the town. Once I recognized your tricks, I reinforced my mind''s defenses against such deceptions." Her smile turned predatory, a glint of cruel amusement in her eyes. "You''ll have to do better than that if you hope to fool me."


    Tyson''s jaw clenched but he had no retort. He merely glared at the Asgardian enchantress in stony silence. She saw through his illusions as easily as parting a flimsy curtain, leaving him trapped and at her mercy.


    Amora could practically see the gears turning in Tyson''s mind as he scrambled for some new ploy to break free of her spell. She almost felt a twinge of pity for his helplessness against her magic.


    Almost.


    Leaning in close, Amora''s seductive gaze turned predatory. Her full lips curved into a dangerous smile mere inches from Tyson''s face. "Well, if you won''t tell me what I want to know, I''ll just have to try harder to convince you," she purred.


    Tyson fought to keep his composure. He tried not to let Amora''s breathtaking beauty distract him, even as she fixed him with a look that could freeze any man''s blood.


    Her face was flawless, with high cheekbones, an elegant nose, and large emerald eyes framed by lush lashes. Golden blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her face like a halo. Her skin was smooth and luminous, like the finest porcelain. Amora was temptation incarnate, exuding raw sensuality with every breath, every movement.


    She smiled as her aura began affecting him. Amora leaned in even closer until Tyson could feel the whisper of her warm breath across his face, her eyes locked with his, glowing with power and dark promise. Parting her lips, she drew in a slow, deliberate breath, preparing to bestow a kiss imbued with a potent enchantment. It was a spell that would cause any man to fall helplessly under her sway. It would make him a slave to her every whim.


    As their lips met, Tyson''s mutant ability sprang to life. He began absorbing Amora''s energy and power through the brief contact.


    She felt a sharp sting as she kissed the Midgardian, but initially, she dismissed it as a side effect of her magic''s discharge. It was seconds before the Enchantress recoiled with a hiss, shock, and pain flashed across her perfect features.


    "What did you do to me?" she demanded with a note of panic edging her normally composed voice.


    Staggering several steps, Amora''s hand flew to her chest as if she could feel the strength Tyson had drained with that kiss. She knew her power had been sapped.


    The spell holding Tyson captive shattered as Amora''s focus broke from the unexpected feedback. He dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch.


    Amora''s stolen power coursed through Tyson''s veins, creating a heady rush of magical energy. But along with that power came a fleeting yet profound glimpse into the entirety of Amora''s life. Her memories, her emotions, her very essence poured into his mind in a dizzying torrent.


    From a young age, she was ambitious and curious. She displayed a natural affinity for magic and a yearning to explore the depths of her powers. She often found herself in the vast libraries of Asgard, as she absorbed ancient tomes and scrolls. As she grew, her talents in sorcery flourished, earning her both admiration and envy among her peers. She was trained in Asgardian magic, quickly outpacing others in with her ability to manipulate and control magical energies. Her beauty and charm were as potent as her spells, and she learned to wield them just as skillfully. Throughout her life, her ambitions grew. She was often seen manipulating those around her, including powerful figures in Asgard. Her desire for power, influence, and mastery over sorcery remained her driving force.


    Tyson''s odd-colored eyes shined with newfound understanding as he looked upon Amora.


    "I see you. I know you now," he declared.


    Amora''s eyes flashed dangerously at Tyson''s boldness. She was the Enchantress of Asgard. No mere mortal would dare speak to her with such insolence.


    Tyson closed the short distance between them in a single lunge. His adamantium claws speared toward Amora''s midsection. The Enchantress cried out, worried, having witnessed how his razor-sharp claws had shredded through the Destroyer''s nigh-indestructible armor. She staggered back a step, knowing if the claws could cut the Destroyer, they would be deadly.


    With a quick gesture, Amora conjured a glowing barrier between herself and Tyson. His swipe glanced off the magical shield harmlessly.


    "You''ll pay for that, mortal," Amora hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyes blazed with barely contained rage as she sent another bolt of eldritch power hurtling towards Tyson. He flipped out of the way with feline agility. The blast seared the air where he had stood a heartbeat before.


    As Tyson lunged forward, claws extended, Amora thrust her hands out. Emerald energy lanced from her fingertips in sizzling bolts. But Tyson was ready. His enhanced reflexes allowed him to roll and dodge, avoiding arcane blasts. The magic exploded against the desert floor, kicking up plumes of sand and leaving smoldering craters in their wake.


    The exchange continued with Amora unleashing increasingly destructive magics while Tyson evaded them with uncanny agility. When he managed to get close, his claws left glowing scars along Amora''s mystical defenses, slowly eroding her protection.


    As her frustration mounted, Amora''s perfect features contorted in a mask of anger and disbelief. This lowly mortal''s strange abilities allowed him to match her, countering her every spell and pressing the attack. In all her centuries, she had never met a human who could challenge her so.


    But Tyson''s darting attacks were only a distraction, executed only to mask his true intentions.


    Absorbing Amora''s memories had granted him invaluable insight into her tactics and abilities, allowing him to counter her without revealing he absorbed her magical abilities. Unbeknownst to her, in his left hand, Tyson clutched a carefully prepared spell. And on his lips, he held a second secret spell ready to be unleashed with a kiss, just as she had done earlier.


    As Amora raised yet another glowing barrier between them, Tyson seized his chance. As his hand made contact with the shimmering shield, he opened his palm, releasing the counterspell he''d been holding. The effect was instantaneous. Amora''s magical barrier shattered like fragile glass releasing shards of scintillating light to rain down around the stunned sorceress.


    Her eyes widened in shock. Tyson was already upon her. The Enchantress tried to pull back, to put some distance between them, but Tyson already had her in his grasp. Amora may have been stronger, but grappling was part of Tyson''s training. She was unable to physically overcome his greater leverage. Amora feared he would bring his claws to bear, ending her life. But instead, his arms encircled her.


    Tyson''s voice was soft as he posed a question to Amora. "You want to know what I am?"


    The Enchantress froze, pinned in place more by the power in Tyson''s tone than by the strength of his grip. She searched his face, but his expression was unreadable, his glowing eyes staring intently into hers.


    "See me," Tyson commanded.


    His voice resonated through Amora''s mind and soul. The two simple words throbbed with arcane energy.


    Tyson''s lips found Amora''s in a brief, intense kiss, causing his second prepared spell to take hold.


    She trembled, naked before the power of his spell. Her magics and her wiles were blown away like cobwebs in a storm, leaving her spirit exposed.


    A flood of images and sensations poured from his mind into hers, a torrent of his memories, emotions, and experiences. Just as he had glimpsed her life in its entirety thanks to his absorption. Now, Amora was exposed to a spell that forced her to confront the depths of Tyson''s being, to see him as he saw everyone he touched.


    She saw his desperate struggle against Sabertooth, how he''d been hunted by Magneto and captured by Stryker. She experienced him fighting for his life from the moment he left that truck in Canada until he arrived in New York City. She experienced the darkness Tyson fought within himself; the feral rage inherited from Sabertooth, and the crippling self-loathing absorbed from Rogue, both always threatening to consume him. She witnessed his search for companionship, the hardships caused by his deadly touch, and the losses he had endured along the way. She saw the loyalty and sacrifice he was capable of for those he cared about. She experienced firsthand the constant war between Tyson''s conscience and the passenger psyches inhabiting his mind.


    The Enchantress reeled from the onslaught of foreign thoughts and feelings. Her mind struggled to process the sheer depth and complexity of Tyson''s existence. For a fleeting instant, the walls of arrogance and disdain she had built around her heart crumbled, and she saw him, truly saw another, for the first time. He was not a mere mortal to be toyed with and discarded. Nor even as a curiosity to unravel. But as a vibrant, multifaceted individual with hopes, dreams, and scars that rivaled, even surpassed her own.


    The glimpse lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough. Amora''s eyes were opened but still, she did not fully understand what she had witnessed. It was a moment of profound connection, a meeting of souls that transcended the physical. When Tyson touched someone, he knew them on a level difficult to describe or comprehend. And now, by turning Amora''s enchantment against her, he had inflicted that same sensation upon the Enchantress herself. She knew Tyson as intimately as he knew her. Their very essences were laid bare before each other. Along with the magic, the enchantment had passed on a feeling of longing, acceptance, and fondness to Amora, emotions that were foreign to the Asgardian sorceress. For a brief, shining moment, she embraced those feelings, letting them wash over her.


    As abruptly as it had begun, the profound glimpse into Tyson''s life ended, and Amora found herself back in the desert, still entwined in his embrace.


    Tyson was visibly affected by the experience. For the first time, someone else truly understood his burden. But more than mere understanding, he had forged a profound connection with Amora, glimpsing the lonely soul beneath her Enchantress persona.


    After a moment that stretched longer, he released Amora and stepped back, watching her reaction closely.


    Her hand instinctively rose to touch her lips as if she could still feel the imprint of his kiss. Emerald eyes were wide with shock and a hint of vulnerability. The usually composed Enchantress seemed at a loss for words, her silver tongue stilled by the weight of what had just transpired between them. She took a steadying breath, trying to regain her usual composure fractured by the intense shared experience.


    As they stood there, both noticed the distant storm clouds roiling ominously over the town followed by lightning streaking within the billowing darkness. The thunder that followed seemed to shake the air, resonating through Tyson''s chest with its primal power.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Glancing at Amora, Tyson saw her posture relax slightly as she gazed at the tumultuous sky. They recognized those clouds as the calling of Mjolnir. It signaled that Thor''s trial had been completed and Amora''s duty fulfilled. While still uncertain of her feelings or intentions towards Tyson, Amora was no longer obligated to fight him.


    "My task is complete," she said. Her voice was steady once more having regained its usual confidence. "Thor has completed his trial." She looked at Tyson and asked, "Would you agree to a cessation of hostilities between us?"


    Tyson considered her words for a moment, weighing the sincerity behind them. He still had her memories. He knew her. She held no malice toward him, only a watchful wariness.


    With a nod, he signaled his acceptance of her proposal, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.


    Amora lifted her hands and began weaving a spell. Emerald energy swirled around her slender fingers as a shimmering portal took shape before them. Its edges crackled with mystical power as created a gateway back toward the small desert town where the battle against the Destroyer still raged.


    Together, the unlikely pair stepped through the portal. They arrived at the outskirts just in time to witness the epic confrontation between Thor and the Destroyer. The thunder god''s power had been restored and he now pitted his might against the enchanted automaton.


    As they watched the battle unfold, Tyson couldn''t help but steal a glance at Amora. The Enchantress caught his look in her periphery. She met his gaze and raised her eyebrow expectantly. They both knew Thor would be victorious. And once he was, they knew what would come next. Amora wouldn''t need to weave spells; she''d need to weave a convincing tale to explain her part in this.


    The Destroyer raged through the streets, blasting searing beams from its featureless faceplate. Buildings crumbled and cars exploded under the onslaught. The small town had transformed into a war zone. But amidst the ruin, Thor stood defiantly before the construct with his crimson cape billowing in the wind.


    With a mighty swing, the Asgardian hurled Mjolnir directly into the Destroyer''s chest. The blow staggered the metal behemoth, and lightning arched wildly across its form. Thor summoned the hammer back to his grasp with a flex of his will, then thrust it skyward, calling upon the fury of the storm.


    Dark clouds converged overhead, swirling with unnatural speed as they blotted out the sun. Bolts of lightning surged down striking Mjolnir again and again. The god of thunder''s eyes blazed as he channeled the cascading electricity, his body became a conduit for the raw power of the heavens. With a primal roar, Thor directed the thunderbolt toward the Destroyer in a blinding torrent of light and sound. The blast sent the construct flying like a rag doll, its massive form crashed through buildings and left a trail of destruction in its wake.


    Thor summoned a whirlwind around himself, letting it carry him aloft over the battered town. His cape billowed behind him as he flew through the air, riding the raging winds. The Destroyer was lifted from the ground, caught in the swirling vortex. Its heavy metal form was tossed about like a leaf in a gale.


    Thor hovered above the construct, Mjolnir spinning rapidly in his grip causing the hammer to become a blur. The Destroyer''s glowing faceplate oriented onto the airborne Asgardian, its soulless gaze fixing upon the god of thunder. A brilliant beam of searing heat erupted from the construct''s head, lancing towards Thor like a spear of fire.


    But he was ready. Still spinning Mjolnir, he flew directly at the oncoming blast. The hammer''s rapid rotation acted like a shield, dissipating the Destroyer''s heat beam, parting it around Thor like water flowing around a stone.


    Closing the distance in a heartbeat, Thor pulled back his arm. With a roar, he hurled Mjolnir with all his might. The hammer sailed through the remnants of the heat beam, unaffected by the intense temperatures. It shot like a meteor towards the Destroyer''s head, imbued with all the power of the Asgardian god.


    Mjolnir smashed into the construct''s helmet with devastating force, caving the thick metal inward like tin foil. The impact was titanic, causing a shockwave to ripple out from the point of contact, shattering windows and setting off car alarms. The Destroyer''s faceplate crumpled like paper under the hammer''s might.


    As quickly as it had begun, the storm faded, the winds dying to a gentle breeze. The broken form of the Destroyer fell heavily to the earth, kicking up a cloud of dirt, obscuring everyone''s view. Thor landed beside the defeated automaton.


    Thor strode away from the aftermath of the battle, his crimson cape billowing behind him in the breeze. He approached the mortals who had shown him such kindness during his exile. Jane Foster and Dr. Selvig watched his approach with awe.


    There was a new light in the Asgardian''s eyes, a sense of purpose and destiny. He had proven himself worthy of his power.


    Jane''s face lit up as she took in the sight of Thor fully restored before her. "Is this how you normally look?" Jane asked, unable to keep a note of wonder from her voice as her eyes roamed over his armor-clad form. A regal winged helm sat upon his head, his blond hair spilled out beneath. Massive muscles rippled underneath the armor plates as he moved.


    Thor''s mouth quirked up in a hint of a smile. "More or less."


    Jane replied appreciatively, "It''s a good look."


    The Warriors Three noted Amora''s presence with a wary gaze, their hands instinctively tightened on their weapons as the Asgardian enchantress knelt before Thor. Even in supplication, she was radiant.


    Amora spoke, her melodic voice tinged with a hint of contrition. "Congratulations on completing your trial, Thor Odinson. I was sent by acting King Loki to oversee your test. Regrettably, I failed at my task and could not stop Sif and the Warriors Three from interfering. And the Midgardian, Tyson, put up a formidable defense against my efforts to prevent their meddling."


    Thor listened to her words with a thoughtful frown, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. Behind him, Sif and the Warriors Three watched the kneeling enchantress with open suspicion. They were not about to let their guard down, even in the face of her apparent surrender.


    "You claim you acted on my brother''s command, to oversee my trial and prevent outside interference?" Thor asked, skepticism coloring his deep, resonant voice. His blue eyes bore into Amora, searching for any hint of deceit in her expression.


    Amora lifted her gaze to meet his, her face a mask of sincerity. "Yes, my prince. Loki charged me with ensuring none interfered with the test set before you. He must have sent the Destroyer in hopes that the danger it presented would be the push you needed to reclaim your power and succeed. Had your loyal comrades stopped the Destroyer, it would have undermined the very purpose of the trial the Allfather set for you. I could not allow that to happen, though I deeply regret the conflict my actions caused." As she spoke, her eyes flicked briefly to the damaged construct lying inert nearby.


    Thor''s brow furrowed as he listened to Amora''s claims, his mind working to unravel the tangled web of her words. "The Destroyer sought to end my life, not merely test my worth," he countered.


    Amora lifted her chin, her voice ringing with conviction. "But Loki wields Gungnir. He commanded me as the rightful king of Asgard. Perhaps the Allfather charged him with overseeing this trial before falling into the Odinsleep." She held Thor''s gaze unflinchingly, daring him to question her loyalty to the throne.


    Thor shook his head, doubting her words. "I cannot accept that Father would approve such a trial at Loki''s hands, especially not one that puts so many mortal lives in danger." His grip tightened on Mjolnir''s haft, the enchanted hammer thrumming with barely contained power. Thor''s expression remained stony, his jaw clenched with barely contained anger. "Did your duty require you to manipulate and endanger my friends?"


    Tyson watched Amora closely, his mismatched eyes never leaving her face. Her composure remained unruffled on the surface, but he could sense the tension coiled within her lithe frame. "I used only what force was necessary to accomplish the task entrusted to me by the acting king. No lasting harm was done to your companions." Amora spread her hands elegantly. "They live still, do they not? That should serve as proof that I meant them no true harm."


    Sif challenged, "You think yourself so far above us?" Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.


    Amora''s gaze dropped once more in a show of contrition, her golden hair falling forward to frame her face. "I offer my deepest apologies for any unrest my actions have caused, my lord. I assure you, I acted solely at Prince Loki''s behest, nothing more." Her voice took on a pleading note. "I humbly ask that you show mercy to one who only sought to serve the throne, however misguided my efforts may have been."


    Amora''s claim seemed plausible on the surface, given Loki''s well-known penchant for cunning plans and half-truths. Yet something about her manner left Thor uneasy, a nagging sense that her capitulation came too swiftly for one so proud and defiant. This could well be but another layer of deception, a honey-coated lie designed to lull him into complacency.


    After a moment of heavy silence, Amora conceded, dipping her head once more in a show of submission. "Loki spun a cunning falsehood, and I, in my foolishness, believed it to be truth. I meant no true harm to you or your companions, Thor. My only aim was to fulfill the task set before me by the one who currently holds the throne."


    Thor''s expression softened slightly at her admission, a hint of compassion flickering in his azure eyes. Behind him, Sif and the Warriors Three exchanged dubious looks, their skepticism plain on their faces. They clearly did not share their prince''s readiness to accept Amora''s words at face value.


    "Loki deceived me as well. I will confer with Heimdall upon our return to Asgard to verify your claims," Thor finally pronounced, his voice heavy with the weight of authority. "For now, you will accompany us back to account for your actions. Your fate will be decided once the truth of this matter has been fully uncovered."


    Amora bowed her head in acquiescence, her expression carefully neutral. "As you command, my prince. I willingly submit myself to the judgment of Asgard and its rightful ruler." She rose gracefully to her feet. "I have nothing to hide, and I trust that the truth of my intentions will be made clear in due course."


    Tyson kept his mouth shut during the exchange. He was not an Asgardian and didn''t feel that interjecting in what was an internal matter would be appreciated. But, his brief shared connection with Amora during the battle had granted him a unique insight into her deepest nature, a glimpse behind the mask she presented to the world. Ambition, guile, and an insatiable hunger for power drove her every action, however well she concealed it behind her breathtaking beauty and honeyed words. Deceptions came as naturally to Amora as breathing, and Tyson, still carrying the insights from their kiss, understood the truth behind the words that fell from her lips. Amora stated she would submit herself to the rightful ruler¡­ That ruler was not necessarily Thor. She sought to frame her actions in a manner that ingratiated her with all parties, whichever ended up on the throne; be it Odin, Loki, or Thor.


    Thor turned to his companions, "We return to Asgard immediately. There is much that needs to be resolved, and I fear time is not on our side." His gaze fell upon Jane Foster and her friends, a flicker of regret passing over his face. "I must take my leave of you now but know that I am forever grateful for your aid and companionship during my time here on Midgard. I will not forget what you have done for me."


    Tyson watched as Agent Coulson approached, flanked by several armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. The normally pristine suit Coulson wore was torn and dirty, evidence of the Destroyer''s rampage. Despite the disheveled appearance, Coulson''s demeanor remained professional, his eyes sharp and assessing as he surveyed the scene before him.


    "Donald..." Coulson began, addressing Thor by the human alias he faked earlier. "I don''t think you''ve been completely honest with me."


    Thor exchanged a quick, meaningful glance with Jane and the others. The Asgardian prince knew that the time for deception had passed. The truth of his identity and the larger universe beyond Earth''s borders could no longer be hidden. Especially not after the Destroyer''s rampage.


    Nearby, Darcy turned towards Volstagg, her curious gaze fixing on the robust, red-bearded warrior. "So, how can you speak our language?" she asked. The idea of aliens from another world conversing fluently in English was just one more thing to add to the list of strange things she had witnessed.


    Volstagg let out a booming laugh, "Your language? Ha! Silly girl, you''re speaking ours!" He grinned broadly, clearly amused by the mortal''s question.


    Thor stepped forward, raising Mjolnir towards the desert sky. "Heimdall!" he called out in a commanding voice. "Open the Bifrost!"


    His summons were met only by silence. Thor''s brow furrowed with concern as he lowered the mystical hammer, and a sense of unease settled over his broad shoulders.


    "He would open it if he could," Thor said grimly, his tone heavy with the weight of realization. "I fear the worst has come to pass in Asgard. My brother''s treachery runs deeper than I had imagined."


    Volstagg''s face fell at this news, and his jovial demeanor evaporated. "Then we''re trapped here forever!" he lamented with despair.


    The dashing Fandral, ever the optimist, managed a charming smile for Darcy. "Then I suppose we''d best start settling into our new lives," he quipped, "Tell me, fair maiden, are all the women of Earth as lovely as you?"


    Darcy grinned, clearly enjoying the Asgardian''s flirtatious attention. "No, most of them are much prettier," she replied without missing a beat, her wit rising to match Fandral''s playful banter.


    Before their exchange could continue, Thor''s voice rang out once more, this time tinged with a note of desperation. "Heimdall! If you can hear me, we need you now!" The god of thunder''s plea carried across the desert, a fervent prayer to the distant gatekeeper who held the key to their return.


    Tyson watched as the Asgardians began to lose hope of returning home, their faces etched with the growing realization of their predicament. Volstagg eyed one of the SHIELD agent''s machine guns with disdain, appraising the weapon.


    "Primitive," Volstagg remarked, his tone dismissive. "Good enough for hunting small game, I suppose. But hardly a match for the might of Asgardian steel."


    Suddenly, the sky above them was split by a blinding beam of multicolored light as the Bifrost exploded down from the heavens. The air shimmered with the immense energies unleashed by the cosmic bridge''s arrival. Thor''s face broke into a broad grin at the welcome sight. The humans in the area stared in amazement. Even the hardened SHIELD agents couldn''t help but gape at the celestial spectacle before them.


    Fandral turned to Darcy with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, my love. It seems our time together must be cut short. Duty calls, and all that." He gave her a playful wink as he stepped away.


    As the Asgardians gathered around the swirling vortex of light and color, Thor turned to address Agent Coulson directly. "Know this, Son of Coul. You and I, we fight for the same cause. The protection of this world and its people. From this day forward, you may count me as your ally." His tone hardened slightly, "If you return the items you have stolen from Jane Foster."


    Coulson''s expression remained carefully neutral, his professional mask firmly in place. "Not stolen. Borrowed," he corrected, his voice even and unruffled.


    Jane shot the agent a sharp, incredulous look, her frustration with SHIELD''s high-handed tactics evident in her eyes. Coulson, sensing the tension, quickly continued. "You have my word, Dr. Foster. You''ll get all of your equipment back, with our apologies for the inconvenience. In fact, after today''s events, SHIELD would like to offer you our full support and resources to further your research...if that''s acceptable to you, of course."


    Thor took Jane''s hand gently in his own, his calloused fingers entwining with hers as he brought it to his lips for a tender kiss. Jane looked up at him, fearing that this might be the last time she would see him.


    "Whatever fate lies before me," Thor told her solemnly, his gaze locked with hers, "know that you are a part of it now, Jane Foster. You have touched my heart in ways I never thought possible."


    Unable to restrain himself any longer, the god of thunder pulled Jane into his arms and kissed her with a passion that spoke of his feelings. Jane melted against him, her arms wrapped around his neck as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.


    Nearby, Tyson approached Lady Sif who was watching Thor and Jane with obvious envy. Tyson reached for the Asgardian warrior''s hand. "Lady, if I may?"


    Sif eyed him warily, uncertain of his intentions. Earlier she had asserted that she was a warrior, not some maiden to be wooed. Yet something in Tyson''s direct gaze gave her pause. Though they had just met, he had already proven himself in battle against the Destroyer. His warrior spirit called to her own. After a moment''s consideration, Sif slowly extended her hand.


    Tyson clasped it gently, his gloved fingers curling around her calloused palm. For a long moment, they stood there, hands joined, gazes locked. His power subtly wound its way into her senses.


    Tyson murmured an incantation, his eyes still alight with the remnants of Amora''s powers. Sif watched with curiosity as golden energy coalesced around his mouth. Gently grasping her hand, he brought the back of it to his lips.


    She grew up alongside Thor and Loki, children of Odin. From a young age, she displayed exceptional skill in combat, defying expectations for Asgardian women. Her prowess with sword, shield, and all manner of martial weapons earned her a place among Thor''s closest companions. Despite facing skepticism, her determination and loyalty proved invaluable in countless battles across the Nine Realms. She was known for her long, beautiful golden hair until Loki, the trickster turned it dark. Her friendship with Thor deepened over centuries, though any romantic feelings remained unexplored. Her dedication to protecting Asgard led her to joining with the Warriors Three. Together, they fought numerous foes, from frost giants to marauders. When Thor was banished to Earth, her loyalty was tested. She defied Loki''s rule and Asgard''s laws to help her friend, traveling to Midgard despite the risks.


    Tyson used his illusion power to override the sensation of pain that came with the contact. As a tender kiss was placed upon her skin, a brilliant glow spread from the point of contact. It traveled up her arm, over her shoulder, and up her neck to wreath her head in a halo of shimmering gold.


    Sif''s raven tresses floated as if on a breeze meant only for her. The inky blackness washed away in a cascade of glittering sparks, leaving behind hair the color of sunshine. Sif had not realized the spell''s intent until she caught sight of the vibrant golden strands dancing at the edge of her vision. She gathered the lustrous locks in hand, marveling at their transformation. Tears of joy threatened to spill from her eyes.


    She gazed at Tyson and said softly, "I believe you have cast quite a spell over me."


    He winked roguishly. Then he felt Amora''s stolen knowledge fade from his mind like mist on the morning wind.


    Tyson addressed Sif, "Consider it a thank you gift, for helping defend this town." Sif brought her fist to her chest and bowed slightly, a radiant smile spread across her face. "You are most welcome, Tyson. This gift means more to me than you can ever know."


    Amora watched Tyson use her magic on another woman. She wasn''t sure how to feel. A spark of jealousy flickered in her emerald eyes, quickly replaced by a calculating glint.


    The Warriors Three gathered around Sif, their faces alight with wonder as they beheld her radiant golden locks restored to their former glory.


    "By the gods!" Volstagg exclaimed, awe in his voice. "Sif, your hair...I had forgotten how stunning it was."


    Fandral wisely held his tongue, having already provoked Sif''s ire enough for one day. Hogun stroked his beard thoughtfully and asked, "How did you undo Loki''s curse and restore Sif''s hair?"


    Tyson shrugged modestly. "A strong counterspell. Truthfully, I was merely the conduit. It was Amora''s magic, channeled through me, that lifted the curse and restored Sif''s hair."


    As the Warriors Three continued to gaze at Sif''s transformed locks with admiration, they turned to look at Amora with newfound respect. Though skeptical of the sorceress''s motives, hearing that her power had restored their shield-sister''s hair made them regard Amora in a much more favorable light than minutes earlier.


    Sif inclined her head slightly in a gesture of gratitude towards Amora. Though no words were exchanged, the simple act spoke volumes. Amora returned the nod, while inwardly, her sharp mind analyzed how Tyson had leveraged his favor with Sif to raise Amora''s standing among the Asgardians.


    As the Asgardians gathered near the swirling, radiant energies of the Bifrost, the moment of decision arrived.


    Tyson recalled his discussion months earlier with the Ancient One. She warned that the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge was an event he couldn''t prevent. Despite what she believed, he knew he had to try. The destruction of the Bifrost was one of the first dominoes that fell, ultimately leading to Ragnarok and the destruction of Asgard.


    With a determined set to his jaw, Tyson stepped forward. "Thor," he said respectfully, drawing the thunder god''s attention. "Will you allow me to join you in Asgard?"


    Thor hesitated, considering Tyson''s request. Sif spoke first in the mortal''s favor, her voice ringing with conviction. "He proved his worth against the Destroyer," she pointed out, "Tyson fought bravely and skillfully, showing the heart of a true warrior. He has earned the right to stand with us."


    Surprisingly, Amora added another endorsement, her melodic voice carrying an undercurrent of respect. "Loath as I am to admit it, the mortal is formidable. He held his own against my magic and the Destroyer''s might. Had I not stopped him, he may have been able to defeat the construct on his own."


    Tyson, heartened by their support, made his case. "Asgard has been Earth''s protector for centuries. Perhaps it''s time for Earth to repay that debt. Let me fight at your side, Thor. Let me help defend your home as you have defended mine."


    Coulson interjected with a note of concern. "Are you sure that''s wise?" he asked.


    Tyson met the agent''s eyes and pushed with his power. "I should go with them. This is an opportunity to create goodwill. We can learn a lot."


    Coulson fell silent. After a long moment, he gave a stiff nod, signaling his acceptance of the decision. "You should go with them."


    "Very well, Tyson, the Mirage of Midgard. I would be honored to have you fight alongside us in defense of Asgard." Thor clasped the mortal shoulder.


    As they approached the shimmering, multicolored beam of the Bifrost, Tyson felt a surge of excitement mingled with trepidation. He was about to step into a realm of gods and legends.


    But he was ready.


    Thor entered the cosmic bridge first, followed closely by Sif and the Warriors Three. Amora came next, casting an inscrutable glance at Tyson as she passed. For a moment, their eyes met, and Tyson felt a flicker of the connection they had shared during their brief mental exchange. But then the moment was gone, and Amora vanished into the swirling vortex of light.


    Tyson glanced back one last time. He caught a glimpse of Coulson and the others watching him go. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, feeling the immense energies of the Bifrost envelop him. It was like being caught in a maelstrom of light and sound. And then, in a blinding flash, the desert vanished, replaced by a tunnel of shimmering colors that stretched out into infinity.

 Arc 5 - Ch 14: Asgard

    Chapter 61


    Arc 5 - Ch 14: Asgard


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Asgard


    Tyson flew forward at an impossible speed, streaking between worlds and stars in a dizzying blur of motion. The sight was utterly breathtaking, a kaleidoscope of stars and galaxies whirled past him on all sides. He felt a sense of awe as he hurtled through the cosmos, his mind struggling to comprehend the sheer vastness of the universe. Time seemed to slow as he approached his destination. The golden city of Asgard came into view, its towering spires and gleaming structures rose like a beacon of light against the inky backdrop of space.


    Thor and his companions, followed by Amora and Tyson, stepped out of the cosmic gateway. As their feet touched the polished floors of the observatory, they were met with an alarming sight.


    Heimdall, Asgard''s all-seeing and all-hearing guardian, was slumped over the great sword Hofund. His piercing golden eyes were closed and his breath came in ragged gasps.


    Sif rushed to the guardian''s side, gripping his shoulders as she called Heimdall''s name. The others gathered around, exchanging worried glances at the sight of the sentinel in such a state. Heimdall''s head lolled as she shook him gently, eliciting only soft moans.


    "What could have brought him so low?" She asked, scanning their surroundings warily, alert for any hidden threat.


    Fandral knelt and pressed his fingers to Heimdall''s neck, checking for a pulse. "He lives, but only barely.


    Thor immediately took charge of the situation. "Get him to the healing room!" he commanded, eyes blazing with determination. "Leave my brother to me." Without waiting for a response, the god of thunder spun Mjolnir in a tight arc. His crimson cape billowed behind him as he launched into the air, flying towards the city.


    Sif and the Warriors Three hurried to assist Heimdall, their faces etched with worry.


    "I''m an outsider to your realm," Tyson said, "Perhaps it would be best if I stayed to defend the Bifrost while you attend to Heimdall." He knew that this would ultimately be Loki''s destination. If he was to prevent the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge, remaining in the area was his best option.


    To everyone''s surprise, Amora, the Enchantress, spoke up in support of Tyson''s proposal. "I''ll remain with the Midgardian," she declared, her melodic voice carrying a note of finality. The other Asgardians focused their attention on the immediate need to aid Heimdall. None objected. They understood the value of having someone guard the gateway to their realm, even if that someone was a mortal and a sorceress they didn''t fully trust. Regardless of Amora''s actions on Earth, she had proven herself loyal to the realm.


    With a graceful gesture, Amora opened a shimmering portal, creating a shortcut to the healing room. Sif and the Warriors Three carefully lifted Heimdall''s unconscious form, carrying him through the portal with a sense of urgency.


    As the group vanished from sight, Tyson and Amora were left alone to stand guard at the Bifrost. An uneasy silence settled over them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the soft hum of the cosmic bridge.


    Tyson stepped outside the protective dome of the Bifrost observatory and onto the rainbow bridge, his boots making contact with the shimmering surface. He paused for a moment, taking in the breathtaking sight that stretched out before him. Asgard, in all its majestic glory, lay in the distance, sprawled beneath a vividly colored sky. Its towering structures of gold and crystal rose up like monuments to the power and grandeur of the gods. It was a sight that defied description, a vision of otherworldly beauty that left him speechless.


    Below the bridge, a vast expanse of water stretched out to the horizon, its surface a mirror to the sky above. The illusion of endlessness was broken only by the sharp drop-off at the edges. Tyson felt a sense of vertigo wash over him as he peered over the edge, seeing the void of space yawning beneath.


    "It''s beautiful," Tyson murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed inadequate to convey the depth of his awe for the sight that lay before him.


    Amora, standing nearby, responded to his sentiment with a hint of pride in her voice. "You may be the first from your world to lay eyes upon it," she said, her emerald gaze sweeping over the panorama of Asgard.


    Tyson nodded, his attention still captivated by the distant city. After a moment of contemplation, he turned to address a more pressing matter, his mismatched eyes fixing on Amora with a curious intensity.


    "Now that Thor has passed his trial," he began in a thoughtful tone, "if it came down to it, who would you side with between him and Loki?"


    For the first time since their arrival, Amora seemed to falter, her usual confidence giving way to a flicker of uncertainty. "I am unsure," she admitted.


    Sensing an opportunity, Tyson pressed further. "Can you do a scrying, so we can see Thor''s progress?" he asked. Knowing what was occurring, he hoped that viewing the events as they transpired might sway the Enchantress''s position. Plus viewing it would ensure that Tyson would see if any changes in the events occurred.


    Amora paused, considering the request. Scrying to remotely view distant events, was well within her magical capabilities. With a nod of assent, she began to prepare the necessary spell. Reaching into the folds of her robe, Amora produced an ornate mirror. Holding it before her, she moved her lips in a soft chant as she imbued the reflective surface with her arcane power.


    As Amora''s incantation grew in intensity, the mirror''s surface began to shimmer and change, and the reflection of the sky and the rainbow bridge gave way to a new scene.


    Through the enchanted mirror, Amora and Tyson watched as a group of Frost Giants forcefully entered Odin''s chamber, their icy forms radiating an aura of menace. The scene quickly devolved into a battle. A lone Asgardian woman bravely stood her ground against the invaders.


    The woman fought fiercely engaging the first Frost Giant. She managed to slay her foe, but her victory was short-lived. A second giant, taking advantage of her momentary distraction, struck her down with a brutal blow, sending her crumpling to the floor.


    Tyson''s hands curled into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening, as he watched the scene unfolding in the enchanted mirror. The brave Asgardian woman, who had fought so fiercely, now lay crumpled on the floor of Odin''s chamber.


    "The queen," Amora whispered, her voice tense. "Frigga. Mother of Thor and Loki."


    Tyson turned to look at the Enchantress. "Can you get us there?" he asked. He''d not considered the possibility of Frogga being killed early.


    Amora met his gaze, her own eyes shadowed. She knew the importance of Frigga to Asgard and its princes. She seemed shaken by the frost giants having reached so far into the heart of Asgard. Her emerald eyes widened with a mix of horror and disbelief. "The entire building is warded against spatial magic," she answered, "You cannot teleport inside nor open portals." The Enchantress was no stranger to violence and treachery, but the sight of Frost Giants invading the very heart of Asgard was a blow to her sense of security. She had believed Odin''s halls to be impenetrable, yet for the second time, the Frost Giants had infiltrated Asgard.


    A large Frost Giant towered over Odin''s bed. Its menacing presence seemed to fill the chamber with an icy chill. The Allfather lay still, his aged features peaceful in the depths of the Odinsleep, oblivious to the danger that loomed over him. The Frost Giant raised its massive, ice-encrusted fist, poised to deliver a fatal blow to the defenseless king.


    Just as the giant''s arm began its downward arc, a blinding flash of energy erupted from the chamber''s entrance. Loki''s face was a mask of cold fury as he stood in the doorway, Gungnir clutched in his hand, the spear of the king pulsing with power. With a snarl of rage, he unleashed a searing blast from the weapon, the force of the attack slamming into the Frost Giant''s chest.


    The giant staggered backward as the arcane energy tore through its icy flesh. It let out a roar of pain and fury, its eyes locking onto Loki with a look of pure hatred. But the god of mischief was far from finished. He raised Gungnir once more and the spear''s tip glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light.


    A second blast erupted from the weapon, this one even more powerful than the first. The Frost Giant was engulfed in a maelstrom of searing, destructive energy, its body disintegrating before Loki''s onslaught. In a matter of seconds, the once-formidable creature was reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust, scattered across the chamber floor.


    Amora''s emerald eyes widened as she watched the scene unfold. "That frost giant Loki just killed was Laufey, their king," she murmured. Her brow creased with unease as she continued peering into the mirror''s depths.


    As the dust settled, Loki turned his attention to Frigga, the queen who had fought so bravely to defend Odin. She lay on the ground, momentarily stunned by the Frost Giant''s earlier attack. With an uncharacteristic show of compassion, Loki extended his hand to her, helping her to her feet.


    For a fleeting moment, the god of mischief seemed to shed his cold, calculating persona. He pulled the woman into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her in a gesture of comfort and reassurance.


    But the moment was short-lived, shattered by the sudden arrival of Thor. The god of thunder burst into the chamber, his face a mask of anger and betrayal. The air crackled with tension as the two brothers locked eyes.


    "Loki!" Thor bellowed, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "You tried to kill me with the Destroyer! Your own brother!"


    Loki''s expression hardened. He didn''t bother to respond to Thor''s accusation with words. Instead, he raised Gungnir once more, the spear humming with power as he leveled it at his brother''s chest.


    A blast of energy erupted from the weapon, catching Thor off-guard. The force of the impact sent him flying backward, crashing through the chamber wall and out into the open sky beyond. The god of thunder tumbled through the air, plummeting towards the ground far below.


    Amora and Tyson watched in silence as Loki strode to the gaping hole in the wall, his gaze following Thor''s falling form. He gave off a sense of grim satisfaction at having bested his brother again.


    Without a word, Loki turned and purposefully made his way out of the chamber. Amora and Tyson''s view shifted, following the god of mischief as he descended the tower.


    Loki emerged into the courtyard, where his horse stood tethered. He mounted the steed, gathering the reins in his hands. There was an air of urgency about him, a sense that time was of the essence. With a sharp kick of his heels, Loki urged the horse forward, setting off at a gallop. The direction of his travel was unmistakable. He headed straight for the Bifrost.


    As they watched Loki''s progress through the scrying mirror, Tyson turned to Amora, his mismatched eyes fixing on her with a probing gaze. "Now that you''ve seen Loki''s deception and watched him attack Thor, will you stand against him?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.


    Amora hesitated, her beautiful features clouded with uncertainty. "I cannot," she admitted, her tone tinged with a mix of resignation and pragmatism. "Though I may favor Thor, Loki wields Gungnir. He is Odin''s son, and his claim to the kingship is legitimate. Despite attacking Thor, he also protected Odin from the frost giants, saved Frigga, and slayed their king."


    She let out a soft, frustrated sigh, her eyes drifting back to the mirror''s surface. "I cannot fight him or disobey his commands without becoming a traitor to the throne," she continued, her voice heavy with the weight of the dilemma she faced. "To act against Loki now would be to betray Asgard itself."


    Tyson understood the complexity of Amora''s predicament. Though his instincts urged him to press her to oppose Loki, he could see the bind she was in. "It was Loki who allowed the frost giants entrance to Asgard in the first place," Tyson said after a thoughtful pause.


    "You have proof of this?" Amora asked, her gaze sharpening with interest.


    Tyson hesitated. Though he possessed metaknowledge of Loki''s treachery, he had no tangible evidence to offer Amora. Just his word against that of a prince. Shaking his head, he admitted "No. I have no proof."


    Amora''s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "Then I cannot act against him," she said, resignation etched into her voice.


    Tyson could see the conflict in her eyes. But he understood the code of fealty that bound her. Without proof, her hands were tied.


    With a sense of growing urgency, Tyson turned away from her and scanned the area around the Bifrost. His eyes searched for the weapon that could give him an advantage in the coming fight. "The sword," he muttered under his breath, "Where''s the damn sword?"


    Amora''s gaze snapped to him, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What are you doing?" she asked, her melodic voice shifting sharper.


    "Looking for the Bifrost sword," Tyson replied, his attention on the bodies of the two frost giants just outside the observatory. One had been decapitated, the other stabbed through the chest, but neither had weapons. They''d covered their fists in sharp ice instead. He knew that facing Loki, wielding Gungnir, without some kind of weapon would place him in a poor position from the start. The spear would grant Loki a major reach advantage. But Hofund was nowhere to be seen. One of the others had taken it with them when they''d left.


    Amora''s lips curved into a faint, incredulous smile. "You would fight Loki?" she asked in disbelief. "You''re skilled and brave, but so foolish. Loki has been fighting for centuries."


    Tyson met her gaze, his expression one of grim determination. "I see you, Amora," he said, "I know how hard you''ve worked for your station and your power. I understand that you can''t take any actions that would jeopardize that." He paused, his mismatched eyes softening with a glimmer of empathy. "I respect your neutrality and the difficult position this fight for the crown has put you in," he continued, his words sincere and heartfelt. "But I''m not bound by your rules or your loyalties."


    Tyson''s gaze drifted back to the mirror, where Loki''s form could still be seen, growing ever closer. "I know Thor," he said, his voice ringing with conviction. "He''s honorable, and he''s proven himself worthy of his power. We watched Loki turn on his own brother and saw the depths of his treachery with our own eyes. Saw him fail to lift Mjolnir."


    He turned back to Amora, his jaw set in resolve. "For me, that makes choosing sides easy," he declared, "I have to do what I believe is right, not just for myself, but for the world I represent."


    Amora remained silent, her piercing green eyes intently searching Tyson''s face as he made his final impassioned plea. Tyson held his hand out to the Enchantress, his palm open. "If you cannot bring yourself to fight, will you at least grant me your knowledge to wield in Asgard''s defense in your stead?" he asked earnestly.


    Amora hesitated, carefully mulling over Tyson''s heartfelt request. After a long moment, she slowly shook her head, her golden tresses swaying gently with the motion. "My magic is too recognizable, too unique," she explained, her voice tinged with regret. "In the hands of a Midgardian, it would be obvious that I had aided you. I cannot take that risk. And after our last encounter, I have no desire to grant you such an intimate look into the depths of my soul again."


    She lifted her chin, resolve steeling her striking features. "If ever I were to grant you my power, my touch, it would be on my terms alone, not yours and certainly not Loki''s."


    Tyson nodded solemnly. "I understand," he answered, "And I respect that."


    As the sound of galloping hooves drew ever closer, Tyson and Amora stood side by side. They knew that the next few minutes would decide the fate of Asgard. Yet Amora''s gaze lingered thoughtfully on Tyson, intrigued by the latent power that she sensed lurking within this mortal. Power beyond what even he comprehended.


    As Loki approached, Amora knelt, her head bowed in a show of deference, acknowledging his authority as the acting king of Asgard.


    But her whispered words, barely audible even to Tyson''s enhanced hearing, resonated with a deeper meaning.


    "I see you," she murmured.


    Her voice was so soft that it was almost lost in the gentle breeze that swept across the bridge. The phrase, while simple, carried layers of significance.


    Amora managed to conceal her surprise when Tyson mimicked her actions, lowering himself to one knee beside her as Loki drew near. She had expected him to attack, not kneel.


    The trickster god dismounted his steed with an air of regal authority, his keen eyes fixing first upon the kneeling enchantress.


    "You''ve returned," he noted, his tone carrying a hint of expectancy as he addressed Amora. "How fared Thor''s trial?"


    "Good news, my Lord," Amora replied, her voice carefully measured to remain respectful. "Thor was successful in restoring his powers." She relayed the information with a practiced neutrality, acutely aware of the delicate balance she needed to strike in the presence of the acting king.


    "I must admit, I failed to stop the Warriors Three from interfering," she continued, her gaze still lowered in a show of contrition. But then, with a subtle shift in tone, she added, "However, sending the Destroyer was a stroke of genius on your part, my Lord. It not only neutralized the Warriors Three but also pushed Thor to succeed in his quest."


    Her words were a masterful blend of truth and tactful flattery, mixed with a light rebuke of Loki''s true intentions, all veiled within a cloak of praise. The art of navigating the treacherous waters of Asgardian politics with a silver tongue and a quick wit was a game that Amora knew well.


    Loki, seemingly satisfied with her report, turned his attention to the uninvited mortal kneeling before him. "And who might you be?" he inquired, his voice sharp with a mix of curiosity and disdain.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    When Loki addressed him directly, Tyson lifted his gaze to meet the trickster god''s eyes. His own mismatched orbs shined with quiet confidence.


    "I am Mirage of Midgard," he introduced himself, his voice clear and steady. "I assisted Thor during his trial and proved myself worthy of accompanying the Asgardians as a representative of Earth."


    Loki''s lips curled into a faint sneer, a hint of derision creeping into his voice as he scoffed at Tyson''s explanation. "And what is it that Earth would ask of Asgard?" he questioned, his tone dripping with skepticism about the significance of mortal concerns.


    Tyson, undeterred by Loki''s dismissive demeanor, met the god''s gaze with unwavering resolve. "Earth thanks Asgard for its protection over the millennia," he replied, his words chosen carefully to convey both gratitude and a subtle reminder of Asgard''s responsibilities. "We only ask that Asgard continues to uphold its self-proclaimed duty to maintain peace and defend the realms under its protection." Tyson requested, using his metaknowledge to make a subtle jab at Loki''s plans.


    Loki''s eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance passing over his sharp features. Without acknowledging Tyson''s words, he turned to Amora and spoke with a brusque tone. "You''re dismissed," he said, waving a hand in a gesture of casual authority. "I''ll contact you soon to discuss your reward for your service."


    Amora rose gracefully to her feet, her emerald eyes lowered in acquiescence. "Yes, Lord Loki," she murmured, her voice soft and submissive. As she turned to leave, she cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder at Tyson, her gaze enigmatic and unreadable.


    With Amora''s departure, Loki addressed the kneeling mortal. "You are correct that Asgard has protected your world since the early days of your recorded history," he conceded, his words tinged with a begrudging acknowledgment of Tyson''s point. But then, with a sharp twist of his lips, he added, "But to petition us for anything is sheer folly. Now, get out of my way."


    Tyson, recognizing the dismissal in Loki''s words, shifted smoothly to the side, maintaining his kneeling posture as a sign of continued deference. "Of course, my Lord," he said, "Earth appreciates your consideration in this matter."


    The display of humility seemed to appease Loki somewhat. "King, not Lord," he stated, his voice ringing with an undercurrent of arrogance. "You are not of Asgard and have no status here. I am its rightful ruler and you would do well to remember that, mortal."


    With those words, Loki strode past Tyson, his green cape swirling behind him as he made his way toward the Bifrost observatory. The trickster god''s mind was already moving ahead with plans and schemes, his thoughts consumed by the desire to use the Rainbow Bridge and Bifrost to channel energy unceasingly into Jotunheim until the planet was destroyed.


    As Loki turned and continued toward the Bifrost, Tyson saw his opportunity. He lunged at Loki from his kneeling position, adamantium claws extending from his fingertips. The attack was sudden and ferocious, a move that no ordinary man could have anticipated or reacted to in time.


    But Loki was no ordinary man; he was an Asgardian god, adept in combat and possessing reflexes beyond mortal capabilities. In an instant, he demonstrated his divine agility and combat skills. He dodged Mirage''s attack with a leap backward, simultaneously maneuvering Gungnir to intercept Tyson''s clawed strike.


    The clash of Tyson''s adamantium claws against the enchanted spear of Gungnir sent a shower of sparks into the air.


    Momentarily taken aback by Mirage''s audacious attack, he quickly regained his composure, his lips twisting into a sneer of contempt. Loki, now fully aware of Mirage''s intentions and capabilities, faced his attacker with a look of cold fury.


    "Are all Midgardians as treacherous as you?" he asked, his voice dripping with derision.


    Mirage, unfazed by Loki''s question, shot back with equal sharpness, "Are all Asgardians as treacherous as you? Or should I ask if that''s a trait of Frost Giants because we both know you''re an imposter? A snowman pretending to be a god." His words were a direct hit at Loki''s deepest insecurities, a verbal dagger aimed straight at the heart of the trickster god''s identity crisis.


    Tyson''s insult instantly and profoundly enraged Loki, provoking him into a furious reaction. With a snarl of pure rage, he launched himself at Tyson.


    The spear flashed through the air as Loki advanced on Mirage, each thrust and slash backed by centuries of combat experience. Mirage managed to evade the initial flurry of blows. He ducked and wove with an agility that spoke to his own training and mutant origins, narrowly avoiding being impaled as Gungnir whistled past again and again. But Loki did not let up, pressing his attack relentlessly. With an enraged roar, he launched into a fresh combination, spear spinning and stabbing. Mirage threw himself into a backward handspring to avoid the whirling point of Gungnir, then rolled to the side as it stabbed down where he had just been standing. Scrambling to his feet, he realized Loki had backed him up against the edge of the rainbow bridge. Mirage could only try to defend himself as Loki struck again and again, each blow powered by the strength of an enraged god. The spearhead grazed and glanced off Mirage''s hands as he desperately tried to parry and dodge the strikes.


    Tyson crouched low, his body tense and ready to spring into action. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands curled into claws, mimicking the stance of a tiger preparing to pounce.


    Loki circled him warily, Gungnir held at the ready. The god''s eyes never left Tyson''s form, watching for any sign of movement. Tyson knew that a single touch, a single stab with his claws or graze with his exposed palms against Loki''s skin, would end the fight in his favor. But landing that touch was proving to be a monumental task.


    Tyson lunged forward, his right-hand slashing in a vicious arc. Loki reacted with inhuman speed, bringing Gungnir up to deflect the blow. The clang of adamantium against the enchanted spear rang out across the rainbow bridge.


    Undeterred, Tyson pressed his attack. His body twisted and turned as he unleashed a flurry of strikes. Each strike was aimed at vulnerable points on Loki''s body. But the god of mischief was always one step ahead. Loki parried each blow with infuriating ease, his millennia of combat experience evident in every movement. He twisted Gungnir in intricate patterns, creating an impenetrable defense. Every time Tyson thought he had found an opening, Loki would shift, bringing the spear to bear.


    Frustration began to build in Tyson''s chest as his attacks continued to fall short. He feinted left, then spun to the right, his left hand shot out in a swift jab aimed at Loki''s exposed side. For a moment, he thought he had succeeded, but Loki pivoted at the last second, and Tyson''s claws sliced through empty air.


    Tyson employed every trick he knew, every technique he had learned in his years of training. He leaped and rolled, struck high and low, mixed in kicks with his claw strikes. But Loki matched him move for move, his superior skill evident in every exchange.


    In a desperate gambit, Tyson threw himself forward, both hands extended, aiming to grapple with Loki. If he could just get a grip, just make contact for a moment, it would all be over. But Loki was ready for him. The god sidestepped Tyson''s lunge with graceful ease, bringing Gungnir around in a sweeping arc that forced Tyson to abort his attack and roll away.


    As Tyson regained his feet, he realized the bitter truth. Despite his powers, despite his training, despite the deadly potential of his adamantium claws, he was outmatched. Loki''s skill was simply too great, his reflexes too quick, his defense too perfect. Every attempt Tyson made was thwarted, and every strategy countered before it could come to fruition.


    But Tyson refused to give up. He settled back into his stance, hands curled into claws, eyes locked on his opponent.


    Tyson''s palms bled and healed over with each deflection. As he desperately parried and dodged Loki''s next assault, Tyson regretted his decision to anger the god of mischief. Although his own speed was exceptional and his reflexes superhuman, he quickly realized that he was outmatched. Loki was a high-tier Asgardian; and while he might not have been as martially focused as some of his brethren, Amora was right, he had the advantage of hundreds of years of training and combat experience.


    Loki''s strikes were not just fast and powerful, they were also incredibly precise. His style was elegant yet aggressive, a series of fluid, sweeping motions that seamlessly transitioned from one attack to the next. His mastery of Gungnir was evident.


    Tyson found himself pushed to the limits of his training, ducking, weaving, and rolling in a desperate bid for survival.


    Loki feinted a thrust, prompting Tyson to dodge to the side, only to find himself almost impaled by a swift, reverse swing of Gungnir. Tyson''s adamantium claws clashed against the spear, sending a shower of sparks flying, but the impact sent him stumbling back, his balance momentarily lost.


    Realizing he was at a distinct disadvantage against Loki''s superior combat skills, Tyson resorted to one of his most potent abilities. His illusions. With a concentrated effort, he tapped into the power of his mind, bolstered by the eye contact he had made with Loki earlier.


    In an instant, the scene around them transformed dramatically, the Rainbow Bridge and the golden spires of Asgard in the distance faded away like a mirage.


    The ethereal, star-studded skies of Asgard were replaced by a heavy, oppressive dome of gray that hung low over the desolate expanse of Jotunheim. The realm of the Frost Giants was a world of eternal winter, a place where the very air seemed to crackle with the bitter cold. The ground beneath their feet was a treacherous mosaic of ice and snow, broken only by the jagged spires of frozen rock that jutted up from the frost-hardened earth like the teeth of some ancient, slumbering beast. Massive icebergs rose up from the frozen wastes, their towering forms creating a labyrinthine maze of crystalline walls and soaring buttresses. The wind howled through the narrow passages between the ice formations, its mournful wail carrying with it the faint, eerie echoes of distant glaciers cracking and groaning under the weight of their own immensity. Above them, the sky was a roiling mass of steel-gray clouds. The atmosphere was heavy with the promise of an endless snowfall, the flakes drifting down from the heavens in a relentless cascade of white that blanketed the already frozen landscape.


    The sudden and disorienting shift in environment caught Loki off guard, his mind momentarily struggling to reconcile the jarring change. One moment, he had been standing on the shimmering expanse of the Bifrost, the golden spires of Asgard rising up in the distance like a promise of warmth and light. The next, he found himself transported to the very heart of the realm he had sought to destroy, the place of his true birth and the source of his deepest shame.


    Tyson, for his part, hadn''t been entirely confident that his illusion would have any effect on the trickster god, especially given its lack of impact on Amora during their earlier confrontation. But as he watched Loki''s eyes widen with a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of uncertainty passing over his features, Tyson knew that he had struck a nerve.


    Seizing the opportunity, Tyson lunged forward. But even caught off guard, Loki was not so easily bested. With an almost instinctive motion, he raised Gungnir horizontally in defense, the divine spear''s shaft intercepting Tyson''s initial strike with a resounding clang of metal on metal. The force of the blow was enough to send a lesser man stumbling backward, but Loki managed to maintain his footing, only giving a step.


    Tyson, however, was not deterred. With a feral snarl, he adapted his attack on the fly, his claws shifting direction in a wide, sweeping arc that traced the length of Gungnir''s shaft.


    Loki''s eyes widened with sudden realization, the razor-sharp edges of Tyson''s claws approached perilously close to his exposed fingers.


    In a split-second decision born of centuries of battle-hardened instinct, Loki released his grip on Gungnir, leaping back with a burst of superhuman speed to avoid the dismembering swipe of Tyson''s adamantium talons. As the trickster god retreated, Tyson''s hand shot out, his fingers closing around the divine spear''s haft before it could fall.


    And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch out into an eternity, Tyson stood with Gungnir held firmly in his grasp. It was a sight never before witnessed.


    A mortal wielded the spear passed down through the generations of Asgard''s kings.


    As Tyson''s fingers tightened around the haft of Gungnir, he was immediately struck by the sheer power that seemed to thrum through the weapon, a palpable energy that set his nerves alight with a tingling, electric sensation. The spear felt alive in his hands, its balance so perfect, so utterly in tune with his own movements that it seemed more like an extension of his own body than a separate object. The craftsmanship of the divine weapon was truly breathtaking. The shaft was forged from a material at once both incredibly strong and surprisingly lightweight, its surface etched with intricate runes that glowed with a faint, golden luminescence. But it was the spearhead that captured Tyson''s attention, a work of art so exquisite, so flawlessly wrought that it almost defied description. The metal shifted between hues of burnished gold and brilliant silver with each subtle movement of his wrist. The blade itself was a marvel of precision, honed to a razor''s keenness, the point so sharp that it seemed to slice through the very air itself with each minute adjustment of Tyson''s grip. It was a weapon fit for a god, a tool of conquest and dominion.


    As Tyson stood there, marveling at the feel and balance of Gungnir in his hands, he couldn''t help but reflect on the strange twists of fate that had brought him to this moment. His mind drifted back to his early days of training.


    "When I was first trained with the spear," he mused aloud, his voice carrying a note of irony, "I remember thinking that it was a waste of time. After all, when would I ever wield a spear? They''re not all that common anymore on Midgard. Then I got into a fight later that night where a crazy hunter attacked me with a spear."


    But even as Tyson stood there, considering his journey from a confused hitchhiker, to a man who now stood toe-to-toe with a god, Loki was preparing his counterattack.


    The trickster god''s hands dipped into the folds of his tunic, emerging a heartbeat later with a wickedly sharp dagger clasped between his fingers. Then a second blade seemed to materialize into his other hand, out of thin air, their edges gleamed with a cold, deadly light that matched the ice in Loki''s eyes. He leveled one of the daggers at Tyson, his lips curling into a sneer of pure contempt.


    "You''re not worthy of that spear," he declared, his voice dripping with disdain. "You, a mere mortal, daring to lay your hands on the king''s weapon. It is an insult to the very gods themselves."


    But Tyson met Loki''s gaze unflinchingly, his own eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding determination. "If I''m not worthy, neither are you," he shot back. "You, who would betray your own brother, who would bring the frost giants to Asgard, you would seek to destroy Jotenheim rather than protect and defend the realms under your charge. If anyone is unworthy of Gungnir, it is you, Loki Laufeyson."


    The name was a stark reminder of Loki''s true heritage, of the secret that had driven him to this point. The trickster god''s fa?ade cracked, a flicker of raw, unbridled emotion passing over his angular features. But then, just as quickly, the mask slipped back into place, Loki''s eyes hardening with a cold, implacable resolve. He shifted his stance, the daggers in his hands glinting with a warning of the storm that was about to be unleashed.


    "I am Loki of Asgard. I am burdened with glorious purpose."


    With a deliberate slash, Loki''s dagger seemed to cut through the very fabric of Tyson''s illusion. The false landscape of Jotunheim began to peel away, the icy plains and frozen spires dissolving like layers of an old painting stripped away to reveal the truth beneath. The rainbow bridge of Asgard shimmered back into view, its prismatic colors dancing beneath their feet once more.


    "Your illusions are a poor imitation," Loki taunted, his voice echoing with disdain, each word dripping with a cruel, mocking edge. "A pale shadow of the true power of Asgardian magic."


    Suddenly, Tyson found himself surrounded by a posse of Lokis, each one a perfect replica of the god of mischief, down to the last detail. The illusions were so seamless, so utterly convincing, that it was impossible to tell which Loki was the real one, each pair of eyes glinting with the same malicious intelligence.


    "Let me show you how it''s done," the Lokis declared in unison, their voices blending into a single, harmonious chorus that sent a chill down Tyson''s spine.


    In the next moment, the group of Lokis moved as one, their forms blurring into a whirlwind of motion as they closed in on Tyson from all sides. Each figure wielded a pair of gleaming daggers.


    As the Lokis danced around him in a dizzying array of feints and strikes, Tyson focused his mind, sifting through the visual chaos for a clue, a hint that would reveal the true trickster god amidst the sea of duplicates. Though outmatched by Loki''s centuries of experience in Asgardian magic and combat,


    Tyson was far from defenseless. His own proficiency with illusions, honed through countless hours of training and the unique nature of his mutant abilities, gave him an edge. Unlike Loki, whose illusions were primarily visual projections, constructs of light and shadow that deceived the eye but little else, Tyson''s illusions were more comprehensive, capable of fooling all five senses simultaneously. It was a subtle but crucial difference, one that he intended to exploit to the fullest.


    He reached out with his other senses, seeking the telltale signs that would betray Loki''s presence. And there it was, amidst the flurry of movement and the clash of blades¡­ a scent. It was a complex aroma, a blend of the crisp, biting cold of icy winds, the faint, metallic tang of Asgardian gold, and the sharp, bitter note of hemlock.


    It was subtle, almost imperceptible amidst the sensory input that assailed Tyson from all sides, but it was there, a thread of truth woven through the tapestry of Loki''s deception. And it was coming from one of the Lokis in particular, making it stand out amongst its illusory counterparts.


    Trusting his senses, Tyson feinted and then lunged at this figure with Gungnir, the divine spear thrumming with power as he thrust it toward the true Loki with all the speed and precision he could muster.


    The other Lokis continued their deadly dance around Tyson, their daggers flashing as they sought to distract and disorient him. But Tyson''s focus remained unshakable, his mind locked onto the singular goal of unmasking the true trickster god. He kept his attention fixed on the Loki he could smell, the one whose scent betrayed his true nature, forcing the Asgardian god to remain on the defensive as he dodged Gungnir''s razor-sharp tip. Each attempt Loki made to evade was met by Tyson, who wielded the divine spear with a growing sense of confidence.


    But the Loki Tyson singled out taunted, "You must think yourself so clever," he mocked, his words dripping with a caustic disdain. "But you''re nothing more than a mortal playing at godhood, a child stumbling in the dark, grasping at shadows."


    Tyson leveled the spear Gungnir and willed it to fire, focusing the ancient weapon''s power through his mortal hands. The glowing tip released a scintillating beam of divine energy, one which should have torn through any Asgardian target. But to Tyson''s surprise, the beam passed directly through the Loki he had aimed it at, dissipating into the open air.


    It was an illusion.


    In his haste to attack the one Loki he had identified as real, the one whose scent had betrayed its true nature, Tyson had paid little heed to the other phantom projections dancing around him. But in the space of a single heartbeat, the tide of battle shifted against the young man. His decision to fixate on just the one target had cost him dearly.


    Tyson felt a searing pain lance through his back, a white-hot agony that tore a ragged gasp from his throat. One of Loki''s illusions had plunged a dagger deep into Tyson''s kidney, the blade sliding below his ribs, avoiding the adamantium protection with a sickening, wet thud.


    "Not clever enough," Loki''s voice whispered menacingly from just behind him, the trickster god''s breath hot against Tyson''s ear. As Tyson spun swinging Gungnir sloppily, Loki struck again. Inside Tyson''s guard, Loki drove his second dagger into Tyson''s eye with a brutal, twisting thrust.


    The pain was beyond anything Tyson had experienced since being experimented on at Alkali Lake; a blinding, all-consuming agony. He staggered, his knees buckled beneath him as he fell to the ground, his hands scrabbling desperately at the dagger that protruded from his ruined eye.


    Through the haze of pain and the warm, sticky flow of his own blood, Tyson could feel the blade''s tip grinding against the adamantium at the back of his eye socket. The tip of the dagger pressed against the delicate tissues of his brain. The damage was severe, a blow that would have killed a lesser man in an instant.


    But Tyson was no ordinary man, and even now, he forced himself to breathe through the pain, to focus with his remaining eye.


    And when he did, there, standing over him like a dark god of vengeance, was Loki, his lips curled into a cruel, triumphant smile. With an almost casual ease, the trickster reached down and plucked Gungnir from Tyson''s weakened grasp.


    "You''re the best Midgard has to offer?" Loki sneered, his voice dripping with mocking contempt. "Not bad, really. Better than I expected."


    The words were a backhanded compliment. A jibe that cut deeply. For in that moment, Tyson knew that he had been weighed and measured by a god, and had been found wanting.


    Loki let out a small chuckle, twirling Gungnir casually in his hand. "Did you really think I hadn''t noticed you watching me on Earth?" he asked. "You overplayed your hand. When you appeared here, I knew you''d be able to see through the simple illusions, unlike the other mortals." He shook his head, almost pityingly. "Your tricks are no match for true Asgardian magic." Loki''s voice took on an almost admiring tone. "You can die knowing that you stood above other mortals. But we are gods."


    Loki''s gaze was cold and merciless as he leveled Gungnir at the kneeling Tyson, the divine spear thrumming with barely contained power. With a snarl of rage, Loki unleashed a sustained blast of energy directly at Tyson. The beam erupted from Gungnir''s tip in a blinding torrent of searing light. The force of the blast was incredible, a maelstrom of raw, untamed power.


    As the beam struck Tyson, the effect was instantaneous and devastating. The energy tore into his flesh like a ravenous beast, searing away skin and muscle with a ferocious intensity that defied description. The smell of charred meat filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of ozone and the coppery tang of spilled blood.


    Tyson''s remaining eye was wide with a mixture of agony and disbelief. He could feel his very essence being ripped apart, his molecules dissociating under the relentless torrent of energy that poured from Gungnir''s tip.


    The sheer power of the blast lifted Tyson off the ground, sending him flying backward like a rag doll caught in a hurricane. He sailed through the air, his limbs flailing helplessly as the beam continued to pummel his broken form, pushing him further and further away from the shattered remnants of the rainbow bridge.


    Through the haze of pain that threatened to consume him, Tyson caught a glimpse of Loki''s face, the trickster god''s expression one of cold, impassive detachment. There was no flicker of remorse in those eyes, no hint of mercy or compassion in the cruel curve of his lips.


    As Tyson''s trajectory carried him across the sky, he could see the majestic city of Asgard growing closer in the distance. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty, a vision of a world beyond the reach of mortal men. But for Tyson, that beauty was tainted by the knowledge of his impending doom.


    When Loki finally ceased his assault, the beam of energy dissipating into nothingness, Tyson was left gravely injured, his body a shattered ruin of charred flesh and exposed bone. Half of his form had been obliterated by the trickster god''s relentless attack, leaving only the adamantium skeleton on one side, as proof to the indestructible nature of the metal that laced his bones.


    As Tyson plummeted toward the waters that surrounded Asgard, he could feel the rush of air against his ravaged skin, the sharp sting of the wind as it whipped through the tattered remnants of his body. And there, protruding from the socket of his exposed metallic skull, was the ornate dagger that Loki had plunged into his face. Left in a cruel reminder of the god''s victory and the price of Tyson''s hubris.


    With a sickening crack, Tyson struck the surface of the water. The icy depths closed over him, swallowing the remnants of his battered body in a swirling maelstrom of foam and bubbles.


    As he sank into the abyss, Tyson could only feel the sting of defeat and the cold, unyielding embrace of the water.

 Arc 5 - Ch 15: Hallway of Possibilities

    Chapter 62


    Arc 5 - Ch 15: Hallway of Possibilities


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Asgard


    The moment Loki ceased his relentless assault and Gungnir''s beam faded, Tyson''s remarkable healing factor sprang into action. Throughout the onslaught, his body had been fighting to repair itself, a desperate battle against the devastating power of the divine weapon. But the sheer intensity of the energy that had poured from Gungnir''s tip had been overwhelming, inflicting damage at a rate that outpaced his incredible regenerative abilities.


    As his broken, ravaged form plunged into the cold, dark waters that surrounded Asgard, the urgency to breathe was a primal, instinctual drive. But in his current state, drawing breath was impossible. One of his lungs was simply gone, obliterated by the searing beam of Gungnir''s power, and without a diaphragm to control the flow of air, Tyson could do little more than sink into the abyss.


    Just days earlier, swimming had been an effortless task for him, his powerful muscles propelling him through the crystal-clear waters of Monaco. But now, with half of his body reduced to nothing more than adamantium bones, the simple act of staying afloat became an insurmountable challenge.


    The dense, heavy metal of his skeleton pulled him downward, dragging him deeper and deeper into the murky depths of Asgard''s waters. The darkness closed in around him creating a suffocating blanket of darkness.


    But even as he sank, as the icy water filled his lungs and the pressure of the depths threatened to crush his remaining organs, Tyson fought against the pull of oblivion. His survival instinct was strong, refusing to be extinguished, and he clung to that with stubborn tenacity.


    Deep within the shattered remnants of his torso, Tyson''s healing factor worked to repair the extensive damage wrought by Loki''s attack. New cells formed at an astonishing rate, knitting together into a patchwork of fresh, pink tissue that slowly began to take shape. His heart was the first to regenerate, the vital organ reforming itself from the inside out. Muscular walls knit together, weaving a complex tapestry of cardiac muscle that gradually coalesced into a complete, beating heart. Next came his lungs, one of them entirely missing, the other a tattered ruin of charred flesh and exposed bronchi.


    But even as the delicate tissues of his respiratory system began to regrow, Tyson''s body was already working to rebuild the intricate network of blood vessels that would supply them with oxygen. Capillaries, veins, and arteries sprouted from the newly formed tissues like delicate tendrils, threading their way through the regenerating flesh.


    As his vital organs solidified, taking on a more recognizable shape, Tyson''s nervous system began to extend outward from his core, sending tendrils of electrochemical impulses racing through his body. Sensation returned to his limbs in a rush of pins and needles, a tingling burn that was almost worse than the pain of his injuries.


    But even as he regained feeling in his extremities, Tyson knew that he was far from whole. His muscles barely clung to the adamantium skeleton by sparse tendons. Slowly, painfully, those muscles began to regenerate, growing outward from the tendons like new shoots from a tree.


    Tyson felt a surge of hope flare to life. With each passing second, he could feel his strength returning, his body knitting itself back together with a regeneration rate that was nothing short of awe-inspiring.


    But even as his physical form began to mend, Tyson knew that he was far from safe. The waters of Asgard were deep, and the weight of his adamantium skeleton dragged him down into the lightless depths of the abyss.


    Tyson''s body finally healed enough to allow him to begin swimming upward. The darkness of the Asgardian waters pressed in on him from all sides, but he refused to let it consume him. With powerful kicks of his legs, his muscles strained as he propelled himself towards the surface. The cold water rushed past him as he ascended, his enhanced senses picking up the subtle changes in pressure and temperature. His lungs, now fully formed and functional, burned with the need for air. But Tyson knew he couldn''t take a breath until he broke the surface. He focused on the rhythmic movement of his arms and legs, pushing himself harder with each stroke.


    Tyson''s enhanced vision began to detect a faint glimmer of light above, giving him a renewed burst of energy. He increased his pace, his powerful muscles working in perfect harmony as he cut through the water with increasing speed.


    The light grew brighter, and Tyson could make out the shimmering surface of the water above him. He was close now, so close to breaking free from the watery depths that had nearly claimed his life.


    With a final, desperate push, Tyson broke through the surface of the water, his newly formed lungs gasping for air.


    But even as he savored the sweet taste of air on his tongue, Tyson knew that he couldn''t rest, couldn''t allow himself the luxury of even a moment''s respite. He had to keep moving, had to find his way back to solid ground. He struggled to breathe, each inhalation painful, burning from the water that had filled his lungs as they regenerated.


    He scanned the surrounding waters, searching for any sign of land or structure that might offer him a chance at salvation. And then, a short distance away, he saw it.


    A pillar rose up from the depths, supporting the Rainbow Bridge. He began to swim towards it. Each stroke, each breath, was a battle against exhaustion but Tyson refused to give up. As he drew closer to the pillar, he could feel the thrum of power that emanated from the structure. Reaching out, he grasped the pillar''s base, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the smooth, slick surface. His adamantium claws extended, digging into the dense material with ease.


    Slowly, painfully, Tyson began to haul himself up the length of the pillar, his muscles screaming in protest with every inch he gained. The climb was an arduous test of will and endurance that pushed him to the very limits of his newly regenerated body. But even as his lungs burned and his vision swam with exhaustion, Tyson refused to give up. He had come too far and had endured too much to let himself fail now. And so, with a final, desperate heave, he dragged himself over the lip of the pillar and onto the shimmering expanse of the rainbow bridge.


    For a long moment, he simply lay there, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath. The surface of the bridge was solid beneath him, a welcome respite from the waters that had nearly claimed his life. As Tyson lay there, his body slowly finished knitting itself back together.


    Then, his body convulsed as he lay on the pulsating surface of the Rainbow Bridge. His newly regenerated muscles tensed and relaxed in rapid succession, each spasm bringing with it a fresh wave of discomfort. He rolled onto his side, his body instinctively curling into a fetal position.


    A violent cough wracked his frame, sending shockwaves of pain through his still-tender flesh. Water spewed from his mouth in a forceful stream, splattering onto the iridescent surface of the bridge. The taste of brine lingered on his tongue. As the coughing fit subsided, Tyson found himself gasping for air once more. His lungs still struggled. Each breath was a conscious effort, his diaphragm working overtime to draw in the oxygen his body so desperately craved.


    Another wave of nausea hit him, and Tyson barely had time to push himself up onto his hands and knees before his stomach rebelled. He retched violently, his body expelling what felt like gallons of water in a series of painful heaves. The acrid liquid burned his throat and nostrils.


    As he vomited, Tyson could feel his body working overtime to purge itself of the seawater. His enhanced healing factor kicked into overdrive, accelerating the process of clearing his system. Water seemed to seep from every pore, his skin exuding a fine mist as his body worked to expel the excess fluid. The process was far from pleasant. Tyson''s alveoli, the tiny air sacs in his lungs, contracted and expanded rapidly, forcing out the water that had filled them during his near-drowning experience. The sensation was akin to having his chest squeezed in a vice, each breath bringing with it a fresh wave of discomfort as his body fought to clear his airways.


    Even his sinuses weren''t spared from the ordeal. Water trickled from his nose in a steady stream, mixing with the tears that had formed in his eyes from the strain of vomiting. His enhanced senses, usually a boon, now worked against him as he became acutely aware of every drop of liquid leaving his body. Tyson''s ears popped as the pressure equalized, the last remnants of water draining. The sudden clarity of sound was almost overwhelming, the hum of the rainbow bridge now seeming as loud as a roaring waterfall to his sensitive hearing.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely less than a minute, the violent expulsions ceased. Tyson collapsed onto his side, his body trembling with exhaustion. He lay there, panting heavily, as the last few droplets of water seeped from his pores.


    After a few moments of recovery, Tyson steeled himself for the next inevitable step. He reached up with a trembling hand, his fingers closing around the ornate hilt of the dagger protruding grotesquely from his eye socket.


    Gritting his teeth, Tyson braced himself for the excruciating pain he knew was coming. His jaw clenched tight, and the muscles in his neck stood out as he gathered his courage and his resolve. With a yell that echoed across the shimmering expanse of the rainbow bridge, he yanked the dagger out in a single motion.


    The pain was intense, a white-hot agony that seemed to sear through his skull like a bolt of lightning. It was a sensation beyond description, a feeling of pure, unadulterated torment that threatened to overwhelm his senses and drag him down into the depths of unconsciousness.


    Blood and other viscous fluids poured from the ruined socket in a grisly cascade. But even as the pain reached its peak, even as the world seemed to spin and tilt around him, Tyson could feel his remarkable healing factor kicking into overdrive. The regenerative process began at once, cells rapidly dividing and multiplying to repair the severe damage that had been done to his eye.


    Within moments, a new orb started to form, sprouting from the optic nerve, and weaving into the delicate tapestry of Tyson''s visual cortex. Muscles and ligaments took shape, anchoring the new organ firmly in place within the socket.


    And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the process was complete. A fully functional eye, identical in every way to the one that had been so brutally taken from him, now stared out from Tyson''s face.


    As Tyson leaned back against the cool, solid surface of the rainbow bridge, his chest heaving with exhaustion and relief, he became aware of a presence nearby.


    Looking up, he found Amora the Enchantress.


    She stood over him clad in a gown of green silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her golden hair framed a beautiful face, but it was the expression on that face that caught Tyson''s attention. There was a look of unmistakable respect and admiration that shone in Amora''s eyes.


    Gone was the air of superiority and confidence that Amora wore like a cloak, replaced by a softening of her features that bordered on the tender. Her posture was less imposing than usual, her shoulders relaxed and her head tilted slightly to one side as she regarded Tyson with a gentle gaze.


    "Losing an eye in defense of Asgard is held in the highest regard among our people," Amora spoke, her voice filled with a reverence that Tyson had never heard from her before. "You''ve earned a fitting reward in return."


    Tyson, still reeling from the ordeal and the lingering echoes of pain that thrummed through his skull, looked up at Amora with an expression of incredulity. For a moment, he wondered if the Enchantress had lost her mind.


    But as he searched her face, Tyson saw only sincerity and conviction. Amora''s expression was serious as she focused on the dagger that lay discarded on the surface of the bridge.


    Her voice took on a tone of quiet awe as she spoke. "Loki''s dagger," she murmured, her words almost a caress. "It''s an Uru weapon. Like Mjolnir, it was forged in the heart of a dying star. Though it never trapped a powerful soul like Thor''s hammer, it could have. A powerful sorcerer imbued it with the power of the Infinite Blade enchantment."


    Tyson''s brow furrowed as he tried to process the implications of Amora''s words, his mind still foggy with the aftermath of his struggle. But as he listened, he forced himself to focus on the Enchantress''s explanation.


    "You can create a second blade to dual-wield while holding it," Amora continued, "And if you throw it, the dagger will reappear in your hand, with the thrown one dispersing shortly afterward."


    Tyson''s gaze shifted down to the ornate weapon lying discarded beside him, his fingers twitching with the sudden, irresistible urge to reach out and take it up. Holding the ornate dagger, he turned it over, inspecting the intricate carvings and jeweled hilt.


    "If it can return to its owner''s hand when thrown, how did I end up with it instead of Loki?" he asked, looking back up at Amora.


    Amora gave an elegant shrug, the movement causing the golden bangles on her wrists to jingle softly. "I can only assume that once Odin''s legendary spear was returned to his grasp, Loki felt he no longer needed a secondary weapon," she mused. "As magnificent as that dagger may be, it is no match for the power of Gungnir. With such magical items, sometimes intent and will are the most important aspects. The dagger''s abilities are remarkable, but if Loki no longer wished to wield it, he could easily relinquish its bond." She paused, her emerald eyes thoughtful as she gazed at the dagger. "Perhaps the act of setting it aside was symbolic. He had set himself upon a new path, and in doing so, he left his previous life behind, the dagger discarded along with it."


    Tyson ran his fingers along the flat of the blade. A weapon that could be endlessly recalled. At the least, it would make him more than a melee threat.


    But Tyson''s attention was drawn away from his new loot by a more pressing concern.


    As he looked down at the dagger in his hands, his eyes noticed the surge of activity below him on the Rainbow Bridge. Scintillating energies streamed across the length of the bridge, pulsing and throbbing with power. The colors shifted and danced, a kaleidoscope of hues that dazzled the eye. And at the far end of the bridge, where the energy seemed to converge and concentrate, Tyson could see the Bifrost observatory, the great machine that controlled the flow of transport between the realms. It was active, its great gears turning and its mechanisms whirring with a deafening roar that echoed across the vastness of space.


    At that moment, Tyson felt a sudden, overpowering sense of urgency wash over him.


    Loki had activated the Bifrost.


    "It''s not too late," he said, his voice rough and ragged with the strain of his ordeal. "I can stop this."


    With a grunt of effort, he braced himself to climb to his feet, to charge headlong into the fray.


    But before he could rise, before he could take so much as a single step, Tyson felt the gentle pressure of Amora''s hand on his shoulder, holding him back with a touch that was unexpectedly tender.


    "I watched your battle," the Enchantress said softly, "You''re no match for Loki. Not as you are now."


    Tyson opened his mouth to protest, to argue that he had to try. But before he could utter a word, Amora produced her scrying mirror.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Through the mirror''s enchanted glass, Tyson watched as Thor approached Loki. The two brothers locked in a tense confrontation that seemed poised on the brink of violence. He could see the anger and betrayal etched into Thor''s features, and the cold, calculating glint in Loki''s eyes as he regarded his sibling with a mix of contempt and malicious glee.


    "Let me go," Tyson pleaded, his voice thick with desperation and urgency. "I need to help, to change the outcome of their fight. I have to prevent the destruction of the Bifrost, or at least save Thor and Loki so Odin won''t have to."


    But Amora''s response was not what Tyson expected. Instead of arguing or trying to dissuade him, the Enchantress simply placed her hand gently on his face, her fingers softly stroking his cheek in a gesture of surprising tenderness.


    Tyson''s gaze dropped to Amora''s hand. He realized his clothes had been shredded by the blast from Odin''s spear, leaving his skin exposed where the Enchantress had held his shoulder.


    But there had been no involuntary pull of her life force into his body.


    Confusion flooded Tyson''s mismatched eyes as he searched Amora''s face. Her fingers trailed lightly across his cheek, the caress achingly tender. Tyson''s breath caught at the unexpected gentleness. Longing swelled within him, warring with his bewilderment.


    "How..." he started, his voice rough with emotion. But she pressed a finger to his lips, hushing him. Her hand slid to cradle his jaw as she gazed at him with an expression he couldn''t name. At this moment, all pretenses had fallen away. She was unguarded, stripped of her usual defenses. And Tyson found himself leaning into her palm, savoring her touch as if it was the most precious thing in the world.


    "You showed me enough that I realized how to counter your touch." Amora remarked with a hint of playfulness, "Perhaps not the wisest of moves on your part."


    Her tone grew more serious then, her expression sobering as she leaned in closer, her face mere inches from Tyson''s own. "I know not why you seem so certain about the outcome of a fight that has yet to come to blows. But, as I said, you''re no match for Loki, not as you are now," she murmured, her breath warm and sweet against his skin. "However, you have my attention, for what you could be."


    There was a weight to those words, a sense of promise and possibility that sent a thrill of excitement racing through Tyson''s veins. He could feel the power that radiated from Amora, the magic that swirled around her like a cloak of shimmering energy.


    And as he stared into those fathomless emerald eyes, as he lost himself in the depths of her gaze, Tyson felt a flicker of something else, a spark of connection that went beyond the physical, beyond the exchange of words and glances.


    "I see you," Amora whispered, her voice low and intimate, filled with warmth. "Now you need to see¡­ See yourself¡­ See what you could be."


    And with those cryptic words, the Enchantress leaned forward, her lips parting slightly as a stream of arcane syllables flowed from her mouth. The language was ancient and powerful, resonating with a deep magic that seemed to thrum through the very fabric of Tyson''s being.


    As Amora''s lips met Tyson''s, as the soft, sweet pressure of her kiss sent shivers of pleasure racing through his body, he felt the world around him begin to blur and shift. Colors bled together, sounds faded into a distant hum, and the solid surface of the Rainbow Bridge seemed to melt away beneath his feet.


    And then, in a blinding flash of pure, radiant light, everything went white.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The blinding whiteness enveloping Tyson began to dim. As the light receded, a new environment took shape around him. He found himself standing in a long, expansive hallway, its walls and floor all a stark white. Directly in front of him stood a large window that drew his attention. Tyson curiously approached the window with cautious steps, his footfalls echoing strangely in the eerie silence of the hallway.


    As he peered through the glass, a sight greeted his eyes that he hadn''t expected. It had been a year, but he recognized this room. Its walls and furnishings remained stark and clinical in their simplicity. There, in that room, Tyson saw the figures of Anne Marie, Rogue, and Victor Creed, Sabertooth, their forms as vivid and tangible as if they were still alive. On a nearby couch sat Jason Stryker, his posture rigid and unmoving, his eyes staring blankly ahead as if lost in his own inner world.


    The White Room.


    Or at least that was what Tyson dubbed it. The space was a mental construct within his own mind where the psyches of those whose life force and memories he had absorbed resided. The sight was a reminder of the unique and often burdensome power that Tyson possessed, the ability to absorb not just the memories and skills of others, but their very essence, their complete personas.


    His brow furrowed as he gazed at the familiar white expanse before him. He had been desperately trying to reach this place through meditation for months, but the metaphysical door had remained stubbornly closed to him.


    Yet now, somehow, he found himself here in this hallway, with a window providing a tantalizing glimpse into that unreachable space.


    He had first discovered the White Room with Professor X''s help during his brief time attending Psychic class at the Xavier Institute. The last time he had managed to cross the threshold into the White Room was at Alkali Lake when the Beckies¡­ err, the Stepford Cuckoos had assisted him with their psychic abilities, granting Tyson fleeting access.


    But this time, there were no powerful psychics assisting him. What had enabled him to bypass his mental blocks this time? Why was it different? This hallway and window, instead of the basketball court at the Institute where he had arrived previously.


    Frustrated, Tyson released his adamantium claws with a snikt and scratched at the window, but to no avail. Not even a mark appeared on the smooth surface. It seemed that regardless of how he had arrived in this hallway, he still did not have direct access to the White Room. The window remained an impenetrable barrier, keeping the secrets of his psyche tantalizingly close yet sealed away behind an unbreakable pane.


    Tyson retracted his claws, resigning himself to the fact that answers would not come easily. There had to be a reason he was here now, able to see but not enter the White Room.


    Turning his attention away from the window, Tyson noticed that the hallway was lined with a series of doors. Each door was closed, with featureless surfaces, broken only by the presence of a small viewing window set at eye level.


    With a sense of hesitance, Tyson approached the first door. As he peered through the window, he saw the figure of a nondescript man, clad in a plaid shirt, jeans, and a trucker hat. The man''s features were unremarkable, his expression neutral, as if he were little more than a background character in the grand drama of Tyson''s life.


    Unsure of the man''s identity or significance, Tyson moved on to the next door. As he gazed through the viewing window, a jolt of surprise ran through him, his breath catching in his throat.


    Inside the room beyond, he saw the unmistakable figure of Logan, Wolverine. He was short, but his body was a compact mass of muscle. His face sported iconic mutton chops and stubble.


    Stepping back from the door, Tyson felt a sense of unease wash over him. Logan should not be in this mental space.


    Pushing those thoughts aside, Tyson moved on to the next door, his curiosity overriding his trepidation. As he peered through the window, he saw another familiar face, though one he had only encountered briefly. It was the man from the bar in Canada, the one he had insulted and beaten in a fistfight after his confrontation with Logan.


    Moving on, Tyson came to the next door in the hallway. As he gazed through the window, he felt his breath catch in his throat once more.


    Illyana.


    She was as beautiful as ever, with her long platinum blonde hair and bangs, with two long strands framing her face.


    But it was the object in her hand that dominated the room, that truly caught Tyson''s attention.


    The Soulsword.


    Illyana''s mystical weapon was a manifestation of her soul.


    As Tyson gazed upon Illyana''s face, he felt a rush of emotions sweep through him, a tangled knot of feelings that he had been studiously ignoring since their last meeting. There was affection there, but there was also a sense of uncertainty, jealousy, longing, and a host of other feelings, that Tyson forced down.


    He lingered outside the door, just looking at her.


    Tearing his gaze away from the window, Tyson forced himself to move on, to put those feelings aside for the moment. There would be time to unpack the complexities of his relationship with Illyana later. For now, there were other doors to explore, other facets of his own psyche to confront and understand.


    As Tyson moved on to the next door, he was met with a sight that stood in stark contrast to the previous rooms. Peering through the viewing window, he found himself face-to-face with a demon. The grotesque creature could only have originated from the hellish depths of Limbo. It was a small, misshapen figure that stood barely three feet tall with sickly grayish-green skin, mottled with darker patches. The texture of its hide was rough and leathery, yet, even more unsettling in its alien wrongness. The creature''s head was disproportionately large compared to its stunted body and dominated by a pair of bulbous, yellow eyes. Its mouth was a wide, gaping maw filled with jagged, razor-sharp teeth. The demon''s arms were long and thin, almost spindly in their proportions, ending in clawed hands.


    Shaking his head at the disturbing reminder of the horrors he had faced in Limbo, Tyson moved on to the next door. As he looked through the viewing window, he found himself staring at an even more powerful and fearsome demon, one that dwarfed its smaller counterpart in both size and sheer, terrifying presence.


    This demon stood tall and imposing, easily over seven feet in height. Its form was avian, with the head of a bird of prey perched atop a thick, corded neck. The creature''s beak was sharp and curved, designed for tearing and rending flesh. The demon''s wings were expansive and bat-like, with membranes that were a dark gray. They flexed and stretched with a leathery rustle, while its legs were muscular and powerful, ending in taloned feet. He remembered fighting this demon; it was capable of letting out a piercing, disorienting screech.


    It was then, that revelation dawned on Tyson with a clarity that was both unsettling and enlightening.


    His power ran far deeper than he had previously believed. This hallway was a repository for the remnants of those he had absorbed through Rogue''s abilities. Each one locked away yet preserved within the depths of his own psyche. The order of the rooms, and the entities they contained, seemed to map out a chronology of those he had encountered and absorbed, a living record of the lives he had touched and the essences he had taken into himself.


    Motivated to further confirm his burgeoning understanding, Tyson moved to the next room, his steps quickening with a sense of purpose. As he peered through the viewing window, his theory was substantiated once more.


    Inside, he saw a tall, lean figure exuding an air of demonic grace and power. The entity''s skin was a deep, vibrant red, and its face was angular and sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a strong, chiseled jawline. The figure''s eyes were yellow, seeming to contain ancient knowledge and power. A tail, long and sinuous, swayed gently behind him, its tip flicking back and forth with a hypnotic rhythm.


    Tyson recognized the figure instantly. Azazel, the demonic mutant who had invaded Limbo. It was disturbing seeing Azazel seemingly alive, given the last time he had seen the demonic mutant, Illyana had blown his brains out.


    As Tyson continued his journey down the corridor, each door he approached and peered through became a window into a different moment of his past, a vivid reminder of the lives he had intersected with since his arrival in this world.


    There was Mystique, the shape-shifter with blue skin and yellow eyes who had lured him out of Xavier''s institute.


    Then came Jean Grey. Even inside his own mindscape, he could feel her immense psychic power; proof of her incredible gift.


    More demons from Limbo followed. Each one was a unique and terrifying reflection of the horrors Tyson had faced during his time hunting alongside Illyana. Though he did snort at seeing the ''fart demon'' again.


    Bobby Drake, Iceman, appeared next. Tyson remembered the day Bobby had shook his hand on a dare, hardly able to stand his touch for a few seconds.


    As Tyson progressed further down the hallway, he found himself confronted by a series of soldiers. A grim reminder of the invasion of the institute and the lives that he had forever altered, or taken during that terrible conflict. The sheer number of them was upsetting, and Tyson felt a surge of discomfort and unease as he was forced to confront the toll his actions had taken, in reality, and within his psyche.


    Jubilee followed. Even here, her youthful, vibrant energy shown. It was a welcome contrast to the somber weight of the soldiers'' presence.


    Next came the Lizard, sharing a cell with Dr. Curt Connors. Tyson found it interesting that they appeared as separate entities within the same room. Perhaps it was representative of the duality of Connors'' nature. Conversely, he noted, Illyana didn''t share a space with Darkchylde, her demonic form that Tyson had recently kissed. It inferred that Illyana''s Darkchylde form wasn''t separate from herself, it was a part of her. That, or Darkchylde would have a room further down the hall. He''d soon find out.


    A random thug from the Hand was next. Tyson recalled touching him to learn Japanese when he had been ambushed and tested by the ninjas.


    Followed by Justin Hammer, Ivan Vanko, and Jasper Sitwell.


    And finally, at the last two doors, were Lady Sif and Amora the Enchantress. Tyson inspected both rooms but found himself drawn to Amora, the Asgardian sorceress whose magic had both opposed him and seemingly brought him to this place deep within his own mind.


    But there was something different about Amora''s presence, something that set her apart from the other figures Tyson had encountered.


    As he approached the door, she turned towards him, her eyes met his with a lucidity beyond what the others had demonstrated.


    Amora rose to stand before the door. He knew that whatever Amora had to say, whatever role she had to play in this strange journey through the recesses of his own mind, it would be pivotal to his understanding of himself.


    "Is this an illusion, enchantment, or some other trick?" Tyson asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. He had experienced Amora''s power from both sides, her having used it on him, and using her own power on her in turn. It seemed only natural to question the truth of what he was experiencing.


    Amora''s reply came clearly through the door as if the glass separating them didn''t exist. She spoke with a quiet assurance that cut through Tyson''s doubts. "No," she said in a rich voice filled with a confidence that bordered on the absolute. "This is Enhancement. This is your power boosted by my magic."


    Tyson''s confusion was palpable, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of her words. "I don''t understand," he admitted.


    Amora''s response revealed the depth of their connection. "When you used my power, combined with your illusion, you showed me everything," she explained, "I saw your past, your life, your power. The way you saw me when you absorbed my life force, was how I saw you. But there was more, including this hallway¡­ Even if you didn''t consciously know about it."


    Her words held a note of reverence, a recognition of the incredible potential that lay dormant within Tyson''s mind. "You didn''t even realize the depths of your power," she continued, "Within you lies powers beyond Loki, beyond Thor, and perhaps even beyond Odin."


    Tyson''s response was one of disbelief. "Beyond Odin?" he repeated. The idea that he could possess power on such a scale was almost beyond comprehension.


    But Amora''s revelations continued with each word painting a picture of untapped mysteries and hidden depths within Tyson''s psyche. "Beyond this hallway, and the White Room, there are two other areas that were closed off, not just to you, but to me as well," she explained, her voice carrying a tone of wonder and intrigue.


    "The first, I imagine, contains the memories from before you woke up in that truck. Why those memories are locked deeper than this hallway, I am unsure." Her admission of uncertainty only served to underscore the enigmatic nature of Tyson''s mind and power.


    "The second is perhaps more unbelievable," Amora continued, "It holds a connection. A dormant connection, but one nonetheless." She paused as if to emphasize the gravity of her next words. "On the other end is a vast well of power, one so deep I couldn''t gauge it. The only sense I receive is one of a vast well of power, a connection that felt like an all-consuming fire, capable of burning the cosmos itself¡­"


    Tyson absorbed the enormity of her words. The description could only be one thing.


    The Phoenix Force.


    The idea that he might be linked to such an immense cosmic entity was less surprising to Tyson than it was to Amora.


    He knew that the Phoenix Force was connected to Jean, who he''d touched multiple times previously. If he remembered right, Jean wasn''t the only person who''d been a host of the Phoenix Force in the comics. The true nature of his connection, whether it was a lasting bond, an indication of future potential, or merely an echo from his encounters with Jean, remained uncertain.


    For now, he decided to set those thoughts aside, to focus on the more immediate situation at hand.


    Turning his attention back to Amora, Tyson posed a crucial question, "What now?" he asked.


    "Now, you choose a door," Amora said, "Whichever door you open, you will gain access to that remnant for a few minutes."


    "This is the power I can grant you," Amora continued, "A taste of your true potential, a glimpse into the depths of what you could become."


    Tyson''s mind raced with the possibilities that lay before him. Each door represented a unique set of skills, abilities, and experiences. The decision of which door to open was not one to be made lightly, but rather a strategic move that could provide him with the tools he needed to face Loki.


    As if sensing his thoughts, Amora spoke again, "Oh, and remember, I boosted your power, not theirs," she said, her voice low and intense. "You won''t have to worry about another psyche overriding your personality."


    Her assurance was significant. He would retain his sense of self regardless of the door he chose.


    "I see you and I see what you could become," she said, her voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You''ve seen me. Imagine what I could become with you by my side, what you could become with my help¡­ What we could become. Together."


    Her words hinted at a partnership that could transcend the boundaries of their current selves and unlock a realm of shared potential and mutual growth. It was a vision of a potential future where he was no longer alone, where he had someone who understood the depths and complexities of his power, who he could touch, who could make him greater than he imagined.


    "Do not forget this moment and what I have done for you and shown you," Amora continued, her voice softening with a note of sincerity that caught Tyson off guard.


    "I do not ask for compensation beyond your positive consideration in future dealings."


    With that, Amora resumed her place in the room, settling back into the fabric of Tyson''s psyche.


    The choice, it seemed, was now his to make.


    Standing in the corridor, surrounded by doors that represented echoes of his history, Tyson felt the weight of Amora''s words settling over him.


    Each door was a path, a possibility, a chance to become something more, if only for a short time.

 Arc 5 - Ch 16: The Rainbow Bridge

    Chapter 63


    Arc 5 - Ch 16: The Rainbow Bridge


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Asgard


    The brothers crashed through the Observatory dome, landing on the Rainbow Bridge. Thor regained his footing first. But as he rose, he saw Loki, hanging precariously from the edge of the bridge. Loki''s fingers desperately held to the smooth, glassy surface.


    "Thor! Help me!" Loki''s voice was tinged with a note of desperation.


    Thor''s face held a resigned concern as he approached the edge of the bridge. He knelt to grasp his brother''s wrist. But as his fingers closed around Loki''s arm, his hand passed through the trickster''s image.


    At that moment, Thor realized the truth. The Loki hanging from the bridge was nothing more than an illusion, a cruel trick designed to catch him off guard. And even as the realization dawned, he heard the telltale shimmer of magic behind him, the sound of his true adversary materializing out of thin air.


    Thor whirled around, his instincts screaming at him to defend himself, but he was a heartbeat too slow. Loki, the real Loki, lunged forward with Gungnir clutched in his hands. The blade sank deep into Thor''s chest, piercing through armor and flesh with sickening ease.


    Thor let out a roar of pain and rage as Loki lifted him into the air, his body impaled on the spear like a grotesque trophy. With a cruel, almost casual flick of his wrist, Loki sent Thor flying across the bridge, his wounded form crashing to the iridescent surface.


    Thor, his chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath, struggled to rise to his knees. The wound in his chest was deep, a gaping hole that pulsed with each labored beat of his heart, but still he refused to yield, his eyes blazing with the unquenchable fire of a true warrior.


    To Thor''s dismay more Lokis began to appear, each one an exact duplicate of the last, their faces twisted into identical sneers of cruel amusement.


    Thor, his strength failing, his vision blurring with pain and exhaustion, swung his hammer again and again, each blow passing harmlessly through the illusions that surrounded him. It was a futile effort, a desperate stand against an enemy that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.


    The illusions of Loki closed in around him, each one brandishing Gungnir with a look of vicious triumph, their laughter ringing in his ears like the tolling of a funeral bell.


    "I was always more clever than you," the Lokis taunted in unison, their voices blending into a discordant chorus of mockery and scorn. They circled Thor like a pack of wolves.


    But Thor refused to be cowed. He raised his head to meet his brother''s gaze, his voice ringing out with unshakable conviction. "Yet still not clever enough," he declared, his words carrying a promise of retribution yet to come.


    And with that, Thor raised Mjolnir high into the air. The sky above the bridge began to churn, the clouds parting to reveal a maelstrom of lightning and thunder. With a roar, Thor summoned the full might of the tempest. Mjolnir acted as a conduit for the raw, primal energy of the heavens. A massive bolt of lightning struck from the sky, then erupted from the hammer''s head, branching out into a dazzling web of electricity that arced and crackled through the air around the god of thunder.


    Strands of lightning found their mark, striking the illusions of Loki that surrounded Thor and shattering them into nothingness. The duplicates vanished in a blaze of blinding light, their forms dissolving until only one figure remained.


    The force of the lightning sent Loki flying backward, his body crashing to the surface of the bridge. Gungnir, the mighty spear of Odin, was knocked from his grasp, skittering away across the iridescent surface like a discarded toy.


    Thor, his chest heaving with the effort of his exertion, staggered to his feet and approached his fallen brother, his eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and pity.


    Loki flinched away from Thor expecting the worst.


    But to Loki''s surprise, Thor simply placed Mjolnir on his chest and stepped away. He had no desire to inflict further harm upon his brother, no matter how deep the betrayal had cut.


    Loki attempted to rise, his limbs shaking with the effort. But he found himself pinned in place, his body held fast by an immovable weight upon his chest. Mjolnir''s enchantment rendered it impossible for any but the worthy to lift. Loki could only lie there, trapped and helpless, as Thor turned away.


    As Loki struggled futilely against the immovable weight of Mjolnir, Thor turned his attention toward the dire situation unfolding around them. The Bifrost, now fully activated, was firing a powerful beam of energy directly into Jotunheim, the icy realm of the Frost Giants. The bridge beneath their feet vibrated with the force of the energy surge, the colors of the rainbow pulsing and shifting in a dizzying kaleidoscope of light.


    Thor''s eyes widened with growing alarm as he watched the beam intensify. He knew the catastrophic consequences that would follow if he failed to act, the destruction that would be unleashed upon Jotunheim if the Bifrost was allowed to run unchecked.


    In stark contrast to Thor''s mounting concern, Loki watched the unfolding scene with a smug, almost satisfied expression. Pinned to the ground by the enchanted hammer, unable to move or intervene, he seemed content to observe the fruits of his labors, the culmination of his schemes and machinations. His green eyes followed Thor''s every move, a glint of malicious amusement dancing in their depths as he watched his brother grapple with the impossible dilemma before him.


    "Look at you, the Mighty Thor," Loki taunted, his voice dripping with mockery and disdain. "With all your strength, what good does it do you now, huh?"


    The words struck at the heart of Thor''s predicament, a bitter reminder of his helplessness in the face of the impending catastrophe. Despite his immense power, and his unrivaled prowess in battle, he felt utterly powerless to halt the chain of events that Loki had set in motion. The Bifrost continued to channel its destructive energy into the Observatory.


    "Do you hear me, Brother? There''s nothing you can do!" Loki declared, ceasing his struggles entirely.


    But as Thor looked down at the Rainbow Bridge beneath his feet, its surface shimmering and undulating with the force of the Bifrost''s power, a sudden realization dawned upon him. His eyes widened with a mixture of understanding and grim determination as he grasped the only course of action left to him. A sacrifice that would change the fate of worlds, but at a cost almost too great to bear.


    With a heavy heart, Thor extended his hand towards Loki, summoning Mjolnir back to his grasp. The enchanted hammer flew obediently to his outstretched palm.


    Loki sat up, staring at his brother in confusion, unable to comprehend why he''d been released.


    Thor raised Mjolnir high above his head, his eyes fixed upon the tumultuous sky above. Lightning danced and arced around the hammer''s head. And then, with a decisive motion that seemed to split the very heavens themselves, Thor brought Mjolnir down upon the Rainbow Bridge with all the strength he could muster.


    Hairline fractures spread out from the epicenter like a spider''s web of gleaming, iridescent cracks.


    Loki''s eyes widened with sudden understanding. He managed to stagger to his feet, his expression a mask of disbelief and growing horror. "Stop!" he cried, his voice raw with desperate urgency. "What are you doing?!"


    But Thor paid no heed to his brother''s pleas. He raised Mjolnir again and again, the hammer seeming to grow heavier with each passing moment as if the weight of his decision was bearing down upon him like a physical burden.


    Each blow was more devastating than the previous, creating a resounding boom that echoed across Asgard like the tolling of some great, cosmic bell. The cracks in the Rainbow Bridge widened and deepened, the structure groaning and shuddering under Thor''s strikes. The Bifrost''s energy, once focused and controlled, now spilled out from the fissures in chaotic, uncontrolled bursts, the very air shimmering with the force of its release.


    Loki tried to pierce through Thor''s resolve, to stay his hand before it was too late. "If you destroy the Bridge," Loki warned, "you''ll never see her again."


    The implication was a clear reminder that if the Bifrost was lost, Thor stood to lose his pathway back to Earth. To Jane.


    For a moment, Thor hesitated, his grip on Mjolnir faltering ever so slightly. The weight of Loki''s words settled upon his shoulders like a mantle of lead, the realization of the sacrifice he was about to make threatening to overwhelm him.


    But then, he whispered a plea, "Forgive me, Jane." in a quiet acknowledgment of the price he was about to pay.


    Thor steeled himself once more. He knew, with a certainty that there was no other way, no other path that would not lead to even greater tragedy and loss.


    Loki leaped forward, Gungnir clutched in his hands like a spear of vengeance. His eyes blazed with a feral, desperate light as he intended on running his brother through from behind, putting an end to this madness once and for all.


    With a final, mighty heave, Thor brought Mjolnir down upon the Rainbow Bridge for the tenth and final time. And with that devastating stroke, the fate of the Bifrost, and of the realms it connected, was sealed.


    The destruction of the Bifrost was a moment of unparalleled chaos and devastation that would forever be etched into the annals of Asgardian history. As Thor struck the decisive blow, the very foundations of the bridge shattered, unleashing a torrent of rainbow energy that exploded outwards with unfathomable force. The shards and fragments of its once-pristine surface scattered like stardust across the churning waters below.


    The blast was a maelstrom of light and sound, a cacophony of raw, primal power that seemed to rend the very fabric of reality itself. Loki and Thor, caught at the epicenter of the explosion, were violently hurled into the air like rag dolls, their bodies tossed and buffeted by the sheer magnitude of the energy that surged around them.


    A wave of destruction raced along the length of the Rainbow Bridge, a relentless tide of shimmering, iridescent energy that tore through everything in its path. The once-pristine surface of the bridge cracked and splintered, great chunks of crystalline material breaking away and tumbling into the void below. It was as if the very bones of Asgard were being ripped asunder, the lifeblood of the realm spilling out in a dazzling, terrifying display of cosmic fury.


    The Observatory, the crowning jewel of the Bifrost, was consumed by the unleashed forces. The intricate mechanisms and delicate instruments that had charted the stars and guided the passage between worlds were ripped apart, their components scattered like leaves in a hurricane. The building itself crumbled and fell into the void as the wave of energy tore through its very foundations.


    Amidst the chaos and the destruction, Loki and Thor were launched high. The massive wave of Bifrost energy engulfed them and pulverized their bodies amidst the debris. Once gravity reasserted its hold, they plummeted through the air, and their bodies hurtled toward the emptiness below.


    In a last, desperate gambit, Thor managed to grab hold of one end of Gungnir. Loki, his eyes wide with fear and desperation, clung to the other end, his knuckles white with the strain of holding on for dear life.


    Their fates were seemingly sealed by the unstoppable force of the Bifrost''s destruction. But just as they braced for the inevitable, a powerful presence suddenly intervened.


    A strong, unyielding hand closed around Thor''s ankle, halting his descent. Thor dangled there, suspended over the abyss, Gungnir clutched in one hand and Loki hanging on for dear life at the other end.


    Loki craned his neck to look up at their savior, his eyes widening with shock as he beheld the source of their salvation.


    Standing at the edge of the shattered Rainbow Bridge, was Odin Allfather, the king of Asgard and the mightiest of all the gods. He had seemingly awakened from his Odinsleep at the critical moment and had arrived just in time to intervene in the fate of his sons. His weathered face was etched with lines of wisdom and grief. Loki searched his father''s face for some sign of approval, some glimmer of redemption or acceptance. But what he found instead was a look of profound disappointment, a sadness that seemed to reach into the very depths of his soul.


    "I could have done it, Father!" Loki cried out, his voice raw with desperation and longing. "For you! For all of us!"


    But Odin merely shook his head, his eye filled with a sorrow that no words could adequately express. "No, Loki," he said, his voice heavy. "I only ever wanted you to be my son."


    At that moment, something seemed to break within Loki, a final, fragile thread of hope and belonging that had been stretched to its limit. With a look of utter devastation, he released his grip on Gungnir, his fingers slipping away from the spear''s haft as he let himself fall into the maelstrom below.


    "No!" Thor cried out, his voice cracking with anguish and despair as he watched his brother disappear into the swirling vortex of energy. But it was too late. Loki was gone, swept away by the tide of destruction along with the shattered remnants of the Bifrost and the Observatory.


    Odin hauled Thor up onto the broken edge of the bridge. "I''m sorry I couldn''t save your brother," Odin murmured, "I tried, Thor. I tried."


    Thor looked up at his father, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted by the memory of Loki''s final, terrible choice. "I know, Father," he said softly, his words barely audible over the roar of the Bifrost''s destruction. "I know."


    "I''m not your father," the figure before him said.


    Thor''s body went rigid with shock as Odin shifted and changed before his eyes. He watched in stunned disbelief as the Allfather''s visage melted away, revealing not the king of Asgard, but the Midgardian man, Tyson.


    Thor''s eyes widened as recognition dawned. Tyson, the mortal he had met on Midgard, now stood on the shattered edge of the Bifrost in his father''s place. Thor''s mind reeled, struggling to make sense of this revelation.


    "Loki bested me in combat," Tyson explained, his voice low and solemn. "Your father remains in the Odinsleep. I returned just in time to stop you from falling into the void." He paused, regret flickering across his face. "I hoped that taking Odin''s form would encourage Loki to turn from his destructive path, but I was wrong."


    Thor stared, dumbfounded by Tyson''s admission. This unassuming mortal had not only intervened in Asgard''s affairs but had gone so far as to impersonate the Allfather himself in a desperate bid to sway Loki. Thor''s shock slowly gave way to a swell of gratitude.


    "I appreciate what you tried to do for my brother, Tyson," Thor said finally, meeting the mortal''s eyes with sincerity. "Loki made his choice. You bear no blame for that."


    Tyson had fought for Asgard, Thor realized, and though his efforts had failed to alter Loki''s fate, the attempt spoke of courage and compassion. Loki''s actions were his own; Tyson had tried to steer the embittered god from his course.


    Thor placed a hand firmly on the mortal''s shoulder, hoping to convey the depth of his thanks. Tyson had proven himself a true friend to the realm on this day.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson stood in the corridor deep within his mind. The doors lining the hallway were a gateway to a unique set of abilities, a remnant of someone whose life he had touched. As he retraced his steps towards the beginning of the hall, his mind was drawn to two individuals in particular.


    Illyana Rasputin with her burgeoning mastery over the arcane arts and her mutant ability of teleportation. Her power could grant him the ability to appear and disappear at will on the battlefield. The idea of outmaneuvering Loki was a tempting prospect. And then there was Jean Grey, the formidable telepath and telekinetic. With her power, Tyson had defeated an army, had stalemated Magneto. He could engage Loki from the skies, unbound by the constraints of gravity, and rain down destruction upon his foe from above.


    But as Tyson drew closer to their doors, his pace slowed, a flicker of hesitation staying his hand. The prospect of wielding such immense power was undeniably alluring. Yet, he found himself grappling with the potential consequences of using those powers to stop Loki and alter the course of events that had been set in motion.


    This moment of indecision was not born of fear or doubt in his abilities but rather stemmed from an understanding of the delicate balance involved in changing the future.


    Tyson realized that the actions he took could have far-reaching effects.


    He understood the chain of events that would unfold if Loki''s path continued unaltered. Loki''s fall from the Rainbow Bridge would inadvertently lead him to Thanos, the Mad Titan. It was a path that would see Loki armed with the scepter containing the Mind Stone, an Infinity Stone. And would ultimately lead to the formation of the Avengers and the invasion of New York.


    Tyson knew that with either woman''s abilities at his command, he had the power to alter this course, to stop Loki here and now, and potentially save the Rainbow Bridge from destruction. The temptation to intervene, to prevent the imminent catastrophe, tugged at his very soul.


    But even as he contemplated the possibility, Tyson''s mind turned to the broader implications of such an intervention. The Battle of New York, while devastating in its scope and impact, had a pivotal outcome that could not be ignored. It had resulted in the Mind Stone being removed from Thanos''s possession, a crucial step in the larger war against the Mad Titan that would span years and affect countless lives across the universe. A war that Earth had no idea was coming. Infinity War didn''t start when Asgard was destroyed, or when Thanos retrieved the Power Stone from Xandar. The opening move was when Thanos sent Loki to retrieve the Space Stone from Earth.


    Tyson grappled with the ethical dilemma that lay before him, the question of whether it was justifiable to allow the Battle of New York to unfold, to accept the destruction and loss of life that would follow if it meant keeping one of the Infinity Stones out of Thanos''s hands. Was preventing that one battle worth the risk of the Mind Stone remaining under the control of one of the most dangerous beings in the cosmos?


    Deep in his heart, Tyson knew that the stakes were higher than just one city, one battle. The fate of half the universe hinged on controlling the Infinity Stones, and his decision now could have profound consequences for the outcome of that larger conflict.


    Choosing a door wasn''t just a choice about which power could be used to defeat Loki; it was a moment where his actions could fundamentally reshape the flow of events to come.


    As he stood there, lost in thought, Tyson''s mind drifted back to the words of the Ancient One, spoken to him months earlier. She had told him that she could foresee no outcome in which he prevented the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge. Her statement had rankled him deeply at the time.


    But now, as he reflected on her words with the benefit of hindsight, a new understanding began to dawn within his mind. It wasn''t a question of capability, of whether he possessed the power or ability to alter the course of events. Rather, Tyson recognized, it was a matter of choice.


    In every future the Ancient One had glimpsed, he had made the conscious decision not to interfere¡­ Unless she''d just been manipulating him the whole time. Telling him what she needed to, to encourage the sequence of events she desired.


    This realization was a revelation, a moment of clarity that cut through the fog of doubt and indecision that had clouded his thoughts. Tyson couldn''t know the Ancient One''s goals, but he could grasp the bigger picture, the larger tapestry of cause and effect.


    He knew, deep down, that the greater good sometimes required sacrifice, that the fate of billions could hinge on the outcome of a single battle. And he understood, with a heavy heart, that allowing the Mind Stone to fall out of Thanos''s grasp, even at the cost of the Rainbow Bridge and the lives that would be lost in New York, was a price that had to be paid.


    The destruction of the Rainbow Bridge was a pivotal moment in the grand scheme of things. It was a necessary step on the path that would lead to the eventual defeat of Thanos.


    If the Ancient One was telling the truth if there was no future where he stopped the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge¡­


    It was because he chose not to stop it.


    In every future, he must have chosen the Infinity Stone over the Rainbow Bridge.


    But with that realization came a new problem that Tyson had to confront.


    The destruction of the Rainbow Bridge would leave him stranded in Asgard.


    His thoughts turned to Illyana''s power. Her mutant ability allowed her to teleport across dimensions to Limbo and could theoretically cover vast distances. But even as he considered it, Tyson remembered the unpredictable nature of Illyana''s power. She could cover any distance, but the further it went, the more unpredictable the results became. Not spatially, he''d end up where he wanted, but it could send him hurtling through time. After the battle with Azazel, Illyana used her power to send Omega Red back to Russia; Tyson never determined the mutant''s fate.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The risk was too great, and the possibility of ending up in a distant past or a far-flung future was too high.


    But then, a sudden realization dawned on Tyson. His gaze fell upon another door, one he hadn''t initially considered a viable option, and a flicker of excitement stirred within his chest. He peered through the small window set into its surface.


    The red-skinned, demonic mutant, Azazel.


    Azazel''s power was his best chance to return to Earth safely and accurately. It was an ability that could bridge the gap between worlds and dimensions, and unlike Illyana''s power, he needn''t worry about temporal displacement. It was the best solution to his predicament.


    But even as he reached for the door handle, Tyson hesitated, a flicker of doubt passing over his features. Amora had assured that the psyche he chose wouldn''t overwhelm his own, that he would retain control.


    And yet, the memories of his previous encounters with Azazel lingered in his mind, a reminder of the forceful presence that had once threatened to consume him entirely. The ancient mutant had been a formidable adversary, his will and ambition overwhelmed Tyson''s own. With Azazel''s demise at the hands of Illyana, Tyson had thought the danger he posed had passed, but now, faced with the prospect of taking on Azazel''s power once more, he found himself grappling with a new wave of uncertainty.


    But he had to ask himself. Was it possible that if Azazel''s personality were to become dominant, would he still hold to Tyson''s current objective? Azazel had been a being driven by conquest and sought to rule over the demonic realm of Limbo. As he considered the nature of his plan, the full scope of what he hoped to achieve, a flicker of understanding passed through his mind. The goal of securing an Infinity Stone, of harnessing such immense power was a plan that should appeal to Azazel.


    This realization solidified Tyson''s resolve, easing the apprehensions that had clouded his thoughts. He recognized a parallel between his own goals and the ambitions that had driven Azazel.


    And so, with a newfound clarity and a nod of self-affirmation, Tyson reached out and grasped the handle of the door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the rush of power and knowledge that he knew would follow, and then, with a final, decisive twist of his wrist, he opened the door to Azazel''s room and stepped inside.


    Tyson''s eyes snapped open, his consciousness surging back to the forefront of his mind. The weight of Azazel''s psyche pressed against his own. It was there, undeniably potent, but as Amora promised, it was not overwhelming. He could feel the demon''s power, experience, and knowledge coursing through him.


    Taking a deep breath, Tyson centered himself. He hadn''t considered Azazel''s magic when selecting his door, but it was a welcome bonus. Tyson focused on it, understanding its intricacies as if he''d spent years studying the arcane arts. With a gesture and a muttered incantation, he cast an invisibility spell. The air around him shimmered briefly before he vanished from sight.


    Tyson focused on his destination, picturing the Rainbow Bridge where he knew Thor and Loki were locked in battle. In an instant, the world around him blurred and shifted. A cloud of sulfurous smoke engulfed him, and when it dissipated, he found himself standing inside the Bifrost Observatory, peering through the hole they made in its wall as they battled. Even invisible he remained cautious to avoid detection. He watched surreptitiously as Thor and Loki clashed in a furious duel. The bridge beneath their feet pulsed with energy.


    Inside the observatory, Tyson could feel the raw power emanating from the structure. Monitoring the battle between Loki and Thor made him not feel so bad about his own loss to the trickster as he saw Loki holding his own against the god of thunder.


    Ultimately, Thor won the battle, but then came the realization that he couldn''t stop the Bifrost.


    He raised Mjolnir high. Tyson realized what was about to happen. This was the moment. Thor was going to destroy the Rainbow Bridge.


    As Thor brought Mjolnir down with earth-shattering force, Tyson braced himself. The impact sent shockwaves through the bridge, fractures spreading like spider webs across its surface. The air itself seemed to scream as the ancient structure began to tear itself apart.


    Tyson watched, invisible and silent, as Thor continued to rain down strikes on the bridge.


    The Bifrost shattered beneath Thor''s final blow. He saw Loki''s form blasted away by the force of the explosion, tumbling through the air.


    Tyson felt the pull of opportunity; Loki was vulnerable, overwhelmed. Drawing on Azazel''s power, he teleported, reappearing in mid-air next to Loki''s flying form. Time seemed to slow as Tyson reached out, his fingertips barely grazing Loki''s hand. The contact lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Tyson felt the familiar rush of energy as his life-draining touch activated, pulling a portion of Loki''s essence into himself.


    His earliest memories were of trying to keep up with his brother Thor. Always smaller, always slower, he learned early on that his strength lay in his mind. While he joined Thor training with weapons, he also devoured books of history and magic, finding solace in knowledge and illusions. His first successful shapeshifting was a moment of triumph. Changing into a snake to trick Thor, he reveled in the power of deception. It was a small victory, but one that set the course for his future. As they grew, the differences between the brothers became more pronounced. At feasts and gatherings, he watched as Thor basked in adoration while he lingered in the shadows. Envy took root, along with a desperate desire to prove himself worthy. His skill in magic flourished under Frigga''s tutelage. Illusions, telekinesis, and energy manipulation became his tools. He learned to use cunning where he lacked brute strength, often outsmarting his opponents. His pranks grew more elaborate and sometimes cruel. He turned Sif''s golden hair jet black to match his own. As Thor''s coronation approached, fear and resentment reached a boiling point. He couldn''t bear the thought of kneeling to his brother for eternity. His scheme to disrupt the ceremony by letting Frost Giants into Asgard was a desperate gambit. The truth of his heritage hit him like a physical blow. He was the monster parents tell their children about at night. Confusion turned to anger, then to a terrible purpose. If he couldn''t be the golden son, he would prove himself the better king by any means necessary. With Odin in the Odinsleep and Thor banished, he finally sat upon the throne of Asgard. But the power he''d craved for so long felt hollow. Sending the Destroyer to Earth was an act of fear as much as malice, a frantic attempt to prevent Thor''s return.


    Caught in the explosion, Loki didn''t even register what had happened.


    Tyson vanished from the turbulent sky in a puff of sulfurous smoke. He reappeared at the edge of the destroyed bridge, avoiding the wake of the explosion.


    Without hesitation, Tyson called upon Azazel''s shapeshifting powers, transforming his appearance into that of Odin Allfather.


    As Thor fell past him, Tyson-as-Odin lunged forward, his hand shooting out to grasp Thor''s ankle. He felt the weight of the thunder god, but his own strength combined with what he absorbed from Loki''s, it was like holding a baby, hardly straining his muscles.


    Thor looked up in surprise, his blue eyes wide with a mix of relief and confusion.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    At the precipice of Asgard, Thor and Tyson stood together, their forms silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the cosmos. The shattered remnants of the Rainbow Bridge stretched out before them, a once-magnificent structure now reduced to jagged fragments that glittered like broken glass in the ethereal light of the realm eternal.


    The bridge''s vibrant colors, once a dazzling spectrum of hues that pulsed with the heartbeat of Asgard itself, were now muted and fractured, a pale echo of their former glory. Beyond the ruined bridge, the vastness of the universe unfolded before them, a tapestry of distant stars and swirling nebulae that painted the heavens in shades of purple and gold. It was a sight that simultaneously inspired awe and underscored the profound isolation of their position, a reminder of the immense distances that separated Asgard from the other realms.


    Thor, his hand wrapped around the haft of Gungnir, the spear of the king, bore a solemn expression as he turned to face Tyson. His blue eyes, usually alight with the fire of battle and the joy of camaraderie, were clouded with regret and a deep, abiding sadness. Mjolnir lay a few feet away on the remaining, intact portion of the Bifrost bridge.


    "I''m sorry, my new friend," he said, "But without the Bifrost, there''s no way to get you home."


    Tyson, his gaze fixed on the starry expanse before them, replied with a quiet assurance. "I think I have a way home," he said.


    But before he could elaborate, the sound of footsteps clicking against the fractured surface of the Rainbow Bridge drew their attention. They turned as one to see Amora approaching, her lithe form moving with a grace and poise that seemed at odds with the chaos and destruction that surrounded them.


    She came to a halt before Thor, her emerald eyes lowered in a gesture of respect and contrition as she sank to one knee. The golden tresses of her hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall of spun sunlight, framing a downcast face that was at once beautiful and regretful.


    "My Prince," she began, her voice carrying a note of genuine remorse. "I''m sorry for my part in this. I could not go against Loki while he wielded Gungnir. I was ordered away, and despite my preferences, I couldn''t bring myself to commit treason."


    Her confession carried the weight of the duty that bound her to Loki''s command. Thor regarded her with a mix of understanding and sorrow. Tyson sensed the tension that threaded through the moment and spoke up in Amora''s defense.


    "Amora came to me when I was weak and defeated," he said, "While she followed the orders she was given, she undoubtedly helped me by boosting my power and allowing me to assist you. Indirectly, she was the one that saved you."


    Thor considered the complexities of loyalty and duty. But Tyson was acutely aware of the fleeting nature of the abilities he''d gained from Amora''s boost and knew he couldn''t delay his departure for much longer.


    "I''m unsure how long I''ll be able to maintain this power," he said, his tone tinged with a note of urgency. "I should go."


    At his announcement, Amora looked up from her kneeling position, her eyes wide and pleading. "Wait, please," she implored, her gaze darting between Tyson and Thor. "I have shamed myself with my part in this mutiny perpetrated by Loki. I must atone for the mistakes I''ve made." She turned to Thor, her voice low and earnest. "As you underwent a trial on Midgard, I must do the same." Then, shifting her focus to Tyson, she spoke with a quiet intensity that bordered on desperation. "Permit me to join you in your return to Earth. Please."


    After a moment of contemplative silence, Thor spoke with a soft yet firm authority. "Rise, Amora," he commanded, his hand extending in a gesture of acknowledgment. "You were deceived, as all of us were, by Loki''s tricks."


    He paused, his eyes searching her face as he weighed the gravity of her request. "But if you feel this is needed, you have my approval." Then, turning to Tyson, he added, "But ultimately, he is the one making the journey to Midgard, and he is of Midgard. I leave the decision to him."


    Tyson studied Amora with a keen, appraising gaze. He knew her well enough to recognize the ambition that burned within her, the thirst for power and influence that drove her every action. Yet, her sudden desire to leave Asgard and accompany him to Earth puzzled him. She was poised to gain favor and standing in the aftermath of her indirect aid to Thor.


    She''d positioned herself to benefit regardless of who was victorious, and from Tyson''s perspective, she''d succeeded. So, what did she stand to gain from this unexpected decision? What hidden motives lurked beneath the surface of her contrition and her plea for redemption?


    And yet, even as these doubts and questions swirled through his mind, Tyson couldn''t deny the strategic advantage that Amora''s presence on Earth could offer. Her ability to amplify his powers, to boost his abilities to heights he had never before achieved, was a boon that could not be ignored.


    With the looming specter of the Battle of New York on the horizon, Tyson realized that Amora could be a deciding factor. Her magic, combined with his formidable gifts, could turn the tide of the conflict in ways that he couldn''t achieve alone. Especially if a new event or unexpected adversary intervened.


    And so, despite the lingering uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, Tyson made his decision. He would accept Amora''s offer, would allow her to accompany him back to Earth and face whatever trials and challenges lay ahead.


    It was the pragmatic choice.


    Whatever her true motives, whatever hidden agendas she harbored, Tyson knew that he could use her power, her knowledge, and her cunning.


    Tyson agreed with a simple nod, "Yes, you may join me," he stated plainly to Amora. Though he did not fully trust the enchantress, he would accept her aid for now.


    "Tell Jane Foster I am sorry," Thor began, his voice heavy with regret. "I promised a swift return to her, but without the Bifrost, it may be some time before I can find my way back to Earth."


    Tyson nodded solemnly, sympathizing with the god''s plight. "I will. Send my regards to the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif in particular¡­ You have my condolences for Loki," he replied, carefully.


    Thor nodded, his eyes clouded by a mix of sadness and resolve. "Thank you, Tyson. Though his methods were misguided, Loki was still my brother."


    Tyson held his tongue, aware that Loki yet lived, choosing not to reveal this knowledge. Instead, he sought to redirect the conversation to more positive matters.


    "You will make a fine king, Thor," he continued. "Asgard could ask for no more capable a leader in these trying times."


    Thor gazed towards his kingdom in the distance with Gungnir in his hands, his expression growing determined as the weight of kingship settled upon his shoulders. "I will do my best for Asgard and its people," he vowed.


    "On that, I have no doubts," Tyson affirmed, "Good fortune to you, Thor. Asgard''s future shines bright under your guidance."


    Tyson paused, a sudden thought crossing his mind. "Actually, one moment. Before I go¡­" he said, his voice trailing off with curiosity and a hint of determination.


    He turned and walked towards where Mjolnir lay on the ground. Thor watched with a confident smile, while Amora''s expression grew confused as Tyson approached the legendary weapon.


    Tyson bent down, his eyes fixed on the hammer''s intricate engravings and its worn leather handle. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around the grip. For a moment, he hesitated.


    Then, with a deep breath, he lifted.


    To his surprise, and the utter astonishment of Thor and Amora, Mjolnir rose from the ground as easily as if it were a common tool. Tyson felt its power thrumming through his arm, a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.


    He turned to face Thor, the hammer held firmly in his hand. The god of thunder''s eyes were wide with shock, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Amora, too, seemed frozen in disbelief, her emerald eyes darting between Tyson and the hammer he so effortlessly wielded.


    Tyson walked towards Thor. The weight of Mjolnir in his hand felt right as if it had been crafted for his grip.


    He stopped before Thor, holding out the hammer. "I believe this belongs to you," Tyson said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of the moment.


    Thor stared at Mjolnir, then at Tyson, his expression a storm of emotions; disbelief, awe, and a glimmer of pride. He seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak.


    Amora failed to process what she was witnessing. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out.


    The moment stretched, filled with the weight of unspoken questions and implications. Tyson stood firm, arm extended, offering the hammer to its rightful wielder.


    Finally, Thor stirred. He reached out slowly. Tyson looked into Thor''s eyes as the god of thunder''s fingers brushed against Tyson''s as he grasped the hammer, and for a heartbeat, both men held the weapon of legend. The Asgardian didn''t feel the pain or pull of Tyson''s life drain as he absorbed the god''s power through their contact.


    He was born in the golden realm of Asgard, a prince destined for greatness. His earliest memories were of his father''s grand halls, his mother''s gentle wisdom, and the mischievous grin of his brother Loki. As a child, he dreamed of battles and glory, play-fighting with wooden swords in the palace gardens. As he grew, so did his strength and skill. He trained relentlessly, mastering the art of combat under Asgard''s greatest warriors. His prowess with axe and sword became legendary, but it was the hammer Mjolnir that called to him. Lightning crackled through the sky as he raised it high, accepting the weapon. He swore to use it to protect the Nine Realms, a vow he would strive to uphold throughout his life. Alongside the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and his brother Loki, he adventured. Each victory added to his legend, but also to his pride. As his coronation day approached, he felt invincible. The crown of Asgard was within his grasp. But fate, and Frost Giant intruders, intervened. His rash decision to attack Jotunheim revealed the depth of his arrogance. Banishment to Midgard came as a shock. Stripped of his power, he found himself alone in a strange world. It was there, among mortals, that he began to learn true humility. When the Destroyer arrived, threatening the innocent people of that town, he made the ultimate sacrifice. In that moment of selflessness, he proved himself truly worthy of Mjolnir once more. Returning to Asgard, he faced his greatest challenge yet, confronting his brother Loki, now twisted by jealousy and rage.


    Then Tyson released his grip, and Thor accepted Mjolnir back into his possession.


    Thor hefted Mjolnir, testing its familiar weight. He regarded Tyson with newfound respect and wonder, clearly seeing the mortal in a different light after witnessing his worthiness in wielding Mjolnir.


    Amora studied Tyson with keen interest. His brief contact with the Asgardian prince hadn''t gone unnoticed.


    "If you ever get comfortable with that spear, feel free to toss Mjolnir back to Earth. I''ll take good care of it," Tyson said, chuckling lightly.


    "I''m sure you would, my friend," Thor responded, matching his mirth.


    Tyson turned to face Amora, his expression hopeful. Their final words and well-wishes had been exchanged with Thor, and now the time had come. He extended his hand in offering, palm open, inviting the enchantress to take the next step with him.


    Amora accepted his grasp. Her delicate fingers curled around his.


    Closing his eyes, Tyson summoned the mutant ability granted to him by Azazel. He focused his mind, visualizing his suite before calling on the infernal powers that lurked within. A whirling vortex of smoke and fire began to swell around the entwined figures, growing in size and intensity. The unnatural flames licked harmlessly at their bodies as the vortex enveloped them completely.


    In but a blink, Tyson and Amora vanished from sight, transported away.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson and Amora materialized in his suite at the Four Seasons Downtown, the sudden shift from the ethereal realm of Asgard to the stark modernity of the hotel was jarring in its abruptness. Though the room spoke of wealth and refinement, it couldn''t match Asgard''s majesty.


    But Tyson had little time to appreciate the surroundings, for the moment his feet touched the plush carpeting, a wave of weakness crashed over him like a tidal surge. His legs trembled beneath him, his muscles turning to water as the last vestiges of Amora''s power boost drained away, leaving him hollowed out and fragile.


    Staggering towards the bathroom, his senses reeled and his vision blurred at the edges. Tyson barely made it to the toilet before his stomach heaved and convulsed, emptying its contents in a series of violent spasms. The room spun around him like a dizzying carousel, the walls and floor blended in a sickening whirl.


    But in his misery, Tyson was dimly aware of Amora''s presence at his side. With a gentleness that belied her usual air of haughty detachment, she gathered his hair in her fingers, holding it back from his sweat-dampened face as he retched and heaved.


    Her touch was feather-light, almost tender as she stroked his hair and scalp, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his skin. "I neglected to warn you," she murmured, her voice a soft caress in the stillness of the bathroom. "The aftermath of a boost can be rough. But was it not worth the power it granted?"


    Tyson, lost in the throes of his wretchedness, could barely process her words, let alone muster the strength to respond. Just as he thought the worst had passed, another wave of nausea slammed into him like a physical blow, doubling him over the toilet once more as his stomach clenched and heaved.


    He hadn''t even eaten since vomiting earlier on the Rainbow Bridge. How did he still have so much to throw up?


    It seemed to go on forever, an eternity of misery and weakness that left him shaking and spent, his forehead pressed against the cool porcelain in a vain attempt to ground himself. But finally, mercifully, the spasms subsided, leaving him hollow and aching in their wake.


    It was then that he felt the gentle caress of Amora''s magic. She cast a refreshing spell that swept over him like a cool breeze on a summer''s day. It cleansed his mouth and body, banishing the sour tang of bile and the clinging remnants of sweat and grime, leaving him feeling clean and refreshed.


    But even that small mercy could do little to alleviate the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled over him like a leaden blanket. Collapsing back against the bathroom wall, the tiles cool and solid against his skin, Tyson was struck by how utterly alien this weakness felt. Since absorbing Sabertooth, he had never experienced such vulnerability, such a profound sense of his mortality. It was as if the god-like strength and resilience that had become his new normal had been stripped away, leaving him as fragile and helpless as any other human.


    In a scene that would have seemed surreal to any onlooker, Amora bent down and scooped Tyson into her arms, cradling him against her chest like a child. She moved with an effortless grace, as if Tyson wasn''t well over five hundred pounds, carrying him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.


    Her actions were suffused with a tenderness. She carefully laid him down on the plush bed. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his forehead in a soft kiss, the gesture at once comforting and strangely solemn. It was as if, at that moment, she was acknowledging the bond between them.


    As Tyson lay there, his body heavy and aching with weariness, he looked up at Amora, his mismatched eyes searching her face for hints of her thoughts. She watched him in return, her gaze filled with a curious intensity as if she were trying to unravel the mysteries that lay behind his mortal fa?ade.


    "Why didn''t you stop Loki?" she asked at last, her voice laced with a hint of frustration. "I was watching. I know you could have killed him, or at least saved him. Why did you seemingly waste the power I gave you?"


    Tyson drew in a breath, gathering the tattered remnants of his strength to answer. "I couldn''t kill Thor''s brother," he said, his voice weak but firm. "In your own words, despite his misdeeds, he saved Odin. And frankly, his actions on Earth hadn''t justified such an extreme measure. The worst the Destroyer did was cause property damage."


    Tyson drew a ragged breath before continuing his explanation. "After I touched Sif and saw her memories, I knew something was amiss with Odin. When he had rescued them from their attack on Jotunheim, the Allfather had seemed feeble and weary. And soon after, he had slipped into the Odinsleep." He shook his head slowly. "According to Sif''s recollections, Odin had already postponed sleep to oversee Thor''s coronation. Had he been forced from his rest prematurely, I suspect, the Allfather would have been left dangerously weakened."


    Tyson''s voice, though still weak, carried conviction. "Regardless of my quarrel with Loki and his reckless actions on Earth, my foremost priorities were aiding Thor and ensuring Odin had time to recover. The security of Asgard and its king took precedence." He paused, chest heaving with the strain of speaking at such length. "Yes, I likely could have intervened to save Loki at the end. But after the bastard stabbed me in the eye and disintegrated half my body, I felt no particular motivation to save the fucker from the fate he had chosen."


    Amora chuckled at his vulgar language. "I see your point," she said at last, her tone softening with understanding. "Your approach was more about the bigger picture, the long-term consequences."


    Amora''s expression turned grave as she considered the wider implications of Tyson''s actions. "While your choices may have been best for Asgard and yourself, I fear they will have dire consequences for the other realms," she said somberly. "Jotunheim will undoubtedly seek vengeance for the attack on their world and the murder of their king. Such an act of aggression cannot go unanswered."


    She paused, gaining a faraway look. "With the Rainbow Bridge destroyed, Asgard is isolated from the other realms. Without the Bifrost to provide stability and order, Asgard¡¯s protectorates will be left to fend for themselves." Turning back to Tyson, she fixed him with an intense stare, her eyes flashing. "Loki and Thor''s feud will have long-lasting consequences. Their actions have destabilized the delicate balance between the realms. Chaos will spread, war and bloodshed will follow."


    Tyson was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Amora''s words weighed heavy on him, the implications of what had transpired on the Rainbow Bridge sinking in. But he knew Thanos losing the Mind Stone was worth the cost.


    "How did you know?" Amora asked, breaking the silence. "How did you know the bridge would be destroyed?"


    Tyson hesitated, scrambling for a plausible explanation. He could hardly tell the Asgardian sorceress that her universe was fictional entertainment from his previous life.


    "I...I had a vision," he said finally. "With the psychic abilities I absorbed previously, I foresaw what would transpire between Thor and Loki on the bridge."


    Amora arched one sculpted eyebrow, skepticism writ across her lovely features. "A vision told you the bridge would shatter? Do not insult me with such a transparent falsehood." She fixed him with an intense emerald gaze. "I glimpsed your memories. I would have noticed such a vision."


    Tyson suppressed a cringe. "Alright, you''ve caught me," he admitted. "Once I had knowledge from both you and Lady Sif, I understood the forces at play, it wasn''t hard to deduce how events would unfold." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew Amora would never accept such a flimsy explanation.


    Sure enough, Amora let out a silvery peal of laughter. "Come now, let''s not pretend," she purred, with a knowing smile. "You are brave, and strong, and worthy. This I do not dispute. But clever?" She shook her head, blond tresses swaying with the motion. "You are many things, Tyson the Mirage, but clever is not one of them."


    Despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, Tyson felt a spark of irritation at her condescending words. "I was clever enough to catch you, wasn''t I?" he shot back, pride stung.


    Amora''s smile only widened at his retort. "On the contrary, I believe it was my own cleverness you absorbed that allowed you to best me." She trailed one long, elegant finger down his cheek. "And the demon''s cleverness that had you absorb a hint of life force from both Asgardian princes, to carry a piece of them inside you."


    Her words gave Tyson pause.


    She wasn''t wrong.


    Tyson nodded in acquiescence, the simple gesture taking more effort than he cared to admit. "Believe what you want," he said tiredly, exhaustion draining the fight from his voice. "Just know that I had my reasons for allowing events to play out as they did."


    "Why did you come here?" He asked, his voice little more than a whisper as he tried to shift the topic.


    Amora''s hand stilled in his hair, her fingers resting lightly against his scalp as she considered her answer. "Fine. Have your secrets then, Mirage¡­ I knew you''d be weak after the boost faded," she said at last, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I couldn''t let you get killed now. Without the Bifrost, without Asgard, Earth will be vulnerable. You''re strong, but not strong enough to defend this realm¡­ yet. I came here to ensure you don''t die before you are."


    She leaned in close, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered an enchantment, the words thrumming with a subtle magic that seemed to emanate from her very being. Her lips brushed against his in a soft, lingering kiss, the spell passing between them like a shared secret.


    "Rest now, and grow strong," she murmured, her voice a soothing lullaby in the stillness of the room. "I''ll be watching."


    And with those words, Tyson felt himself slipping away, his consciousness fading into the gentle embrace of a magical slumber. His last coherent thoughts were concern with Amora''s words. If she''d be watching, it meant she wouldn''t be staying with him.


    He tried to object, "Wait¡­"


    But he only got out a single word before the darkness claimed him.

 Arc 5 - Ch 17: The Hulk

    Chapter 64


    Arc 5 - Ch 17: The Hulk


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: Culver University, Willowdale, Virginia


    The sun cast a warm, golden light across the Culver University campus. It was the kind of scene that seemed to belong on a postcard or orientation flyer; with grand historic buildings bathed in the soft glow of the fading day. The air was filled with the gentle buzz of conversation and laughter, as students made their way along the tree-lined paths and across the manicured lawns.


    Among the students, Natasha Romanoff blended in seamlessly. She had once again taken on the identity of Natalie Rushman, this time as a senior biology major. Her fiery red hair had been dyed toned down to a subtle auburn. She hid her eyes behind a pair of chic sunglasses and wore a simple yet stylish outfit; a fitted blazer over a soft, cream-colored blouse, paired with dark jeans and comfortable shoes. To the casual observer, she was just another student making her way across campus. But beneath the facade of the unassuming college senior, Natasha''s mind was sharp and focused, attuned to the slightest hint of danger or the face she sought. Every detail of her surroundings, every passing conversation, and fleeting glance, was cataloged and assessed with a tactical precision born of years of training and experience.


    The students around her were immersed in their own worlds. They chattered about how the summer semester was going and the latest campus gossip, their laughter and groans mingling with the distant sounds of traffic and birdsong.


    Natalie''s presence barely registered in their minds as she slipped past, just another face in the crowd. Her journey took her past the bustling student center, its large, glass-walled atrium filled with the chatter of voices and the clink of cutlery. She passed the quiet, ivy-covered library and the lively quad where groups of students lounged on the grass, their books and laptops spread out before them. Her destination was one of the university''s research buildings, a nondescript structure tucked away at the edge of the campus. To most, it was just another academic facility where graduate students and faculty poured over data and conducted experiments. But Natasha knew that inside, groundbreaking and potentially dangerous research was being conducted; the kind of work that could change the world... for better or ill.


    As she neared the building, Natasha''s pace slowed, her observation becoming more focused and intentional. But everything seemed normal.


    Inside, the halls were quiet. The soft hum of the ventilation system was the only sound. She passed labs and offices, nodding politely at the few lingering students and staff members. Her cover story was she was here to collect some research papers for a professor.


    But Natalie''s true objective was infinitely more dangerous.


    Suddenly, a crash from outside shattered the calm. Natasha''s instincts, honed by years of espionage and combat, kicked in immediately. She rushed to the nearest window, scanning the unfolding scene with a sharp, assessing gaze.


    Through the glass, she saw a man sprinting across the open field of the campus, his movements frantic and desperate. He was being pursued, not by campus security or local law enforcement, but by soldiers in full tactical gear. Humvees rumbled onto the scene, their engines growling as they surrounded the field.


    Natasha wasted no time. She turned away from the window and dashed down the hallway, her mind already working through the possible scenarios. She needed a better vantage point.


    As Natasha reached the stairwell, she began to ascend, taking the steps two at a time as she aimed for the upper floors of the building. From there, she would have a clearer view of the field and the surrounding area, and a better chance to assess the situation and determine her next move. Every second counted, and her mind was already racing ahead.


    As she reached the top floor, Natasha could hear the distant sounds of orders being shouted and the hum of vehicle engines. She approached a window that overlooked the field, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene below.


    The man was still running. The troops'' weapons trained on him but their fingers held carefully away from the triggers. It was clear that they wanted to take him alive, but for what purpose?


    From her elevated position, Natasha could see the armed forces were trying to corral the man and cut off his escape routes. It was a well-executed maneuver, but the man proved to be a more elusive target than they had anticipated. Her sharp eyes suddenly widened in recognition.


    The man being pursued was Bruce Banner. As she suspected, the military''s target was the same as her own.


    Banner, in a moment of desperate improvisation, veered towards the university''s library. A slight shake of Natasha''s head betrayed her thoughts. The library''s limited exits and sprawling, labyrinthine interior, was a poor choice. It was a trap of Banner''s own making, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the soldiers caught up to him.


    Minutes ticked by, then as expected, Banner reappeared, this time in the breezeway between two of the university''s buildings.


    The military''s methodical pursuit allowed them to anticipate his path and cut him off. Troops poured into position, blocking the doors on both sides of the breezeway, effectively trapping Banner in the suspended hallway. It was a tactical move, expertly executed, and Natasha couldn''t help but admire the soldiers'' efficiency. The situation escalated rapidly as the troops fired gas canisters through the glass of the breezeway. Thick, noxious smoke quickly filled the enclosed space, obscuring Natasha''s view and making it difficult to see what was happening inside. She watched as Banner, in a futile attempt to protect himself, peeled off his shirt and covered his face. His movements grew increasingly frantic and erratic as the gas began to take effect.


    Then, a sudden commotion drew Natasha''s attention. A woman broke away from the line of soldiers and desperately ran for the breezeway. She managed to elbow one of the troops in the face, sending him reeling backward, but her attempt to reach Banner was short-lived. A second soldier grabbed her and pulled her back. Banner pressed up against the glass of the breezeway and watched the scene unfold with a look of abject horror on his face. The sight of the woman being apprehended seemed to trigger something deep within him, a visceral reaction that Natasha could see even from her distant vantage point.


    And then, in a moment that seemed to stretch out into eternity, Banner was engulfed by the gas, his figure disappearing from view as the thick, choking smoke filled the breezeway. Natasha held her breath as she waited for the smoke to clear, for some sign of what had happened to the man she had been sent to observe.


    For a brief, eerie moment, a heavy silence descended upon the scene, the tension palpable even to Natasha, who remained a silent observer from her vantage point high above.


    Suddenly, the stillness was shattered as Banner''s hand reappeared, smacking against the glass of the breezeway with such tremendous force that the surface cracked in a spiderweb pattern, the lines of fracture spreading outward like the threads of a twisted tapestry. His hand was undergoing a horrifying transformation, the muscles bulging and rippling beneath the skin as it grew larger and more powerful with each passing second. Before Natasha''s disbelieving eyes, Banner''s silhouette began to shift and morph, and his body expanded. The once small, unassuming man was rapidly becoming something else entirely, a monstrous, muscle-bound figure that dwarfed any man Natasha had ever encountered.


    The Hulk, for that was the only name that could describe the creature that now stood in Banner''s place, let out a roar of pure, unbridled rage. With a display of raw, terrifying power, he slammed his massive hands against the breezeway, shattering glass, metal, and concrete, as if they were nothing more than flimsy paper.


    Debris rained down on the ground below, a deadly hail of jagged shards and twisted metal that sent the soldiers scattering for cover. One unlucky individual, too slow to react, was clipped by a falling piece of rubble, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap.


    Natasha realized, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, that the man was likely dead, his life snuffed out in an instant by the Hulk''s uncontrolled fury. The gravity of the situation hit her like a punch to the gut. Banner was no longer just a potential threat, but a force of nature, a cataclysmic event given humanoid form. The chaos he could unleash, the destruction he could wreak, was unparalleled, and she knew with a cold certainty that the military''s attempts to contain him would be futile and dangerous.


    Retrieving her phone from her pocket, her fingers danced across the screen, dialing Director Fury''s number even as her eyes remained locked on the unfolding pandemonium below. As the phone rang, Natasha watched the Hulk burst out of the shattered remains of the breezeway with a powerful leap.


    Fury''s voice, calm yet tinged with an undercurrent of concern, crackled through the phone''s speaker. "Romanoff, talk to me. What''s the situation?"


    Natasha''s tone remained steady despite the extraordinary scene playing out before her. She wasted no time in delivering her report. "Sir, it''s Banner. He''s transformed. The Hulk is loose on Culver University''s campus."


    There was a brief pause on the other end of the line as if Fury was taking a moment to process the gravity of her words. "What''s the status on the ground?" he asked, his voice tight with barely contained urgency.


    Her eyes never leaving the Hulk''s rampaging form, responded with cool, clinical detachment. "The military''s engaged him. They''re firing everything they have, but it''s not enough. It''s barely slowing him down."


    As if to punctuate her words, a hail of gunfire erupted from the soldiers'' weapons, the bullets pinging harmlessly off the Hulk''s impenetrable green skin like raindrops on a roof. The creature roared in irritation, his rage seemed to grow with each futile attempt to bring him down.


    "Do not let Ross take Banner. Not dead, not alive. We can''t risk it."


    "Understood, sir. I''ll do what I can." Potential strategies and contingencies passed through Natasha''s thoughts. But what could she possibly do?


    Even as they spoke, the situation on the ground was escalating, the military''s desperate attempts to subdue the Hulk only served to fuel his fury. A Humvee stormed towards the rampaging giant, its mounted .50-caliber machine gun spitting out a stream of bullets that would have torn a lesser being to shreds.


    With a speed that belied his enormous size, Hulk charged towards the vehicle, his shoulder slamming into its armored side with the force of a runaway train causing the Humvee to topple over like a child''s toy.


    Fury voiced, "Be careful, Romanoff. The Hulk is unpredictable. I know it''s a big ask, but we need Banner. Alive."


    Natasha replied, "I know." Her gaze never wavered from the scene of destruction unfolding below, even as she ended the call.


    Seemingly impervious to the military''s increasingly desperate attempts to bring him down, Hulk continued his rampage across the campus grounds. Another Humvee charged towards the green behemoth, intent on ramming him head-on in a last-ditch effort.


    But it was a mere annoyance to the Hulk''s unstoppable might. With a casual stomp of his foot, he brought the vehicle to a bone-jarring halt, its front end crumpling like tin foil beneath the immense pressure. Then, with a display of strength, the Hulk lifted the Humvee above his head as easily as a child might lift a toy, hurling it with a roar of fury towards a nearby artist''s sculpture of twisted metal and sharp angles. The impact was devastating, the Humvee slammed into the sculpture with a deafening crash that sent shards of metal and debris flying in all directions. But the Hulk wasn''t finished. With a series of earth-shaking blows, he slammed the ruined vehicle against the sculpture repeatedly.


    As if that wasn''t enough, the Hulk then reached into the wreckage of the Humvee. His massive hand closed around the engine block and with a toss, he hurled the chunk of machinery towards another approaching vehicle. The improvised projectile struck with the force of a small meteor. The targeted Humvee was sent flying backward, its armored frame crumpling like paper as it slammed into yet another vehicle behind it. The resulting explosion was a ball of fire and smoke that consumed both Humvees in a hellish inferno of twisted metal and burning fuel.


    Watching the destruction scene play out before her, Natasha couldn''t help but be reminded of Tyson''s harrowing tale. His story of single-handedly fighting off an army of soldiers during an invasion of his school. Unbeknownst to Tyson, Natasha''s clearance level had allowed her to acquire a copy of the footage from the Weapon Plus program. Watching his one-man stand against the invaders had been remarkable. But as she watched the Hulk tear through the military''s defenses like they were made of tissue paper, Natasha couldn''t help but draw a contrast between Tyson''s controlled, purposeful use of his powers and the Hulk''s mindless, unrestrained destruction. Where Tyson had fought with a clear goal in mind, the Hulk seemed driven only by blind, all-consuming rage. It was a force of nature that cared nothing for the lives it destroyed in its wake.


    Natasha was left grappling with the philosophical implications of powers. Tyson, for all his incredible abilities, had wielded his strength with a sense of responsibility, a knowledge of the weight that came with the gift of power. But the Hulk... the Hulk was a different beast entirely, a creature of pure, primal fury that knew nothing of consequences or moral considerations. As Natasha watched him rampage across the campus, leaving a trail of destruction and death in his wake, she couldn''t help but wonder¡­


    Which was worse?


    The man who committed atrocities with full knowledge of his actions, who bore the weight of his choices on his soul? Or the being who destroyed without thought or care, who existed only in the moment of rage and fury, unaware of the lives he shattered in his path?


    It was a question without an easy answer. But for now, she had a job to do, and a mission to complete.


    The once tranquil campus transformed into a war zone. Amidst the swirling dust and debris, a lone soldier bravely advanced towards the Hulk, drawing Natasha''s attention. The soldier stood out, his purposeful movements contrasted the activity surrounding him. The soldier was armed with a grenade launcher. He raised the launcher and began firing directly at the Hulk, the grenades arcing through the air and exploding against the creature''s green skin in bursts of flame and smoke.


    The Hulk, enraged by the assault, responded with a display of primal cunning. His massive hands tore into the wreckage of a destroyed Humvee, ripping away the reinforced doors and using them into makeshift shields. The impromptu defenses were crude but effective, allowing the Hulk to weather the barrage of grenades as he continued his relentless advance. Undeterred, the soldier closed the distance between himself and the Hulk with a fearlessness that bordered reckless. As he neared the towering figure, the soldier made a bold, almost suicidal move. With a powerful leap, he used one of the Hulk''s makeshift shields as a springboard, vaulting over the massive green form. Landing atop the decorative sculpture, he drew a pistol from his belt and fired at the Hulk''s head from near-point-blank range. But the bullets sparked off the creature''s impenetrable skin like fireworks.


    Natasha watched the unfolding confrontation with narrowed eyes, her trained gaze taking in every detail of the soldier''s movements. As the Hulk swung one of his makeshift shields in a retaliatory strike, the soldier reacted with acrobatic prowess that left her momentarily stunned. With a graceful somersault, the soldier launched himself over the Hulk''s massive arm, twisting in midair to continue firing his pistol even as he evaded the crushing blow. Each action flowed seamlessly into the next with a grace that spoke of superhuman agility.


    As the Hulk unleashed a furious barrage of attacks, swinging his metal slabs with a force that could have leveled buildings, the soldier danced around the blows with ease that seemed almost choreographed. He ducked and rolled, each evasion executed with a split-second precision that left no room for error. The soldier narrowly avoided each of the Hulk''s powerful strikes, his speed and agility keeping him just out of reach of the behemoth''s grasp.


    Natasha couldn''t help but be impressed by the soldier''s extraordinary abilities. His combat skills were exceptional, surpassing those of the most highly trained operatives she had encountered. Who was this mysterious figure, and what secret training or enhancements had granted him such incredible abilities?


    Suddenly, the soldier displayed another feat that pushed the boundaries of human capability. With the Hulk hot on his heels, the soldier took off at a sprint, his speed far surpassing that of any normal person. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he raced across the open field, leaving the Hulk behind momentarily with his unexpected burst of speed.


    But the Hulk quickly recovered. With a bellow, the green giant lowered his head and charged after the fleeing soldier, closing the distance between them with terrifying speed.


    Just as it seemed that the soldier might not be fast enough to stay ahead of the Hulk''s pursuit, two more Humvees roared onto the scene, each vehicle equipped with strange contraptions resembling satellite dishes mounted on its roof. The soldier neared the point where the two Humvees had taken up position. He launched into the air with a leap that defied gravity. But at the apex of his jump, the Humvees'' mounted devices sprang to life. A pair of focused, high-intensity sonic beams erupted from the dish-like structures; invisible energy cut through the air with a piercing, almost unbearable shriek.


    The effect on the soldier was immediate and devastating. Caught in the crossfire of the twin sonic blasts, his body was violently thrown off course, his trajectory was altered by the force of the energy slamming into him. He hit the ground hard, clutching at his head, his face contorted in a mask of agony. The Hulk, too, was not spared the effects of the sonic assault. As the powerful waves of energy washed over his massive form, he dropped his makeshift shields, the metal slabs clattering to the ground as he fell to his knees, his hands pressed against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the excruciating sound. The sonic cannons, it seemed, had found a weakness in the Hulk''s otherwise impenetrable defenses, subduing him in a way that physical force alone could not.


    Through the disorienting pain of the sonic attack, the Hulk''s gaze found the woman from earlier, the one who had attempted to reach the breezeway during the initial confrontation. Her arms were pinned behind her back as she struggled against the soldiers restraining her. Despite his suffering, the Hulk''s attention was drawn to her, a flicker of recognition sparking in his rage-filled eyes.


    With a thunderous roar, the Hulk rose, his massive form towering over the battlefield. He reclaimed his makeshift shields. However, as he lifted the impromptu defenses, the Hulk realized the futility of the shields against the sonic cannons. He hurled one of the metal slabs with incredible force, his muscles rippling beneath his green skin as he put every ounce of his strength behind the throw. The makeshift projectile hurtled through the air, spinning end over end before slamming into one of the Humvees with a catastrophic impact. The vehicle erupted in a fiery explosion, the blast wave rippling outward and engulfing the surrounding area in flames and debris. The Hulk leaped towards the second Humvee, his massive form arcing like a green meteor. He crashed down upon the sonic generator with the force of a falling mountain, his immense weight crushing both the device and the vehicle beneath him, abruptly ending the sonic assault that had brought him to his knees mere moments before.


    As the dust and debris settled around the Hulk''s towering form, the same soldier who had previously engaged him in combat approached armed with an assault rifle scavenged from a fallen comrade. The soldier opened fire in staccato bursts. But the Hulk blocked the bullets with his remaining shield, the metal sparking and ringing with each impact. Then, in a move that caught everyone off guard, the soldier walked up to the Hulk with confident steps, as though approaching a familiar acquaintance. The soldier''s lips moved, forming words that Natasha was too far away to hear.


    Whatever the soldier''s intention, the Hulk''s response was swift and brutal. With a powerful front kick, he sent the soldier hurtling through the air like a rag doll, his body twisting and tumbling as he flew. The man''s trajectory ended abruptly as he collided with a nearby tree, his form crumpling upon impact.


    This act of aggression by the Hulk seemed to be the breaking point for the military personnel, who began to retreat in a chaotic, disorganized fashion. Soldiers scrambled for cover, abandoning their positions and equipment as they fled from the unstoppable force of nature that had so thoroughly decimated their ranks.


    The woman, previously restrained by the soldiers, broke free. Her captors were too preoccupied with their survival to hold her. She approached the Hulk as if he were the only thing that mattered.


    As Natasha watched the unfolding scene with bated breath, her ears picked up another sound; the distinct whirring of helicopter blades. Her eyes snapped upward, scanning the sky until she spotted the source. The helicopter swept into view, and its Gatling guns, mounted on either side of the fuselage, immediately opened fire, unleashing a barrage of high-caliber bullets.


    In a surprising display of protectiveness, the Hulk positioned his massive frame between the woman and the incoming hail of bullets. His green skin, tough as armor, absorbed the impacts. But the Hulk was not content to weather the assault. He retaliated with a show of force that left even Natasha stunned. With a roar of defiance, he hurled his remaining makeshift shield at the helicopter, the metal slab spun through the air like a gigantic discus. The impact was devastating. The helicopter was knocked from the sky, plummeting towards the ground. It crashed to the earth in a fiery explosion, the blast wave washing over the Hulk and the woman like a tidal surge of heat and debris. For a moment, the two figures were lost from view, engulfed in the roiling flames and billowing smoke that rose from the wreckage.


    As if in response to the tumultuous events, the heavens opened up, releasing a torrential downpour. The rain fell in sheets, the droplets hissing and sizzling as they struck the smoldering remains of the crashed helicopter.


    A remarkable sight emerged through the dissipating smoke and the curtain of falling rain. The Hulk stood amidst the wreckage unharmed by the flames and the debris. His massive form was silhouetted against the flickering light of the dying fires. And there, cradled in his arms like a precious treasure, was the woman. Her face pressed against his chest as he held her close, shielding her from the destruction that surrounded them. For a moment, the Hulk showed a flicker of tenderness, giving a glimpse of the humanity that still lurked beneath the surface of his rage and fury. But the moment was fleeting, and as quickly as it had appeared, the Hulk''s softness vanished, replaced once more by the animalistic instincts that drove him. With the woman still held securely in his arms, the Hulk crouched down. And then leaped. His massive form hurtled skyward in a display of incredible power. The monstrous bound carried him and his companion far from the battle. The two figures rapidly dwindled into the distance as they soared through the rain-soaked air.


    With a few more mighty leaps, each one covering an impossible distance, the Hulk disappeared from view.


    Natasha Romanoff took in the devastated landscape. With a few taps on her phone, she connected to Director Fury''s secure line. The call clicked through without delay.


    "Romanoff. Report."


    "Banner''s gone, sir." Natasha kept her tone crisp and professional, the words clipped. "He evaded capture and fled the area with an unknown civilian."


    A beat of silence stretched between them before Fury''s asked, "And Ross''s troops?"


    "That''s where it gets interesting. Ross has a soldier in his ranks with abilities far beyond the norm. I''m talking super-soldier strength, agility, combat skills. The whole package."


    "You''re telling me Ross has his own Captain America knockoff?" Fury''s skepticism was palpable, but Natasha could hear the undercurrent of interest beneath his gruff exterior.


    "That''s what it looked like, sir. This soldier engaged the Hulk directly and held his own in ways no ordinary human could. He''s been enhanced somehow."


    A heavy silence settled over the line as Fury digested the information. Finally, he spoke, his words measured and grave. "Ross playing with super-soldier enhancements is a wildfire waiting to happen. Keep your eyes on this, Romanoff. I want to know everything about this soldier; who he is, how he fits into Ross''s plans."


    "Understood." Natasha''s gaze hardened, her mind already spinning with strategies. "The soldier was injured in the fight. I''ll gather whatever intel I can."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Date: Saturday, June 4, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson swept through his suite when he awoke.


    Amora had left.


    The lavish rooms seemed strangely empty, the only lingering trace of her was a faint, exotic scent that hung in the air like a half-remembered dream. As he moved through the space, his eyes were drawn to the dining table, where a single object stood out on the wood surface.


    Loki''s dagger.


    The weapon that had been plunged into his eye socket during their brutal confrontation on the Rainbow Bridge. He''d paid the cost for the blade with his near-death experience that had marked his journey through the realm of the gods.


    Tyson breathed a sigh of relief, taking solace in the victories he had secured in Asgard. While he''d lost the fight with Loki; Tyson had lifted Mjolnir and with Amora''s help, had learned more about his power. However, allowing Odin to remain in the Odinsleep, undisturbed, gave him the greatest sense of accomplishment.


    Tyson had a theory that explained Odin''s weakened state and eventual death during Ragnarok. He suspected the Allfather''s steady decline began when he postponed the Odinsleep to oversee Thor''s coronation. Shortly afterward, when rescuing them from Jotunheim Odin seemed drained, only to fall into slumber soon after. Then came the destruction of the Rainbow Bridge, forcing Odin to awaken prematurely. Later, in what will be Tyson''s future, he''d conjure dark magic to send Thor to Earth during the events of the Avengers. During the Dark Elves'' attack, Frigga''s death would drain Odin''s will to continue, leading to him moving on to Valhalla and freeing Hela.


    It was an imperfect theory, Tyson admitted, yet it was his best explanation for Odin''s death. By saving Thor, and allowing the Allfather to fully recuperate now, Tyson hoped to prolong his life and forestall Ragnarok. Doing so could also delay Thanos from acquiring the Space Stone in the wake of Asgard''s destruction.


    Tyson headed into the office and opened the desk drawer. He retrieved the backup cellphone he''d had the foresight to purchase, complete with a duplicate SIM card. As he powered on the device, a thought struck him. He should get backups of everything. His mind wandered to his motorcycle. How many times had he found himself sprinting across the city on foot, having left his motorcycle somewhere unretrievable and forced to rely on his speed? Not that it truly mattered, since he was as fast as the vehicle in the city streets and didn''t tire, but still...


    The phone chirped to life in his hand, drawing his attention back to the present. Tyson''s fingers danced across the screen, pulling up the list of missed calls.


    The names flashed across the screen like a roll call of the people who mattered most to him. Natasha, Felicia, Jubilee.


    He''d get to those in a moment. Tyson quickly composed a text message to Wilson Fisk.


    ''Fisk, let''s meet for lunch at House of M. Important matters to discuss.''


    After sending the message, Tyson ordered a lavish lunch spread for delivery, selecting a variety of dishes from succulent cuts of prime rib to delicate, flaky pastries, catering to Fisk''s preferences for fine dining. The order was placed with one of the most exclusive caterers in lower Manhattan.


    With the meeting set and the lunch arranged, Tyson settled in to wait for Fisk''s response. He knew that the man known as the Kingpin was a force to be reckoned with, a figure of immense power and influence in the shadowy underworld of New York City. But Tyson also knew that he held sway over the man. Months earlier, Tyson had wrestled Felicia from under Fisk''s thumb, and since then, Tyson had been using the man as a hidden backer and subtly manipulating the Kingpin''s plans. The crimelord was essentially working for Tyson, though, in Fisk''s eyes, they held a mutually beneficial alliance.


    Next, Tyson decided to call Natasha, his fingers dialing her number as he exited the Four Seasons and stepped into the streets. The familiar sights and sounds of New York washed over him like a comforting balm, a reminder of the life he was returning to. As he walked towards House of M, the phone pressed to his ear, Tyson felt a flicker of anticipation stirring in his chest.


    The phone rang once, twice, three times before Natasha''s voice finally came through the speaker, a mixture of surprise and relief coloring her tone. "Tyson? Is that you? Fury told me you''d left the planet yesterday. I didn''t even know that was possible."


    A warmth spread through his chest at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, it''s me," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement. "I''m back on Earth now. Sorry for not filling you in earlier. But I did warn you that it was aliens."


    Natasha''s relief was palpable, even through the tinny phone speaker. "I''m just glad you''re back and safe, you goof," she said sincerely, "I was worried when Fury told me. Norse gods... I thought it was a joke when he briefed me."


    "It''s real," he confirmed, his mind flashing back to the incredible sights and sounds of the realm eternal. "I imagine I''ll have to explain what I experienced in detail. But what''s been happening here? Did I miss anything good?"


    Natasha sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of recent events. "It''s been chaotic," she admitted, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "There was an incident at Culver University. The military got involved, and it turned into quite the situation."


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    A flicker of concern passed over Tyson''s face at her serious tone. "Are you okay?" he asked, a note of worry entering his voice.


    "Things escalated quickly," Natasha replied evenly, "We''re still monitoring the situation closely. It''s all over the news." She paused before adding in the same measured tone, "I''m fine."


    "Are you really fine? Or is this the kind of ''I''m fine'' I''d get if I asked my girlfriend if she was okay, and she said she was, but she actually wasn''t?"


    Tyson heard the uptick of amusement in her voice as she replied, "I''m not your girlfriend. So when I say I''m fine, I mean it."


    "I''m glad," he said, the words carrying sincerity.


    Natasha''s tone shifted again, taking on a more businesslike air as she continued. "After everything that''s happened in Puente Antiguo and at Culver University, Fury''s calling an agency-wide meeting. With you back now, you might need to debrief them about... Well, where you went, I guess."


    Tyson knew that his experiences in the realm of the gods would be of great interest to SHIELD.


    "I can provide some insight into what happened on Asgard, and I''m curious to hear more about the Culver University situation."


    There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Where are you right now?" she asked.


    "I''m back in New York, heading to House of M," Tyson replied, his gaze sweeping over the familiar contours of the city streets as he walked.


    "Good. I''ll be in touch soon," Natasha said.


    Tyson could hear the slight flirtatious edge in her voice. But beneath that playful tone, there was a genuine sense of relief.


    "Thanks, Nat," he said with a familiarity that felt natural and intimate. "It''s good to be back. I''ll see you soon."


    "Take care," Natasha replied, her voice softening with a hint of affection. "And try not to leave the planet without at least a text next time."


    Tyson couldn''t help but chuckle at her gentle jibe. "Text next time. Got it," he promised.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Wilson Fisk arrived right on time, the seams of his custom-tailored suit straining to contain the mass of muscle packed beneath the fine fabric. The executive meeting room had been meticulously prepared under Felicia''s expert direction, not a detail overlooked. A lavish spread lay waiting, a veritable feast showcasing both luxury and attention to detail.


    As Fisk settled his imposing bulk into his seat at the table, he was joined by a finance manager whose name eluded Tyson''s recollection. Pleasantries bounced between them as everyone got situated, the gentle clink of silverware on fine china underscoring the idle chatter before the real conversation began. As the meal progressed unhurriedly, the discussion gradually shifted to weightier matters of business and strategy. Sensing the moment was ripe, Tyson smoothly took the lead, guiding the talk where it needed to go.


    "Let''s start with our financial status," he said, turning his gaze towards Felicia. "How did we fare with the Oscorp and Hammer stock movements?"


    Felicia responded, "Your market predictions were remarkably accurate," she said, her words carrying a note of genuine respect. "The put options we purchased against Oscorp and Hammer stocks paid off significantly. Thanks to your foresight, Mirage Enterprises, House of M''s parent business has increased in wealth from around 350 million dollars to its current value of 910 million dollars."


    The room fell silent for a moment. Wilson Fisk leaned back in his chair. "Rather well done," he commented, "Your knack for predicting market trends has proven quite lucrative. It''s impressive, to say the least." Tyson inclined his head in acknowledgment. "So, what brings us here today?" Fisk inquired, his tone shifting to one of practiced nonchalance. "I appreciate the lunch, but I suspect there''s more on the agenda."


    Tyson leaned forward slightly, his elbows coming to rest on the polished surface of the table. "I''m looking to diversify," he said, "Specifically, into the technology sector. I''ve brought on board a pair of exceptional scientists. Their expertise is unparalleled, and I intend to utilize their skills to their fullest potential."


    Fisk listened intently, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to match the cadence of his thoughts. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, "That''s a bold move, especially considering the current landscape," he said, "But you should be aware, even with the shakeups in the tech sector and your substantial wealth, competing against giants like Stark, Hammer, or Oscorp won''t be a walk in the park. They have deep resources, a solid market presence, and years of technological advancement under their belts. You''re up against formidable opponents."


    Tyson acknowledged Fisk''s insights, "That''s precisely why I invited you here, Fisk," he said, his tone conveying respect. "Your business acumen is invaluable. I''m considering acquiring an existing company, or at least a significant ownership stake. Companies like Trask or Essex Corp come to mind."


    Fisk leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he considered Tyson''s words. He looked to the finance manager who filled in the gap in Fisk''s knowledge. "Essex Corp is very active in biotechnology. They have several high-valued pharmaceutical products. Acquiring a stake there, even with your capital, is out of reach." He paused for a moment. "But Trask? That''s an interesting choice. They had a strong start in the seventies, particularly with military contracts. However, the company''s reputation took a nosedive after its founder was jailed for espionage. They''ve been struggling ever since."


    Fisk worked through the potential risks and rewards of such an acquisition but he remained skeptical. "You could potentially acquire a stake in Trask, or even the company in its entirety, given their current state. But the real question is, would it be worth the investment? Their past sounds troubled, and their future does not seem bright."


    He knew the acquisition of Trask presented both an opportunity and a risk.


    "Could I acquire Trask outright?" he asked, "What would that entail?"


    The finance manager''s words carried the weight of years of experience in the business world. "Acquiring the company is a possibility, but it''s a complex process," he began, his voice steady and informative. "First, you''d need to negotiate with the current shareholders. Given their struggles, they might be open to a buyout, but it won''t be straightforward." He paused to emphasize his point. "You''ll also have to deal with the legal and financial baggage from their past issues. Due diligence is key here. You''ll need a solid team to comb through their contracts, patents, pending litigations, and their financial health."


    The man''s explanation painted a picture of a challenging venture. "Once you''ve assessed the risks and have a clear understanding of what you''re taking on, you''ll need to make an offer, one that convinces the shareholders that selling is in their best interest." He added, "Lastly, consider the integration process. If you acquire Trask, aligning it with your vision and turning it around will require significant effort, resources, and strategic leadership."


    Tyson listened attentively, processing the wealth of information that Fisk''s assistant had provided. The complexity of an outright acquisition was daunting, but his mind was already working through the possibilities.


    Considering Fisk''s insights and the challenges of taking on Trask in its entirety, Tyson proposed a strategy that leveraged Fisk''s expertise and resources in a way that could benefit them both. "I''m not a businessman. What if I acquire Trask and outsource its management to you, Fisk?" he asked, "Would that be feasible?"


    Fisk regarded Tyson with a long, appraising look as he weighed the proposal. "Outsourcing the management of Trask to me... It''s an interesting proposition," he began, his deep baritone voice resonating through the room. "But it''s not a decision to be made lightly. Managing a company like Trask would require a significant commitment, both in terms of time and resources."


    He leaned forward, his massive frame filling the space as he made eye contact with Tyson. "It''s not just about steering the company back to profitability; it''s about overhauling its entire operational structure. My involvement would have to be hands-on, especially in the initial stages. We''re talking about a complete transformation, from its corporate culture to its market strategy."


    "Also, consider the public perception," he continued, his voice taking on a note of caution. "My association with Trask would bring a certain level of scrutiny and speculation, given my reputation and background. We''d need a solid plan to handle the PR aspect of this transition, to control the narrative."


    Tyson, upon hearing Fisk''s explanation about the challenges and implications of managing Trask, acknowledged, "That seems less than ideal," he admitted, his brow furrowing as he considered the potential complications involved. But Tyson was already working on an alternative approach. "Could you supply the necessary personnel to assist in the acquisition of Trask, similar to how you assisted Felicia?" he asked.


    "Yes, I can provide the expertise and the team you''ll need for this acquisition," Fisk said. "I can put together a team to help navigate the complexities of the deal, from due diligence to negotiations and finalizing the acquisition."


    The consultant accompanying Fisk, who''d been rapidly scrolling through information on his cellphone while they spoke, chose that moment to chime in with a crucial piece of financial advice. "From what I can find of Trask Industries, I''d estimate their physical assets to be valued around 60 million dollars, their patents, somewhere around 40 million, and their brand around 15 million. I''d assume the company has accumulated debt over the decades of inactivity and likely some liabilities as well, say 25 million. You''re looking at around 90 to 115 million to acquire the company plus the acquisition team," he said, "It''s a significant investment, one that should not be undertaken lightly."


    Tyson absorbed this information with a slow nod, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. He ran the numbers in his head, weighing the costs against the potential benefits. Trask Industries was the company behind the infamous Sentinel program; the robots designed to hunt and eliminate mutants. It was less than Tyson had expected to pay for the company and its assets; only around a tenth of his total wealth. If that was the cost to gain control of Trask Industries and prevent the dystopian ''Days of Future Past'' outcome, then he would gladly pay.


    Additionally, acquiring Trask would give Tyson access to their Sentinels and mutation inhibitor technology. With ownership of the company, he could redirect their research toward more ethical goals, using the robots and inhibitors to help mutants rather than hunt them. Ninety million was a small price to pay to protect the future of mutant-kind.


    "I understand the costs involved, and I''m prepared to proceed," Tyson said at last.


    With that, the meeting drew to a close, the details of the plan finalized, and the wheels set in motion for the acquisition of Trask Industries. Fisk and his consultant took their leave.


    Tyson had just set in motion a chain of events that could change the timeline for the better.


    But for now, there was work to be done, and they wasted no time getting started. They pored over the details of the plan, mapping out the steps that would need to be taken once Fisk''s administrative staff was transferred over to assist with the acquisition.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The afternoon sun sank lower in the sky when Tyson and Felicia finally allowed themselves a moment of rest. They made their way to the relative peace of the VIP lounge. Felicia stepped behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, splashing a few fingers'' worths into a pair of crystal tumblers. She handed one glass to Tyson. They raised their glasses and clinked them together without a word.


    As they each savored the smooth burn of the alcohol, Tyson let out a contented sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. Their respite was short-lived, however, interrupted by an unexpected arrival. Natasha strode into the lounge.


    "Ms. Rushman, it''s good to see you again," Felicia purred, her voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. The words were a pointed reminder of Natasha''s previous undercover role as their gym teacher. It was a jab, expertly delivered with a smile.


    Natasha''s expression remained neutral as she replied, "Ms. Hardy."


    Felicia''s lips curved up as she sauntered closer, her hips swaying with feline grace. "No need to be so formal, teach," she teased, her eyes trailing appreciatively over Natasha''s figure. "Especially when you look so good in that tight suit."


    The Black Widow''s emerald eyes narrowed, but then relaxed, with a smirk she shot back, her voice low and loaded with meaning. "I hear you look good in a catsuit yourself,"


    The air in the room suddenly grew thick with tension. Felicia''s easy confidence faltered, her body going rigid as the implications of Natasha''s words sank in. She hadn''t realized that Natasha knew about her secret identity as the Black Cat. Though she should have.


    Tyson, lounging at the bar, had been watching the exchange with growing interest. He noticed the shift in Felicia''s demeanor, the way her fingers twitched ever so slightly at her sides. With a casual air, he raised his glass of scotch and drawled, "Don''t worry, Felicia. If she comes after you, I''ll pay back whatever it was you stole."


    Natasha''s attention snapped to Tyson, her eyebrow arching in amusement. "You can''t pay off what she stole with money that we allowed you to steal," she fired back.


    Tyson''s easy grin never faltered as he held up his glass in a mocking salute. "Not sure what you''re talking about," he said, "All my money has been legitimately earned through the gold trade, running a successful theater and art gallery, and through the whims of the stock market."


    Natasha rolled her eyes, the gesture somehow both elegant and exasperated. She took a seat at the bar, her posture a study of controlled relaxation.


    Felicia, recovering her composure, glided behind the bar. As her nimble fingers selected a bottle of wine, Natasha''s keen eyes followed her movements. Felicia poured a generous measure of deep red wine into a crystal glass, sliding it across the polished surface of the bar.


    "Your favorite, I believe," Felicia said, her tone softer now, almost conciliatory.


    Natasha''s fingers closed around the stem of the glass, raising it slightly. "You''ve done your homework," she acknowledged with approval in her voice.


    "I always do my research before a... job," Felicia replied, the double meaning clear in her words. "But this time it was easy since Tyson buys so much of the stuff. It seems that he''s trying to keep you happy."


    Natasha raised her glass in a small toast, the gesture both a challenge and a truce. "To professional courtesy," she said, her voice tinged with irony.


    Felicia''s lips curled into a genuine smile as she clinked her own glass against Natasha''s. "And to the thrill of the job," she added, her eyes glinting with mischief.


    As they sipped their wine, the tension in the room slowly dissipated. Tyson watched from his seat, fascinated by the interplay between these two formidable women. Without a visible movement, he summoned his powers. Copies of himself materialized behind both Natasha and Felicia, their arms draping over the women''s shoulders.


    Natasha''s body tensed but relaxed as her rational mind recognized the illusion. Felicia merely arched an eyebrow.


    "Not sure what that was," Tyson said, his voice a mixture of amusement and genuine curiosity, "but you both just became friends, right?"


    Natasha turned her head slightly, green eyes flickering over the illusory arms encircling her shoulders. "''Friend'' is such a... fluid concept."


    Felicia chuckled, a low, throaty sound. She leaned back against the illusionary Tyson. "I''m starting to recognize a pattern. When there are two women in the room and things get tense, you create illusions for each of us. Seems that it''s becoming your go-to move."


    "But, Natalie''s right, darling," she said, "We''re more like... frenemies with benefits."


    Natasha''s eyebrow quirked upward in genuine amusement. "Benefits, Felicia? I don''t recall agreeing to any... benefits."


    "You haven''t cuffed me yet, which is a benefit in one way," Felicia replied, "But the night is young, and I''m very persuasive."


    Tyson''s eyes widened. "Wait, are you two actually...?"


    "Actually what, Tyson?" Natasha asked, her tone innocent but her eyes dancing with mirth. "Surely you''re not implying anything... untoward?"


    Felicia laughed, the sound light and musical. "Oh, come now, Natasha. We shouldn''t tease the poor boy too much. After all, he did bring us together."


    "True," Natasha conceded, raising her wine glass in a mock toast.


    Tyson''s brow furrowed, his usual confidence faltering in the face of their banter. "So, are you...?"


    "Are we what, darling?" Felicia asked, her voice a sultry purr. "What are we even Tyson? Friends? Lovers? Partners in crime?"


    Natasha snorted delicately. "Partners in crime... so cliche."


    "Ah, but the law is such a boring constraint," Felicia countered, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Don''t tell me you''ve never... bent the rules a little?"


    Tyson''s head swiveled between the two women, his illusions dissipating as he lost focus. "I... I''m not sure I''m following anymore. Are we talking about us, or you?" he asked pointing between himself and Felicia, then Felicia and Natasha.


    Natasha turned to him, her expression softening fractionally. "You''re so lost. It''s probably for the best that you don''t think about it too hard, Tyson. Some things are better left... ambiguous."


    Felicia nodded sagely, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Plausible deniability is a girl''s best friend. Well, that and diamonds."


    "I thought cats preferred fish," Natasha quipped, her lips twitching.


    "This cat has refined tastes," Felicia retorted, tossing her platinum-blonde hair over her shoulder.


    Tyson slumped back in his seat, thoroughly confused. "So, you''re not enemies or you''re not friends?"


    "Did we say that?" Natasha asked, her voice deceptively mild.


    Felicia laughed, the sound rich and full of secrets. "Oh, Tyson. Labels are so restrictive, don''t you think? Natasha and I... we have an understanding."


    "An understanding," Natasha echoed, her tone dry but not disagreeing. "That''s one way to put it."


    Tyson ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You two are impossible, you know that?"


    "We ''professionally discreet''," Felicia corrected with a wink.


    Tyson threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine, keep your secrets."


    Natasha shook her head. "Felicia, stop baiting him. Tyson, relax. Whatever is or isn''t between us doesn''t change anything for you."


    "Unless, of course, you''d like it to," Felicia added with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.


    Tyson''s jaw dropped, his mind clearly short-circuiting at the implications. Natasha rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice as she said, "Now look what you''ve done, Felicia. I think you broke him."


    Felicia shrugged, unrepentant. "What can I say? I have that effect on people."


    "What are you even doing here Nat? I didn''t know you were coming back to town," Tyson remarked.


    "There''s been a change in plans," she said, her voice crisp and businesslike. "The agency-wide meeting was postponed because you have information on Asgard. I came here as your SHIELD handler."


    There was a moment of silence as Tyson digested this information, his brow furrowing slightly in thought. But before he could respond, Natasha pressed on, her eyes glinting with a hint of excitement.


    "I''m here to recruit you for a mission if you''re interested," she said, her words hanging in the air like a tantalizing promise. "Given your unique abilities, your involvement could be invaluable."


    Tyson leaned forward, enthused by the prospect of a new challenge. "What kind of mission are we talking about?" he asked.


    Tyson studied Natasha''s face, her playful demeanor vanishing as her expression turned serious and focused.


    "Observation and intelligence gathering," she said, her tone all business now.


    "Who''s the target?" Tyson asked, intrigued.


    "A scientist named Bruce Banner."


    Tyson''s mind raced, connecting the dots. Bruce Banner - it had to relate to the events at Culver University that Natasha had mentioned earlier. Flashes from The Incredible Hulk movie sprang to the forefront of his recollection. Though the film had been poorly received and he hadn''t watched it in years before arriving in this world, the highlights remained seared into his memory. Particularly, the monstrous Abomination and the battle that had raged through city streets.


    Natasha gazed at Tyson expectantly in the lingering silence, awaiting his response. She wanted his answer.


    "I''m guessing this mission has to do with the aftermath of that campus incident you mentioned?" he said.


    Natasha gave a slight nod, her piercing eyes never wavering from his. "An enhanced, like you. But worse. Stronger, more dangerous... deadly. We need to gather intel on his activities, whereabouts, and condition. Discreetly."


    Recognizing the importance of the mission, he didn''t hesitate. "I''m in," he said.


    He turned to Felicia, who had been watching the exchange with concern. "We''ll catch up in a few days," he assured.


    Felicia''s brow furrowed with concern as she regarded Tyson carefully. "Are you sure this is the right decision?" she asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.


    "I''m pretty good at discreet," Tyson replied confidently.


    Felicia gave him a pointed look. "You fought a giant lizard on a bridge during rush hour," she reminded him.


    Tyson grasped for a justification. "That was one time," he argued weakly.


    Natasha interjected dryly, "Actually, you also fought the Green Goblin on a bridge too."


    "That wasn''t during rush hour..." Tyson''s voice trailed off lamely.


    Felicia fixed him with an intense gaze, her apprehension evident. "If this guy is so deadly, why do you need to go? Isn''t there someone else?"


    Tyson met her gaze steadily. "Yesterday, I fought a god," he stated matter-of-factly.


    Felicia''s eyes widened in surprise. "A god?" she asked incredulously.


    "Which god?" Natasha questioned.


    "Loki, the god of mischief," Tyson answered casually, as if battling Norse deities was an everyday occurrence.


    "Did you win?" Felicia asked eagerly.


    "I could have," Tyson claimed confidently.


    Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "That''s a no," she deadpanned.


    Tyson shrugged, neither confirming nor denying Natasha''s assertion. His nonchalant response made it clear he had not bested the Asgardian trickster god, but he didn''t seem particularly bothered by that fact.


    "I''ve gotten into more superpowered fights than anyone else around here," he stated matter-of-factly. "That''s why I earn the big bucks." He turned on his heel and started walking away, calling casually over his shoulder as he went, "Come on, this is what you paid me 350 million for. Time to earn my salary. Everything will be fine, Felicia. Let''s get moving, Nat."


    Felicia watched Tyson''s retreating figure, worry creasing her brow. She turned to Natasha and mouthed silently, "Keep him safe?" Natasha gave Felicia''s hand a reassuring squeeze in response.


    With that, Tyson and Natasha made their way to Tyson''s motorcycle.


    Natasha climbed onto the back of the bike, her arms wrapping securely around Tyson''s waist as he kick-started the engine. The motorcycle roared to life as they pulled away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic. They headed east, the wind whipping past them as they sped along the FDR Drive. To their left, the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed. To their right, the East River stretched out, its waters choppy and dark beneath the overcast sky.


    They journeyed northward. Murry Hill, Midtown, the Upper East Side - each neighborhood flew by, the buildings and streets blending together into a seamless whole. As they approached 135th Street in Harlem, Tyson veered westward, guiding the motorcycle onto St. Nicholas Avenue with a turn of the handlebars. The streetscape had changed, the towering high-rises giving way to a more residential area, with brownstones and apartment buildings lining the sidewalks.


    It was here, amidst the relative calm of the neighborhood, that the presence of the military Humvees became increasingly noticeable. The heavy vehicles, bristling with soldiers and weaponry, stood out like sore thumbs against the backdrop of everyday life.


    Natasha directed Tyson to park the motorcycle on the sidewalk adjacent to St. Nicholas Avenue Park, one of the many small parks that dotted Manhattan, breaking up the urban landscape. She''d chosen this spot intentionally. It was close enough to Greyburn College to allow for quick access, but far enough away to avoid drawing undue attention.


    As they dismounted the bike, Tyson took a moment to survey their surroundings. The park stretched out before them, a narrow strip of land that ran parallel to the street. It was a barrier of sorts, a buffer between the college and the rest of the city. Two sets of stairs led up into the park itself, another descended into the depths of the 135th Street subway station. Natasha, following his gaze, nodded towards the park stairs.


    "We''ll have a better vantage point from up there," she said, "We need to get a sense of what''s happening at the college."


    Together they climbed the stairs. The park was small, no more than a block wide, but it afforded them a measure of cover and concealment as they made their way to the top of the hill.


    Tyson asked Natasha, "So what was all that between you and Felicia earlier?"


    Natasha''s green eyes met his gaze steadily. "You know that SHIELD was observing you the whole time that I was at Midtown High, and even before that," she responded. Tyson nodded in acknowledgment. Natasha continued, her voice crisp and matter-of-fact, "We knew you were going after a crimelord with another independent. It didn''t take us long to figure out what was happening with Felicia Hardy, particularly since you openly asked her out on a date right in front of me during class, then spilled the details during our sparring session." She paused, assessing his reaction before going on. "Director Fury deemed you a higher priority target than either Felicia or Wilson Fisk, and decided to stay out of your way and not interfere with your operations, so long as things didn''t look like they were turning bad."


    Tyson considered her words, his expression thoughtful. After a moment, he said, "That''s cool and all. I was more talking about the sexual tension."


    Natasha snorted in amusement at Tyson''s comment. "You''re such a boy," she said.


    Tyson was undeterred. "That''s not an answer," he responded, still fishing for details.


    Natasha shrugged, unwilling to indulge his juvenile curiosity. "It was just a bit of fun," she said vaguely.


    "You probably don''t realize how much I coordinate with Felicia," Natasha continued. "She''s become your secondary contact for SHIELD. When I need to know something, she''s a better source than you are since you don''t manage... well, anything."


    It was true. Tyson had little involvement in the day-to-day operations of House of M. He preferred to focus on the big picture, leaving the details to others.


    "Felicia and I likely spend more time together than you do with either of us," Natasha pointed out.


    Tyson waved off her comment, unconcerned. "Business isn''t my thing..." he started to say. He stopped walking as her words sank in. "You spend lots of time together?" he asked.


    Tyson stared at her as she continued walking, "Are you fucking with me?" he asked.


    Natasha kept walking, neither confirming nor denying his suspicion.


    As Tyson and Natasha reached the summit, they were greeted by the fading light of sunset, the sky above them painted in a breathtaking array of oranges, pinks, and purples. The sun sank slowly towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape and combined with the trees, obscured the view of the college campus below. The elevation of the hill, which seemed to offer a vantage from a distance, fell short compared to the buildings of Greyburn College, which stood on even higher ground.


    Tyson and Natasha''s eyes strained against the setting sun to survey the scene at the college before them. The military vehicles stationed on the campus stood out among the architecture of the college buildings. However, their current position didn''t offer the clarity needed to effectively observe the campus. The trees and the shadows conspired to obscure their view, leaving them with a frustratingly incomplete picture of the situation on the ground.


    They faced a strategic choice. Either they could circle to the north side of the campus, seeking a better vantage point from which to observe, or they could traverse directly through the campus grounds, relying on stealth and speed to avoid detection. Both options carried risks, and Natasha weighed them carefully in her mind. Heading north would take precious minutes. And there was always the chance they could be exposed to peripheral threats. On the other hand, walking right into the heart of a potentially hostile environment was a gamble. The campus was crawling with military personnel, each armed and on high alert. A single misstep, a single moment of carelessness, could blow their cover and put the entire mission in jeopardy.


    Natasha turned to Tyson with a suggestion that leveraged his unique abilities. "Can you cloak us with your illusions?" she asked, "It would allow us to move through the campus without being detected."


    "Easily," Tyson confirmed confidently.


    With a plan in place, Tyson closed his eyes, his mind reaching out. He subtly weaved a cloak around them that would render them invisible to any onlookers'' perceptions. With his illusions shielding them, the duo cautiously proceeded onto the Greyburn College campus.


    The center of the campus was a marvel of architectural beauty and tranquility. The classic stonework of the buildings gave them the impression of modern castles. Each one seemed to exude a sense of history and tradition. At the center of campus stood a flagpole, its banner fluttering gently in the breeze.


    But the facade of tranquility was just that. A fragile veneer, being shattered at that very moment by the heavy military presence.


    As they approached the largest of the college buildings, Tyson heard a sharp intake of breath from Natasha, followed by a low curse. His eyes snapped to the source of her frustration, his body tensing in anticipation of danger.


    Emerging from the building''s entrance, were soldiers with their weapons at the ready, wheeling out a man on a stretcher. The man''s wrists were bound in heavy handcuffs, indicating this was no ordinary medical emergency, no simple case of a student falling ill or injuring themselves.


    Natasha''s words were filled with a mix of urgency and resignation. "They captured Banner," she said, her eyes never leaving the scene unfolding before them.


    Tyson concentrated, his enhanced vision zeroing in on the man''s face. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the features of Bruce Banner, the brilliant scientist whose work had inadvertently transformed him into the Hulk.


    Understanding the gravity of the situation, Tyson turned to Natasha, his expression serious and focused. "Your mission was to prevent his capture?" he asked.


    Natasha''s response was tinged with a hint of frustration, her eyes flashing angrily. "A little late for that," she admitted, her jaw clenching tightly.


    "It isn''t too late," Tyson said, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. "I can get him out. Say the word."


    Natasha hesitated weighing the risks and implications of what Tyson was suggesting. But in the end, she knew that it was the best choice. Banner was too important, too valuable to let fall into the wrong hands.


    "If you can get him out without harming the soldiers, do it," she ordered.


    Tyson nodded, his eyes already scanning the area for the best approach. He sprinted towards the group of soldiers escorting Banner''s stretcher.


    Before he started running, he was already within range to utilize his illusions on the group, but he waited, choosing the right moment for maximum impact. He watched the soldiers carry the stretcher down the stairs from the building''s entrance. As the soldiers reached flat ground, Tyson saw his opportunity and seized it.


    He activated his illusion, enveloping the soldiers.


    The illusion he employed was delicate, testing his control and precision. Over the weeks of performing shows for thousands of spectators, Tyson''s power had grown, straining him less and less to put on a show for such large numbers. But now he didn''t need a big flashy show, he needed a small, simple but detailed distraction.


    He focused intently, his mind weaving a tapestry of deception around the soldiers that would bend their perceptions to his will.


    The soldiers, wheeling Banner''s stretcher, approached a point on the ground where there was a small hump. As they reached it, the soldiers, in unison, lifted the stretcher slightly to navigate the obstacle.


    Tyson moved quickly, to not miss the window created by his masterpiece of subtlety.


    In reality, there was no hump on the path as the soldiers believed. As they raised their hands to navigate the perceived obstacle, they unwittingly released their grip on the actual stretcher, continuing to push only the illusion of it toward the awaiting helicopter. The stretcher, along with Banner, remained behind, unattended. The soldiers, completely under Tyson''s illusion, moved forward without it.


    The brilliance of Tyson''s illusion lay in its intricacy. To an outside observer, the soldiers appeared to be performing a normal and uninterrupted task. But the truth, Banner had been effectively separated from his captors, left in the open where he could be safely extracted without alerting the soldiers to their mistake.


    This feat was a showcase of Tyson''s mastery over his powers and his ability to manipulate perceptions effectively. The soldiers continued their march towards the waiting helicopter, blissfully oblivious to the fact that their prisoner was no longer in their custody, a sleight of hand orchestrated by Tyson''s skillful manipulation.


    Seizing the moment he had so carefully engineered, Tyson approached the unguarded Bruce Banner. The sound of his footsteps and his appearance remained hidden behind his illusions.


    The only one who could see his approach was Natasha in the distance, and Banner as he approached. "Dr. Banner, I''m Mirage, a local hero, and I''m here to get you away from these soldiers. Please come with me, I''m here to help," he spoke softly to put the scientist at ease. The last thing he needed was Banner hulking out.


    Without wasting a moment, Tyson utilized his adamantium claws to slice through Banner''s restraints. The heavy material parted as if they were made of paper. The bindings fell away, clattering to the ground soundlessly in a heap of metal and leather and freeing Banner from his immediate confines.


    Tyson took in Banner''s condition with a critical eye. It was clear the man could barely stand, let alone walk or run. His body trembled with weakness, swaying unsteadily where he stood. Dark circles ringed his eyes and deep lines of exhaustion were etched into his face. Tyson mentally reviewed the events leading up to this moment, trying to recall what had caused his current depleted state. The details escaped him; some nuance of the movie''s plot he had not deemed important enough to commit to memory. But Tyson knew this fatigue was only temporary. Soon the cursed scientist would tap into his rage, transforming into the Hulk. Banner hulking out to protect his love from the Abomination was seared into his mind. The titanic brawl had left quite an impression. For now, though, he was vulnerable, barely able to remain upright. Tyson would need to assist him if they were to make their escape. He offered a hand to assist Banner off the stretcher. However, it quickly became apparent that more direct intervention was needed. Tyson hoisted the doctor over his shoulder, taking care not to jostle the injured man any more than necessary. He was light in Tyson''s arms. With the doctor securely in his hold, Tyson moved back to where Natasha waited with bated breath.


    As they reached Natasha''s position, it was Bruce Banner who broke the silence, his voice weak but filled with a sense of urgency. "You''re with SHIELD?" he asked, looking at the patch on the side of Natasha''s suit. Natasha gave a simple nod. "They have my blood, lots of it. We need to destroy it. It''s too dangerous," Banner revealed, his tone laced with palpable concern.


    Tyson looked to Natasha for guidance. He was a fighter, but when it came to strategy, tactics, and planning, he would rely on her expertise. It was clear that Banner''s blood could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. The consequences of such a scenario were too horrible to contemplate. But what good would it do if they left Banner to be recaptured?


    "We need to get him to safety, but we can''t let the blood fall into the wrong hands," Natasha concurred, her voice filled with frustration. The mission had just become more complicated, but there was no question of what needed to be done.


    "I''ve got an idea. Banner can lay low at my place. I''ll call Felicia and have her meet him there. We get Banner to a taxi, then come back to secure the blood," Tyson suggested.


    Natasha''s expression tightened, the gears turning behind her eyes as she weighed the merits of Tyson''s plan. "No good options, but that''ll work with small adjustments," she agreed, "I''ll call for a team here and head into the building to secure the blood. You get Banner to the taxi, then join me."


    With their course of action decided Tyson wasted no time. He led Banner off the campus making for the stairs that descended into the park below.

 Arc 5 - Ch 18: The Abomination

    Chapter 65


    Arc 5 - Ch 18: The Abomination


    Date: Friday, June 3, 2011.


    Location: St. Nicholas Park, West Harlem, Manhattan, New York


    As they reached the stairs down into the park, Bruce Banner found himself regaining some of his strength. He was now able to walk steadily on his own without assistance. Together they descended the concrete steps. Once they were out of sight of the campus, Tyson properly introduced himself.


    "I''m known as Mirage," Tyson began, hoping to reassure the scientist. "But considering you''ve been off-grid for a while, Dr. Banner, I doubt you''ve heard of me." In a gesture of trust, Tyson removed the mask covering his face, revealing his true identity. "My real name''s Tyson Smith, and I''m a senior at Midtown High School."


    Tyson continued earnestly, "I know we''re short on time here, but if you''re willing, I''d like to tell you my story." he offered sincerely, attempting to build understanding between them.


    Banner looked startled, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "A senior in high school? How in the world did you wind up mixed up in all this?"


    Sensing the man''s intense curiosity, Tyson replied candidly, "Because, Bruce, I''m special. Like you."


    To emphasize his point, he gave a small wave of his hand. Their surroundings instantly transformed. First into a vast desert, then Tyson snapped and it became a sun-drenched beach, followed by another snap and a lush rainforest, before phasing back to the original city park. The rapid, seamless transitions vividly demonstrated Tyson''s remarkable abilities.


    "Well, not exactly like you," Tyson amended. "But I think you get the idea."


    Banner''s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the display. "Incredible," he murmured, a note of awe creeping into his voice.


    Sensing an opening, Tyson broached a topic he hoped would resonate with the man. "Dr. Banner, are you familiar with Dr. Curt Connors? He was the head of the Department of Genetics, Bioengineering, and Cellular Studies at Oscorp."


    Banner nodded thoughtfully. "I never met him personally, but I''m familiar with his work in the field."


    Encouraged, Tyson continued his tale. "If you didn''t meet him, you might not know Connors was missing an arm. His research into cross-species genetics was entirely motivated by a desire to regrow that lost limb." Tyson paused, letting his words sink in. "A few months back, Connors had a breakthrough and hastily tested the unfinished formula on himself. It worked. He regrew his arm overnight."


    Tyson allowed a grim tone to enter his voice. "But there were unforeseen consequences. The formula transformed him into a raging lizard monster and afterward, he went on a destructive rampage through the city."


    Tyson held Banner''s gaze, allowing the weight of his story to register. He then posed a subtle but pointed question. "Does any of this sound... familiar, Dr. Banner?"


    Banner''s eyes widened slightly at the question, as Tyson''s words stirred a swell of uneasy recognition within him. Though framed as rhetorical, the inquiry probed at his deepest vulnerability; the lack of control over his monstrous alter-ego.


    Sensing Banner''s dawning comprehension, Tyson pressed on, drawing out the parallels between their plights. "The Lizard is strong enough to toss around cars, but he''s not even close to the Hulk''s strength. However, in his transformed state, Connors retained his human intellect. The metamorphosis corrupted his mind, fueled his aggression, but did not wholly erase his identity."


    Tyson paused, letting his words sink in. Banner''s gaze was distant, his jaw tight. Tyson could almost see the scientist visualizing that scenario, his brilliant mind spinning out the implications.


    "Now imagine," Tyson continued, "the Hulk unleashed inside a crowded high school, amid throngs of innocent teenagers."


    Banner''s eyes snapped back into focus, his head shaking slightly in mute horror at the proposed scenario. The notion of the Hulk rampaging unchecked in such a vulnerable environment was anathema to him.


    "Unfortunately, that scenario came to pass," Tyson said heavily. "Connors hunted one of the other local heroes, Spider-Man, to his high school, intending to confront him. However, the Lizard did not anticipate I would be there that day." A hard glint entered Tyson''s eyes at the memory. "Together, we were able to drive him back."


    Tyson delved deeper into the heart of his story. "The parallels in your experience with Connors isn''t the only reason I''m telling you this," he said, his gaze steady on Banner as if to ensure the scientist grasped the true purpose. "It''s the conclusion that matters most. Instead of turning Connors over to the authorities, I sheltered him. Given the Lizard''s rampage, transformed state, and threat to the public, it was unlikely the authorities could provide the necessary resources to cure him. Chances were that he''d either be imprisoned indefinitely or killed."


    Tyson''s voice carried a resolute yet compassionate tone. "My unique abilities allowed me to hide him from the world. To everyone else, the Lizard escaped the high school after the attack and simply vanished. But in reality, I set Connors up with a fully equipped lab in the lower levels of my building, providing the resources and solitude he needed to work on a cure for himself."


    The account Tyson shared with Banner was one of empathy, understanding, and taking action to improve the situation of someone who unwittingly transformed themselves into a monster. This revelation held significance beyond merely protecting another individual with extraordinary abilities; it offered hope and a path to normalcy. Tyson''s steadfast gaze and earnest words made it clear he believed Banner, too, deserved such an opportunity.


    "I know you''ve been running a long time, Dr. Banner. Always looking over your shoulder, never trusting anyone. I imagine after escaping the army''s clutches, the last thing you want is to fall into SHIELD''s hands."


    Banner''s shoulders tensed ever so slightly at the mention of SHIELD, his eyes darting around the empty park.


    Tyson raised a placating hand. "While I do contract work for SHIELD, they allow me a measure of autonomy. I''d like to offer you a safe haven in my building if you''ll accept it. At the very least, it will buy you some time before SHIELD catches wind of your presence." Banner''s expression remained wary, but Tyson pressed on. "You would have full use of my labs and technology, with Dr. Connors'' assistance should you need it. I have millions to fund any equipment or assistance you need. And regarding the Hulk..." Tyson paused, holding Banner''s gaze, "Illusions isn''t my only ability. I''m uniquely suited to fight the Hulk. I''m not exaggerating when I say that I''m one of the few people on the planet who could possibly match him in raw strength. If you lose control, I''m uniquely equipped to stop you. But I don''t want it to come to that. I only want to help you, if you''ll let me."


    They reached the far side of the park, and Banner slowed, considering Tyson''s offer. Behind the caution in his eyes lay a glimmer of temptation at the thought of an equipped lab and a powerful potential ally.


    Tyson stepped to the curb and waved down an approaching yellow cab. He retrieved three crisp hundred-dollar bills and held them out to Banner.


    "I''m certain you''ve become quite adept at avoiding detection over the years," Tyson said, "But if you''re tired of running, head to the House of M. 68 Lexington Ave. Ask for Felicia Hardy and say I sent you. She''ll set you up with a room, no questions asked."


    As the taxi pulled up beside them, Tyson grasped the handle and swung the door open for Banner. "I hope to see you again soon, Dr. Banner. But if you opt to disappear instead, I wish you the best of luck," he offered kindly, acknowledging Banner''s need for autonomy given his complex predicament.


    Banner paused, glancing between Tyson and the open cab door, considering. After a moment, he slid onto the worn back seat.


    Tyson watched as the yellow taxi merged into the flow of traffic and disappeared down the street. Though the door was now open, it remained to be seen whether Banner would choose to walk through it. The scientist had two paths before him; seek refuge at the House of M, where Tyson and Dr. Connors could provide research support to help control the Hulk, or leave the city entirely, putting as much distance between himself and Tyson, SHIELD, and the military as possible. Even if he opted to vanish, Tyson knew it would only be a matter of time until the Battle of New York forced Banner''s return. For now, simply getting Banner away from the city would prevent the imminent showdown with the Abomination and the catastrophic damage their fight would unleash upon Harlem. Hopefully, Tyson saving him from the military and offering help would put him in the scientist''s good graces going forward.


    Tyson turned and sprinted back up the hill. He did not know if the Abomination would still emerge with Banner gone. But if it did, Tyson needed to be ready. He''d do what he could to prevent the neighborhood from becoming a war zone. Just as he reached the campus, a cloud of dust and debris erupted from the side of the building they''d captured Banner. Chunks of concrete rained down amidst the haze.


    A massive, hulking shape lurched out from the gaping hole in the building''s side.


    The Abomination.


    Tyson''s eyes widened at the sight of the grotesque creature. Standing at least ten feet tall, its body was a horrific perversion of the human form, swollen with distorted, bulging muscles. The Abomination''s skin was a sickly greenish-gray, stretched taut over its freakish frame. Sharp, uneven teeth filled its snarling maw. Spikes of bone jutted out along its shoulders and spine, completing its terrifying visage. The Abomination barreled down the alley with shocking speed. Each pounding step cracked the concrete below its feet. The rampaging behemoth disappeared from view down the narrow alleyway, leaving crumbled rubble and clouds of settling dust in its wake.


    The pungent, earthy stench of the Abomination assaulted Tyson''s senses as he leaped into the gaping hole left in the creature''s wake. The potent, musky odor clung heavily in the air, impossible to ignore. It was thick with the raw, animalistic funk of an untamed beast, underlaid by the sharp tang of metal. Tyson grimaced reflexively, the overpowering reek nearly taking on a physical presence in the confined space. Yet beneath the Abomination''s overwhelming stench, Tyson''s heightened senses detected another, more welcome scent; the subtle hints of exotic spices and leather that denoted Natasha''s presence. Alarm jolted through him. With the Abomination''s capacity for destruction, anyone crossing its path was in mortal peril. Urgency drove Tyson to track Natasha''s scent through the maze of debris. Locating her became his sole focus; her safety was paramount, no matter how capable he knew she was.


    The trail led Tyson to a laboratory ravaged by the Abomination. His shoulders sagged in relief at the sight of Natasha, unharmed amidst the destruction. The lab was a shambles, with equipment and supplies scattered wildly across the room. His eyes settled upon the slender, pale green-skinned figure standing beside Natasha. Though diminutive in stature, an air of formidable intellect emanated from the man. His head was enlarged and egg-shaped, suggesting a massive brain housed within the smooth, unlined expanse of his high forehead. Small, deep-set eyes conveyed keen intelligence and calculation. Below them, a thin nose and pursed mouth completed the man''s distinctive visage.


    Tyson hesitated, not wanting to intrude on the scene before him. But concern for Natasha propelled him forward through the debris-strewn laboratory. Though the man posed no obvious threat, he remained wary.


    As Tyson drew nearer, Natasha addressed the man, ¡°Dr. Samuel Sterns?¡±


    The man exuded confidence. ¡°I was Dr. Samuel Sterns. But now, I am changed,¡± he proclaimed, his voice carrying an eerie surety. ¡°My exceptional intellect has been unleashed. I see the future unfolding before me, a future defined by power and influence, with my augmented mind shaping the world.¡± Sterns paused, his intense gaze boring into Natasha. ¡°This illustrious future begins at this very moment.¡±


    Tyson tensed, ready to act should the peculiar man attempt to harm Natasha. But she showed no fear in the face of Sterns'' grandiose claims.


    Samuel Sterns'' gaze shifted, scrutinizing Natasha with a calculating eye that seemed to peel back the layers of her being. "Assist me in gathering my work and eluding the authorities, and this radiant future will be yours as well, my little Russian darling," Sterns proposed, his words dripping with both enticement and manipulation.


    Natasha''s face registered a flicker of surprise at Sterns'' bold proposition and his casual use of the intimate term of endearment. Undeterred by her reaction, Sterns pressed on eagerly, "The faint traces of your accent have not escaped my notice. They reveal to me that you were born in Stalingrad, do they not?"


    His observation demonstrated not only his heightened powers of perception but also his ability to use personal details to attempt to sway others to his grand cause. Sterns'' newfound confidence and sense of destiny were palpable in his voice and bearing. His offer was clearly just one part of a larger, more ambitious plan he had devised for himself now that his intellect had been unleashed.


    And that fact was not lost on Natasha.


    In a moment as swift as it was unexpected, she smoothly pulled out her handgun. With a single practiced motion, she fired, the shot echoing through the ruined lab. The bullet tore through Sterns'' kneecap and he collapsed to the floor with a howl, clutching his mangled leg as blood seeped between his fingers.


    Tyson raised an eyebrow, surprised by Natasha''s swift, ruthless actions. She justified her decision, "He''s been transformed, and not for the better. His intellect makes him manipulative and deductive. A dangerous combination." Her piercing gaze shifted to Sterns, writhing in agony on the cold floor. "We can''t risk him being out there with his capabilities and intentions. The cleanup crew will take care of him and all of this." She gestured around the ruined lab, indicating that Sterns and all evidence of his work would be handled by SHIELD.


    Tyson recognized the logic behind Natasha''s calculated actions. Though harsh, she had disabled a potential threat. He approached Sterns, his muscular frame and commanding presence capturing the scientist''s attention from his throbbing wound. Sterns met Tyson''s distinct mismatched eyes. When Tyson spoke, his voice was backed by his power. "Heed me well. That''s my Russian darling you tried to deceive." He jerked his chin towards Natasha. "Do not attempt to manipulate her again. Do not speak beyond answering our questions."


    His words were not just a warning, but a command to protect Natasha from further attempts at coercion. Tyson''s power and tone allowed no room for anything but complete obedience.


    "Now tell me about the thing that caused this destruction," Tyson demanded.


    Sterns blinked twice, still reeling from the shock of the gunshot and Tyson''s illusion powers. Despite the pain lancing through his leg, Sterns'' supreme intellect was evident in his sharp gaze. Tyson could sense that Sterns was partially resistant to his coercion, the scientist''s mind too keen to be fully swayed. Regardless, while Tyson''s knowledge of Marvel comics was far from extensive, he knew from his meta-knowledge that Sterns had become The Leader. A villain who was the counterpart in intelligence, to what the Hulk was in strength.


    Tyson''s eyes darted to Natasha quickly. He was prepared to end Sterns if necessary. Leaving an unknown villain to bite him in the ass later was not on his list of things to do. He released his talons with a snikt and held them poised at Sterns'' throat, repeating his command, "Tell me. Now."


    Compelled by Tyson''s uncompromising stance and perhaps realizing he would follow through with his lethal threat, Sterns began to speak. "That soldier came to me seeking power," he said. "He wanted what Banner had. It was evident he had already undergone some chemical modifications to his physiology."


    Stern''s explanation painted a picture of a man driven by ruthless ambition, willing to take extreme risks in pursuit of power.


    "I''ve done nothing wrong. I warned him of the potential consequences of using Banner''s irradiated blood as a mutagen, but he remained adamant. Blonsky gave his informed consent before we proceeded with the procedure," he asserted, his gaze fixed steadily on Tyson and Natasha despite the claws at his throat. His words also revealed Stern''s ethical detachment, as a scientist focused more on the relentless pursuit of knowledge with little thought for the moral implications. "Blonsky was well aware there was a chance he would become an Abomination. And yet, I was assaulted with a deadly weapon." His accusation was clearly directed at Natasha, referencing her shooting him in the leg to disable him.


    Sterns'' self-assured words only hardened Natasha''s resolve. She maintained her firm stance, retorting sharply, "Don¡¯t make me shoot you in the other leg." Her tone was like iron. The threat hung heavy in the air between them.


    Sterns glanced at the gun still gripped tightly in Natasha''s hand. Recognizing the seriousness of her threat, he chose not to continue arguing his supposed innocence.


    In the tense silence that followed, the full reality of the threat posed by the Abomination crystallized in Natasha''s mind. She knew that this creature, born from Banner''s blood and Blonsky''s body mutated by a variation of the Super Soldier serum, represented a danger that could not be left unchecked. If Banner, a man of normal physical ability became the Hulk, what would a supersoldier become? It was a volatile combination, a monster created by science without thought for the consequences. Turning to Tyson, she saw a glint of hardened resolve in his eye, indicating his readiness to confront the Abomination. He gave a subtle wink, a gesture of confidence and assurance, but Natasha was immediately apprehensive.


    "You can¡¯t go after it," Natasha argued, her voice laced with concern as she stepped closer. "If that thing was made from Banner¡¯s blood, it''s far too dangerous. We don''t fully understand what we''re dealing with."


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Tyson understood her fears but responded calmly, "I know the risks. But remember, I¡¯m the one with the best chance of stopping the Abomination. My ability can match its strength." His tone conveyed both reassurance and certainty.


    Natasha''s breath caught in her throat as the weight of their predicament settled upon her. Her analytical mind raced through scenario after scenario, calculating the potential outcomes and risks associated with each course of action. Allowing the Abomination to rampage unchecked was simply not an option. It could inflict untold damage and casualties in the densely populated city. Yet the thought of Tyson confronting the beast head-on filled her with dread.


    As she stood there, Natasha was torn by conflicting impulses. The pragmatic agent in her hesitated to send her partner into the jaws of almost certain danger. But her heart, which had come to care for Tyson as more than just an ally, rebelled at the thought of putting him at such risk. She searched his face, seeing the steadfast determination in his stance coupled with a glimmer of concern in his eyes that betrayed his awareness of the peril he would soon face. Her mind drifted back to a harrowing memory from months earlier. She vividly recalled watching Tyson engage the Lizard in brutal combat. The scene had left an indelible mark on her psyche. Particularly the heart-stopping instant when Tyson was struck by the Lizard''s powerful tail and sent crashing violently into a nearby car. She hadn''t known about his healing at the time. She had thought for certain that Tyson was dealt a fatal blow. The moment remained etched deeply into her memory. She had felt a sharp pang of failure at that moment, believing that she had utterly let down the brave young man who had shown such incredible courage against the rampaging creature.


    Since that fateful day, Natasha''s relationship with Tyson gradually evolved. Over time, they had grown closer, and Natasha came to fully comprehend the true extent of Tyson''s formidable physical strength and capabilities. But now, as she faced the stark prospect of sending him into battle against the nightmarish Abomination, seeds of doubt crept insidiously into her mind. She wondered, was even Tyson''s power a true match for the monstrous creature born of Banner''s mutated blood? She knew that she herself was utterly helpless against the Abomination''s devastating power, but Tyson was different. His unique abilities gave him a fighting chance, a chance to match the unstoppable creature that lay far beyond her own reach.


    After a tense moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely, Natasha''s sense of duty won out over her personal worries. With great reluctance, she gave a single nod of consent. "Okay," she said, her voice taut with anxiety. "But please be careful."


    Though deeply worried for his safety, she knew the gravity of the situation demanded action. With a heavy heart, she trusted Tyson, hoping it would be enough.


    As Tyson turned to depart and confront the Abomination, Natasha''s eyes were filled with a complex torrent of powerful emotions. She felt lingering fear for his safety, fragile hope for his success, and above all, a deep sense of faith and trust in his extraordinary abilities.


    Meanwhile, Sterns lay prone upon the hard ground, his keen intellect making him a silent but observant witness to the interaction unfolding before him. Despite the pain wracking his body and the disorienting shock of his situation, he closely watched the subtle dynamics between Tyson and Natasha, his razor-sharp mind calmly calculating...


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson burst out of the building through the gaping hole the Abomination had smashed through mere minutes before. Immediately orienting himself, Tyson spotted the trail of utter devastation the monstrous creature had left in its wake and the musky scent of the monster. Both were unmistakable.


    Sprinting down Broadway, Tyson took in the horrific aftermath of the Abomination''s rampage. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes were strewn about like discarded toys. Some had been viciously crushed and crumpled nearly beyond recognition, while others burned and smoldered, twisted metal skeletons emitting pillars of greasy black smoke. Storefronts along both sides of the street had been shattered, their contents vomited out onto the road in heaps of broken glass, debris, and merchandise. The urban landscape itself had been savagely rearranged. Streetlights and traffic signals lay bent and snapped like fragile twigs, the concrete, and asphalt underfoot gouged by deep furrows and craters where the Abomination had unleashed its terrible strength. Chunks of brick and masonry from damaged buildings littered the area, forcing Tyson to use his agility to find a path. Despite the destruction, car alarms continued to blare out their futile warnings, mingling with the distant wail of approaching sirens. The air was choked with concrete dust, limiting visibility and coating the scene with a grim, hazy pall.


    Several blocks away, Tyson spotted the Abomination''s unmistakable silhouette. Even at a distance, the creature was a mountainous figure of pure menace. Without an instant''s hesitation, Tyson broke into a full sprint, his own prodigious speed rapidly closing the distance between them.


    As Tyson drew nearer to the rampaging behemoth, the scene erupted into greater chaos. A military Humvee roared into view, firing a rocket directly at the Abomination. The creature snatched the speeding projectile right out of the air. Then, in a twisted parody of a frat bro crushing a beer can, the Abomination smashed the live rocket against its head, detonating it harmlessly against its seemingly impervious skin. The explosion washed over the monster, who absorbed the impact as though it were nothing.


    The Humvee, already battered and damaged, recognized the hopelessness of its attack. In a desperate bid to escape the Abomination''s wrath, the vehicle jerked into reverse, tires screeching as it sped backward down Broadway in panicked retreat.


    The Abomination thundered after it in pursuit, flinging aside cars and debris easily. Vehicles were sent cartwheeling through the air, tossed aside like children''s toys by the creature''s overwhelming might. It was a surreal and nightmarish sight, watching the hulking Abomination stampede down the road, swatting anything in its path aside with casual indifference, as though brushing away insects.


    Tyson witnessed the chaos unfolding, and the wanton destruction this rampaging behemoth unleashed with each sweeping gesture. He understood the need to stop Blonsky before the damage and loss of life grew more severe. The Abomination left only havoc and ruin in its wake. Steeling himself, Tyson sprinted towards the creature, prepared to confront one of the most dangerous foes, and certainly the strongest, he had ever faced.


    The desperate chase through the streets ended as the Humvee, trying in vain to escape the pursuit of the rampaging Abomination, careened into a wall of abandoned vehicles. The soldiers inside the armored truck braced themselves, trapped with no way out, as the monster closed in.


    At that moment, a taxi cab entered the intersection, the driver unaware of the unfolding situation. The car collided with the Abomination.


    Despite the impact, the creature was utterly unfazed. With a stomp of its gigantic foot, the Abomination crushed the taxi partially underfoot, the force sending the vehicle''s back rising into the air. Grabbing the car as it rose, it hoisted the yellow cab over its head with terrifying ease.


    Its guttural voice echoed through the streets as it challenged, "Give me a real fight!"


    Holding the taxi high, the Abomination prepared to slam it down onto the helpless military vehicle, intending to crush the civilians in the within, and the soldiers in the Humvee, destroying both vehicles in a single, devastating blow.


    In an act of sheer audacity and bravery, and what Tyson knew was stupidity, he positioned himself directly in front of the trapped Humvee.


    As the taxi came crashing down. Tyson raised his hands, intercepting the vehicle in mid-air.


    Tyson stood locked in a tense battle of strength¡­


    with the Abomination.


    The Abomination loomed over Tyson, using its colossal physical might to bear the taxi down on his newest challenger. Despite Tyson''s superhuman strength, he was outmatched by the creature''s monstrous force. Slowly, tauntingly, Tyson was driven down to one knee under the immense weight and power.


    A cruel, mocking laugh erupted from the Abomination''s throat. "You''re weak, but you might be fun for a few seconds," it taunted Tyson, its words dripping with malice and dark amusement. The creature''s eyes, filled with the promise of violence, locked onto Tyson''s determined gaze. Maintaining eye contact, the Abomination''s attention was momentarily drawn to Tyson''s distinctive blue-green eyes. In that brief, entrancing moment, Tyson seized his opening and ensnared the monster in his illusion. With a blink of his eyes, Tyson''s illusory powers transformed the chaotic urban landscape into a serene and surreal scene.


    The taxi that the Abomination had been about to crush vanished, along with the surrounding destruction and the city itself. In their place materialized an idyllic setting; a tranquil grassy field bordered by a lush, dense forest.


    Confused and disoriented by the sudden, inexplicable change of environment, the Abomination lowered his massive hands and spun around, searching for clues.


    His eyes, filled with bewilderment and anger, scanned the peaceful surroundings until they landed on the only other figure in sight. The man he''d been about to crush now stood a distance away across the field. Though he appeared calm and composed, the man''s appearance had changed dramatically. He now wore a striking black robe embroidered with red clouds.


    Unable to comprehend the abrupt shift in reality, the Abomination leaped towards the robed man in a single, powerful bound, closing the distance between them.


    Frustration and curiosity were evident in the beast''s gravelly voice as he demanded, "Who are you?"


    Tyson stood confidently before the hulking, towering figure of the Abomination. "They call me Mirage," he said.


    The Abomination snarled, rage and confusion simmering in its beady eyes. "They''re going to call you dead," it growled.


    Drawing back its massive fist, the creature aimed a punch at Mirage with enough force to shatter concrete. Tyson held his ground as the blow descended. The massive fist connected squarely with his face, but instead of crushing bone and sinew, it passed through. Tyson''s figure dispersed into a flock of crows, leaving the Abomination stumbling forward. The crows swirled into the sky, merging and spinning in a black vortex before coalescing once more upon the ground.


    The Abomination blinked in bewilderment as not one, but two identical Mirages now stood before it.


    "Stand still and let me kill you!" the monster roared.


    It charged the two Mirages, swinging its arms furiously, but each time it struck only crows erupted from its blows. The birds reformed again as four calm Mirages, multiplying in the face of the creature''s rage.


    In synchronized motion, Four identical figures of Mirage reached behind their backs, producing deadly kunai daggers. The Mirages began to encircle the Abomination, spreading out strategically to surround their massive foe. Then the ninjas charged as one. It was like watching a deadly choreographed dance, the four figures flowing around the Abomination as if they shared one mind. Each strike was timed perfectly to exploit vulnerabilities in the creature''s defense.


    The Abomination responded with wild, powerful swings of its massive arms, attempting to bat away its adversaries. But the Mirages flowed around each blow evading the attacks effortlessly. Most of Abomination''s strikes met empty air, finding no purchase as the nimble Mirages ducked and dodged each swipe. On the rare occasions when a blow did connect with one of the figures, they dispersed into a murder of crows, only to re-form again nearby.


    "You''re a fly!" the Abomination bellowed in defiant rage. "Even a swarm of you can''t harm me! I took a rocket to the face. What can your little daggers do?"


    The boast died in its throat, transformed into a wheezing gasp. The Abomination''s eyes went wide with shock as it staggered.


    A precise blow pierced its back straight through to the heart.


    Dark blood dripped from its slack jaw as the mighty Abomination sank to its knees. He collapsed to the ground, a gaping hole in his back marked the blow that had penetrated his seemingly unbreakable defenses.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The Abomination released its hold on the taxi as it turned and leaped away, trapped in Tyson''s illusion. Its release left the vehicle''s full weight in Tyson''s hands. Kneeling beneath the yellow cab, he found that without the creature bearing down, he could manage its weight easily.


    Tyson called to the stunned soldiers he''d saved within the Humvee, "Get out of here, now!" The firm order snapped the soldiers back to reality. Still reeling from the shock of the encounter and their unexpected savior, the soldiers scrambled from their battered vehicle without hesitation. Eager to distance themselves from the behemoth, they took off in the opposite direction.


    The Abomination, meanwhile, stood disoriented, attacking invisible foes.


    Tyson wove misdirection and manipulation. The Abomination relied on straightforward brute force, but that was useless here. Each attack was unbeknownst to the creature, directed only at the empty street. Tyson turned the tide seamlessly, shifting the fight from a physical confrontation to a mental battle. The Abomination was outmatched, its anger and power useless against the illusions.


    It was the mouse and Tyson the cat, his prey ensnared in an inescapable trap.


    With the immediate threat under control, Tyson shifted his focus to the taxi driver''s safety. Gently, he lowered the battered cab to the ground, allowing the man to escape the twisted confines of the vehicle.


    Tyson approached the Abomination. Within his vision, he saw the grassy field and forest he had conjured overlaid over the cracked concrete and abandoned cars on the street. He was the master of the illusion, allowing him to navigate both worlds at once.


    The Abomination was lost in Tyson''s illusory Mirages. Frustration boiled over into defiant rage and he bellowed, "You''re a fly! Even a swarm of you can''t harm me! I took a rocket to the face. What can your little daggers do?"


    Tyson, behind the oblivious behemoth, unsheathed his adamantium claws. He drove both sets of talons into the Abomination''s exposed back. The indestructible adamantium pierced through skin, muscle, and bone before penetrating the Abomination''s chest in a spray of dark blood.


    The Abomination''s arrogant shouts transformed into a gurgling gasp. Shock flooded the creature''s face as he sank to his knees, slack-jawed with Tyson''s claws still buried deep in his back. The once mighty foe collapsed, the gaping wounds in its back marked where the adamantium had penetrated its seemingly impregnable defenses.


    He was raised in a small, unremarkable town in England. As soon as he was old enough, he joined the Royal Marines. He thrived under the rigorous demands of military life, his body and mind honed into instruments of combat and strategy. His skills and dedication did not go unnoticed, and soon he was offered a promotion to Colonel. However, the prospect of a desk job, removed from the action and the front lines, held no appeal for him. He refused the promotion, choosing instead to remain where he felt he belonged; in the thick of the fight, leading his men from the front. He became involved in black ops missions. These covert operations took him to the darkest corners of the world, where the rules of engagement were blurred. The danger was constant, but so was the thrill. But the thrill of combat and the satisfaction of a mission accomplished began to wane. He was aging, his body unable to keep up with his drives. He started to crave more power, more strength, a way to push his limits beyond the natural capabilities of his body. He met General Ross who gave him a chance to become more than a soldier, a super soldier. But even so, he couldn¡¯t defeat the monster. He needed more strength. It was this relentless pursuit of strength that made him coerce Dr. Sterns to use the monster¡¯s blood to push him past human limitations, making him an Abomination.


    Tyson underwent a dramatic transformation. His muscles were the first to morph, swelling rapidly as they expanded to exponential size and density. Tearing through his clothing, each muscle group bulged and rippled, becoming more pronounced and powerful. His skin toughened into a thick, resilient texture, while his adamantium skeletal structure adapted to support the increased mass. Tyson''s height shot up as his bones lengthened and thickened, reshaping his physique into an imposing, formidable form that towered over even the hulking Abomination.


    Tyson''s features grew more rugged, embodying the ferocity of his new form. His jawline hardened, and his teeth sharpened into animalistic points. His eyes, which had always been one of his most distinctive features, now glowed with an intense, fierce energy.


    With staggering strength, Tyson grasped the Abomination''s rapidly beating heart. He flexed his powerful muscles and forcefully pulled his clawed hands from the creature''s back in a shower of viscera.


    Mortally wounded, the monstrous being stumbled and fell heavily to its knees. It teetered there briefly before collapsing face-first onto the pavement with a resounding thud. The Abomination lay unmoving, bleeding out on the street.


    Tyson stood victorious over the Abomination, the creature''s heart still in his hand.


    The hulking monstrosity began to shrink. As its mass dwindled, it reverted to the human form of Emil Blonsky. The gaping hole in its back closed as it transformed.


    Tyson snatched up Blonsky''s limp body in one massive hand and tossed him carelessly into the backseat of an abandoned car on the street. Gripping the sedan in both hands, Tyson hefted it overhead. He tensed his legs and leaped skyward, each bound propelling him high and covering immense distances. After three such titanic leaps that left craters in the concrete below, Tyson landed with an earth-shaking thud amidst the campus grounds of Greyburn College. With a grunt, he released his hold on the car, dropping it heavily to the pavement where it landed with an ear-splitting crash of metal and glass.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The SHIELD cleanup team had arrived on the scene, handling the situation with Dr. Sterns and the critical blood samples of Bruce Banner. Natasha had just stepped out of the building when a startling scene unfolded in the center of the Greyburn College campus.


    From the night sky, a hulking figure descended with an earth-shaking thud. The creature held a crumpled car aloft, its metal frame creaking and groaning. With a grunt, it released its grip, dropping the mangled vehicle to the pavement where it crashed in a bang of metal and shattering glass. A limp body was thrown about inside like a ragdoll before coming to rest.


    Natasha''s heart sank at the sight. Her mind raced to the worst possible conclusion.


    Tyson had failed.


    The Abomination prevailed. Fear gripped her, wondering if Tyson was dead.


    Nearby soldiers reacted on instinct, opening fire on the beast. Their bullets seemed ineffective, barely marring the creature''s thick hide. It turned to face them, unfazed by the barrage. But as its head swiveled, Natasha''s sharp eyes caught a distinctive feature that changed everything. The creature''s eyes glowed in the darkness, one azure blue and the other emerald green.


    At the sight of the beast''s mismatched eyes, Natasha''s mind reeled. In an instant, the truth dawned on her.


    That was not the Abomination.


    The hulking creature before them was Tyson, transformed. He must have made contact with his monstrous foe, taking on its horrific appearance. Relief washed over Natasha, followed by concern.


    The soldiers nearby continued their pointless gunfire. Their bullets ricocheted off Tyson''s thick hide.


    Natasha acted quickly, raising her voice. "Hold your fire!" she commanded.


    To her surprise, the soldiers complied, their gunfire ceasing abruptly. Perhaps her authority gave them pause or the futility of their actions finally sank in. Whatever the reason, their compliance gave Natasha the opening she desperately needed.


    With the threat of friendly fire eliminated, Natasha cautiously approached Tyson. She moved with her hands raised in a peaceful gesture. He towered over her, but Natasha showed no fear. She stopped a safe distance away, her eyes locked onto his. She sought to convey trust and reassurance. Her voice was gentle yet firm as she addressed the man within the monster.


    "Hey, big guy," she called, "I know you''re in there. This isn''t you. The fighting is over. You''ve done it. You stopped the threat."


    She took a small step forward, hands still raised. "You''ve saved everyone here. But I need you to come back. I need the real you, not this creature."


    Natasha''s voice was soothing and hypnotic. "Remember who you are, deep down. You''re not a monster. You''re a hero. You help people."


    "Look at me. Focus on my voice. You''re in control here, not the monster." Moving closer with slow steps, Natasha maintained her calming presence. "I know you can fight this. You''re stronger than you realize. Come back to us now. Come back to me. I know you''re still in there."


    Her voice dropped to a murmur. She was close now, close enough to touch him. "Je pense que je pourrais t''aimer aussi."


    As Natasha''s words reached Tyson, he slowly sank to his knees before her. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the grotesque, overgrown muscles bulging under Tyson''s skin began to wither. The thick, resilient hide stretched taut over his frame returned to its original human texture and tone. His towering height diminished as he shrank back to his familiar size. The hardened features of his face relaxed and reformed into their human shape. The wild glow faded from his eyes as the last traces of the transformation left him.


    Kneeling before Natasha, Tyson was himself again. Seeing the man return from the depths of his monstrous state, Natasha immediately stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce, comforting embrace. Her hug conveyed relief, support, and care as she enveloped Tyson in the warmth of her presence. Natasha held him close reassuring him that he was no longer alone in his struggle and that someone understood and cared for him. In that embrace, she conveyed her relief at his return to humanity, and her unwavering support.


    Tyson, still kneeling, looked up at Natasha. He flashed a grin, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I was in control the whole time, you know," he remarked cheekily.


    Natasha rolled her eyes, though the quirk of her lips betrayed her amusement. "Of course you were," she replied dryly.


    Tyson''s expression softened then, turning earnest. "But it was nice to hear you say that you love me," he added in a gentle voice.


    Though she often played it casual, Natasha could not hide the affection in her gaze as she looked at him. The words had slipped out unbidden in a moment of relief and raw emotion. Voicing it aloud made it real in a way that pierced her usual composure.

 Arc 5 - Ch 19: Manipulations

    Chapter 66


    Arc 5 - Ch 19: Manipulations


    Date: Saturday, June 4, 2011.


    Location: Greyburn College, Harlem, New York


    The throbbing beat of the helicopter''s rotors sliced through the humid summer air as General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross led the way up the loading ramp, his craggy features set in a scowl. His daughter Betty''s hair blew wildly around her face as she followed close behind.


    A pair of soldiers flanked the stretcher bearing a strapped-down Bruce Banner.


    The helicopter climbed skyward, leaving Greyburn College dwindling below.


    Bruce Banner and his stretcher simply vanished.


    One moment he was there, and the next the space lay bare. Shock rippled through the passengers, soldiers exchanging bewildered looks while Betty frantically scanned the cabin. General Ross''s expression shifted from surprise to anger to frustration.


    Before anyone could react further, the radio on Ross'' belt crackled to life. "General, we have a situation," a tense voice reported. "The Hulk is loose."


    Ross snatched up the handset without hesitation, barking orders in the tone of command that was second nature to him. "On my way. Pilot, return to the campus immediately."


    At Ross¡¯ command, the pilot banked the helicopter into a sharp one-eighty, torquing back toward Greyburn and the rapidly unfolding crisis below.


    The situation in New York City was rapidly spiraling out of control. From the confines of the military helicopter, General Thaddeus "Thunderbolt" Ross watched the live video feed with grave focus, tracking the rampaging monster''s every move. The images streamed directly from one of his armored Humvees patrolling the area, offering Ross a real-time view of the chaos unfolding below. On the screens before him, the enormous creature was smashing through buildings and vehicles leaving crushed metal and rubble in its wake. Ross listened intently to the continuous radio reports from his troops on the ground, who desperately tried to contain the situation even as they were forced into hasty retreats from the creature''s overwhelming strength. The tension inside the helicopter cabin was palpable as everyone aboard witnessed the horrific destruction.


    The crisis reached a fever pitch when the monstrous being seized a yellow taxi cab overhead with both hands, clearly intending to use it as a bludgeon against the retreating Humvee. The video feed zoomed in on the creature''s face, allowing Ross to finally see it in nightmarish detail. In that instant, a shock of recognition jolted through the general.


    This was not the Hulk as he had expected, but Emil Blonsky, hideously transformed into an aberration of his former self.


    Ross''s rugged expression shifted from stern command to dismayed surprise as the realization sank in. "My God," he uttered under his breath. "What have you done to yourself, Blonsky?"


    The soldier Ross had recruited to become the next super soldier had been transformed into an Abomination. The general grappled with the sobering reality that the situation had spiraled far beyond his expectations or control. His attention remained riveted to the bank of monitors, bearing witness to Blonsky poised to crush the soldiers beneath the taxi he wielded as a weapon. He refused to look away as the lives of several men under his command were about to be killed as a consequence of his actions.


    Just as utter disaster seemed inevitable, a new figure appeared within the video feed. Clad entirely in a black skintight outfit with a distinctive half-fox mask obscuring his face, this mysterious individual confronted Blonsky with astonishing bravery.


    The newcomer extended both arms upward desperately attempting to halt the taxi''s descent upon the helpless soldiers.


    Caught off guard by this unexpected intervention, Ross instinctively reached for the two-way radio at his belt. "Identify that man, now!" he barked, his gravelly voice tinged with surprise and urgency.


    A soldier observing the camera feed from just behind Ross responded with a distinctive New York accent. "That''s Mirage, sir. He''s one of the local heroes."


    "Local heroes?" Ross repeated to himself in a hushed whisper, his craggy brow furrowing in perplexion. Then he recalled the Senate hearing earlier in the week. He''d been forced to answer some uncomfortable questions afterward, and they all stemmed from the testimony of a so-called ''hero''.


    As he continued to observe the monitor, he witnessed Mirage struggling valiantly against Blonsky''s overwhelming physical might. Despite Mirage''s evident superhuman strength, he was slowly being overpowered by the monstrous Blonsky, forced down onto one knee by the strain of holding up the taxi as this amalgamation of supersoldier and Hulk, this Abomination, forced it down on him.


    The stand-off reached a sudden turning point when Blonsky unexpectedly released his grip on the taxi, leaving its full weight in Mirage''s hands. Then Blonsky leaped away, vanishing from the camera''s view. Now bearing the taxi''s weight alone, Mirage carefully lowered the vehicle to the ground. His attention turned to the soldiers who had been Blonsky''s targets. In a commanding yet calm tone, Mirage instructed the soldiers to evacuate. They retreated from the vicinity, leaving the situation in Mirage''s hands.


    Having secured the soldiers'' and civilians'' safety, Mirage prepared to confront Blonsky again. With determined strides, he left the camera''s view, disappearing from Ross''s sight.


    General Ross was left reeling. Extraordinary individuals wielding unbelievable powers had emerged, operating entirely outside the bounds of traditional authority. There was Bruce Banner, transformed into an unstoppable force of brute strength when enraged. Then there was the illusionist Mirage, able to confuse the senses and twist perception to his will. And Tony Stark, an egocentric playboy, now soaring through the skies encased in a mechanical suit that made the military''s weapons seem antiquated in comparison. How could the government hope to contain these maverick powerhouses? Ross had tried to fight fire with fire by creating a new super soldier in Blonsky. But that had proved disastrous. Now there was another loose cannon for Ross to contend with. As the general brooded, the full weight of this new landscape settled upon his shoulders. He saw how utterly unprepared the establishment was for this kind of adversary. They obeyed no rules and bowed to no authority. And their capabilities far exceeded anything the military could bring to bear. Ross stared grimly at the screen, contemplating his next move. Recruiting enhanced individuals to the government''s cause seemed the only viable path forward. But could such powerful beings ever truly be controlled?


    The helicopter''s landing struts had barely touched the ground when General Ross''s gaze fixed upon a nightmarish sight. With an earth-shaking leap, the Abomination returned to wreak havoc on the Greyburn College campus once more, grasping a compact car high overhead.


    Without hesitation, General Ross seized the helicopter''s radio. "All units, open fire!" he bellowed.


    Answering the general''s command, a relentless hail of bullets engulfed the Abomination. Just as the creature released its metallic projectile, the cacophony of gunfire filled the air. However, the Abomination''s armored hide shrugged off the barrage, impervious to the piercing rounds.


    Agent Natasha Romanoff shouted over the gunfire, "Hold your fire!" Her sharp voice pierced the chaos, bringing an immediate cease to the barrage. The smoking barrels fell silent as the soldiers awaited new orders.


    General Ross grabbed his radio to countermand Agent Romanoff''s order. However, he paused, watching as she took a bold, risky approach towards the monstrous Abomination. He chose to give Romanoff''s strategy a chance.


    Keying his radio, he issued a new command. "All units, hold fire," Ross instructed, acknowledging the SHIELD agent''s order. The general observed intently as Natasha spoke to the hulking beast. She was careful and deliberate in her approach, her words seeming to have a calming effect on the creature. Gradually, the monstrous form of the Abomination began to shrink before their eyes.


    As the beast''s size reduced, it revealed not Emil Blonsky as Ross had expected, but a brown-skinned man wearing only the tattered remnants of black spandex pants. Ross deduced the man''s identity after the astonishing transformation and from the costume remnants. This must be the local hero, Mirage, whom Ross had seen on the monitor.


    With the immediate threat of the Abomination apparently under control, General Ross made his way towards Mirage and Romanoff. As he neared them, Ross''s mind filled with questions about the events he had just witnessed.


    Closing in on the pair, Ross''s demeanor was one of authority and urgency. Without preamble, he directed his question squarely at Agent Romanoff. "Where''s Bruce Banner?"


    Mirage interjected, "Way to ruin the moment." Though his comment was light-hearted, General Ross was in no mood for levity after the harrowing events. Disregarding Mirage''s quip, Ross fixed his steely gaze on Natasha, his eyes boring into hers as he awaited her response.


    Matching Ross''s intensity with her own unflappable poise, Natasha replied smoothly, "Last I checked, he was in a taxi heading downtown." Her response was as equally cheeky as Mirage''s and did little to alleviate the general''s growing frustration.


    "Ha ha, very funny," Ross retorted, his voice dripping with dry sarcasm. His tone then turned deadly serious as he issued a stern warning to the unperturbed agent, "If you don''t turn over Banner, we''re going to have a problem."


    Unfazed by the threat, Natasha responded coolly, "I don''t have Banner. If you have a problem, take it up with my boss."


    Her curt response made it clear that any issues arising from Banner''s absence were beyond her pay grade. Natasha''s defiance forced a tense standoff between military authority and the autonomy of SHIELD operations creating a situation not easily or quickly resolved.


    Turning his attention to the costumed figure beside her, General Ross addressed him directly, his eyes narrowing. "You must be the Mirage. I have half a mind to arrest you for interfering in a military operation."


    Natasha, quick to defend her ally, interjected sharply, "Do you want to go down that road, arresting another division''s agent? And one who was assisting you? You think going after us for losing Banner would cause a shitstorm, it''s got nothing on going after a valuable active agent in the field."


    The defiant Mirage chimed in, "You should be thanking me. I saved your soldiers, took down your little experiment, and brought him back for you."


    Ross''s steely gaze shifted to the car that Tyson had carried back. Inside lay Blonsky, unconscious and transformed back into his human form. Still grappling with the rapidly changing events, Ross asked with a hint of suspicion in his gruff voice, "Is this another trick? Like the one you pulled with Banner in my helicopter?"


    "Nope. All real this time. You''re welcome," Tyson responded straightforwardly, his casual tone emphasizing the genuineness of his actions.


    As General Ross finished his assessment of Blonsky, his piercing eyes shifted back to Tyson. For a brief moment, when Ross met Tyson''s mismatched eyes, his own glazed over.


    The bustling college campus faded away, replaced by the opulent surroundings of the Oval Office. The sudden shift in his environment left him momentarily stunned, his mind struggling to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. The iconic presidential seal on the plush carpet beneath his feet seemed to mock his confusion. Ross found himself standing before the imposing desk of the President of the United States. The weight of the situation settled on his shoulders as he straightened his posture, years of military discipline kicking in despite his bewilderment. The President sat behind the desk, his presence commanding respect and attention. Ross''s eyes were drawn to the man''s face, and he found himself staring into a pair of mismatched eyes; one green, one blue. The unusual feature struck a chord of familiarity in Ross''s mind, but he couldn''t quite place why.


    "General Ross," the President''s voice was firm and authoritative.


    "What did you give Blonsky?" Tyson asked bluntly.


    "An early version of the Super Soldier serum that was abandoned in storage," he admitted.


    Tyson pressed forward with his interrogation, his mismatched eyes boring into the General with an intensity that broke any resistance. Natasha observed the exchange with a growing sense of unease. This was a side of Tyson she had not seen before. She had already uncovered the truth of Ross''s involvement with Blonsky and the experimental serum. But to see Tyson unravel the man so effortlessly was unexpected.


    Tyson probed deeper. "How did you get access to the Super Soldier serum?"


    "After the death of William Stryker, I was named head of the Weapons Plus program," Ross responded, his eyes unfocused, as if the words were being pulled from him against his will.


    Natasha''s brow furrowed. This was new information, hinting at the extent of Ross''s classified activities. Once again, Tyson had cut to the heart of the matter with surgical precision, extracting intel even she did not possess.


    "Is there any more Super Soldier Serum, and where is it kept?" Tyson continued, focused and unrelenting.


    "Yes, there''s more in storage at Camp Lehigh," Ross admitted tonelessly, too far under Tyson''s influence to notice he was spilling secrets.


    Tyson frowned, dissatisfied with the intelligence he had gathered. "You should handle Blonsky and make sure he''s contained," he directed calmly. "Don''t worry about Mirage, forget what he looked like and delete any recordings of his face. Cooperate with any SHIELD agents for the cleanup operation." Ross blinked sluggishly as he processed Tyson''s orders.


    Natasha looked on with guarded eyes. She had observed the exchange between Ross and Tyson with a complex mix of emotions playing across her features. She remained silent at first, though her look spoke volumes. Seeing Tyson effortlessly extract information and seemingly exert influence over the general troubled her. It revealed an extent of his powers she hadn''t fully grasped until now, raising uneasy questions.


    Noticing her expression, Tyson sensed Natasha''s concern. His interrogation of Ross had demonstrated the true depth of his persuasive abilities.


    As the SHIELD agents secured the area, Tyson strode purposefully towards one of the large coolers they were using to transport vials of Banner''s irradiated blood. He grabbed the handle and hoisted the heavy container over his shoulder, then made his way to the mangled remains of the black sedan he had carried while in his own transformed state. The vehicle lay crumpled like a crushed aluminum can, its windows shattered and frame warped beyond repair. He reached the trunk and with a snikt, his adamantium claws extended from his fingertips, and he sliced through the trunk''s mechanism. It popped open with a groan, revealing the gruesome contents that Tyson sought.


    The severed heart of the Abomination.


    He''d violently torn the organ from the beast''s chest with his claws. He stared at the organ, still oozing vile fluids, a trophy from his hard-won victory over Blonsky''s monstrosity. Without hesitation, Tyson grabbed the heart and dropped it into the cooler beside the vials of Banner''s blood, sealing both specimens for later study and use. His eyes glinted knowingly as he latched the container shut.


    Overseeing the rest of the SHIELD agents handling the aftermath, Natasha and Tyson watched Dr. Sterns, unconscious and bandaged, being carefully loaded onto a stretcher and into a van.


    Breaking the silence between them, Natasha turned to Tyson, her voice tinged with unease. "I didn¡¯t know you could do that."


    Tyson let out a reluctant, regretful sigh. "I try not to," he admitted, acknowledging the complexity and moral implications of his ability to extract information and influence others.


    After a moment, Natasha broached a more personal, vulnerable subject. "Have you ever done that to me?" she asked uncertainly.


    "Once," Tyson admitted.


    Natasha''s reaction was immediate, her features creasing in dismay as she processed this violation of trust. Though Tyson''s confession had been straightforward, his discomfort was evident in the tight set of his jaw and the regret that clouded his eyes. She said nothing, but her look of betrayal spoke volumes. Tyson''s abilities, while invaluable in the field, had now cast a shadow over their relationship, sowing doubt and raising thorny questions about consent and trust.


    In strained silence they continued toward the waiting SHIELD forces, the atmosphere between them now crackling with uncertainty. Upon entering the van, its nondescript interior offering some privacy, Natasha subtly waved away the agent who moved to join them, presumably to stand guard over the secured coolers containing Dr. Banner''s blood samples. With a nod, the agent took a seat up front. The back was separated by a wall, leaving Natasha and Tyson alone but for the muffled hum of the engine and the indistinct sounds of activity outside.


    Natasha''s expression was etched with unease. After a long moment, she broke the tense silence, swallowing hard before asking in a low voice, "When?"


    Tyson understood the gravity of her simple question. "Months ago," he confessed heavily, "when you were undercover posing as my teacher. After the basketball game with Peter. I... I influenced you to focus on me and my abilities rather than his." Shame weighed heavily upon him at his admission.


    Natasha''s mind reeled, transported back to that day on the basketball court. She vividly recalled watching Peter Parker play. And she remembered how he had unexpectedly bested Flash and Tyson. With Tyson''s confession laid bare, the realization dawned on her. Peter had exhibited superhuman abilities during that game, abilities she had somehow ignored at the time. Her attention had been diverted from the young man''s feats, focused instead on Tyson.


    A tumult of emotions roiled within Natasha as understanding took hold. She understood Tyson''s motivation in using his powers of influence over her. He had manipulated her focus to protect his friend, to shield Peter''s secrets. In the context of safeguarding a comrade, she could almost forgive Tyson''s use of his abilities. His desire to guard Peter spoke of loyalty and protectiveness, virtues that Natasha esteemed highly herself. Yet this raised a torrent of other questions, the most pressing being how Tyson had known she might take an interest in Peter''s special abilities.


    Seeking clarity, she probed further, "If at that point you knew to divert my attention from Parker, you must have already made me. When did you first realize I was watching you?" Her tone held no accusation, only an intent to unravel the timeline.


    Tyson bowed his head slightly, knowing the necessity of honesty at this moment. "Pretty much from the start," he admitted. Natasha''s eyes widened in disbelief, compelling Tyson to elaborate further. "After I stole all that gold, you showed up at my school posing as a student teacher. But even on that first day of dodgeball, your skills gave you away. Besides, the PE teachers all adore Flash, yet you shut him down immediately. You paid too much attention to me and favored me. No offense, but you''re too old to be a student teacher. "


    Natasha''s expression remained dubious. "That seems a stretch," she remarked.


    Tyson met her gaze earnestly. "Have you seen yourself? When I say you''re too old to be a student teacher, I mean it''s obvious upon looking at you. There''s no reason for someone like you to go back to school. You could easily be a model, a trophy wife. There''s no world where you''re a middle-income, single teacher. You''d have been snatched up in no time. It just doesn''t add up."


    Natasha considered his words, her features softening slightly as she turned over his logic in her mind. "Flattery won''t get you out of this," she replied, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand.


    Their discussion, like so many from earlier in their relationship, had become a delicate dance of truths and revelations. Tyson did not reveal how he had used his meta-knowledge to immediately identify Natasha. He had to make his explanation plausible through observational skills and strategic thinking alone.


    Natasha added, "I can understand that you were trying to protect your friend, Peter, Spider-Man," acknowledging Tyson''s intentions


    Tyson, taken aback by her revelation, wore an expression of surprise and blurted out, "You knew?"


    Natasha, satisfied at still being able to surprise him, responded, "We were observing you on Thanksgiving."


    Tyson''s mind raced back to Thanksgiving. He recalled how Peter hadn''t come to the door but had instead arrived on the balcony. Tyson hadn''t brought it up at the time, careful not to jeopardize Peter''s cover. He remembered how, after dinner, Peter had left the suite by jumping off the balcony. Realization dawned on Tyson, and he muttered under his breath, "Well, shit."


    "Now that that''s in the open. How can I believe you? How do I know you haven¡¯t been manipulating me with your powers this whole time?" she asked, laying bare the fragile foundations of trust upon which their relationship had been built.


    Tyson felt the full weight of her gaze upon him, demanding an answer. He chose his next words carefully, knowing they carried consequences far beyond this conversation. "You''re right. I can''t prove I haven''t manipulated you," he began somberly. "My illusions are indistinguishable from reality, so you can''t rely on your senses to discern the truth."


    "My influence is subtle, fleeting. To sustain it requires constant reinforcement from me. We''ve spent a lot of time together, but there were gaps; two months between the Green Goblin incident and the House of M opening, then another two before Stark''s party. Any manipulation would have faded in between." Tyson explained, hoping to provide some reassurance. He held her gaze, regret etched across his face. "I know how much it took for you to trust me. And I know how betrayed you must feel now. You have every right to doubt me. All I can offer is my word that I''ve never manipulated your mind. I''m sorry I kept this from you. Your trust means everything to me."


    Tyson reached out as if to take her hand, then let his own fallback, uncertain. He had revealed the extent of his powers, but the future remained unwritten. Now it was up to Natasha to decide if she could accept the truth and allow their relationship to move forward, or if this was a betrayal too far.


    Natasha''s sharp gaze remained fixed on Tyson as she processed his admission. His apology had rung sincere and remorseful as he acknowledged the fragile trust between them that his powers had strained. For her, trust did not blossom easily. Her life had ingrained vigilance and wariness, and Tyson''s confession had raked old wounds. His words were an olive branch. He had laid himself bare before her, revealing the extent of his powers and their influence, both intentional and not. It was a vulnerability that left him open, awaiting her judgment.


    She sorted through his explanation, weighing it against her knowledge of the man before her. Years of training with SHIELD and her time in the Red Room had honed her skills at reading people and situations, analyzing motives, and seeking truth beneath the facade. This betrayal was not a tactical situation, however; it cut far deeper. Trust, once broken, was not easily restored, especially in their world. Tyson''s powers and their implications had raised old ghosts, and she wrestled with what forgiveness would mean in this context. It would not be merely accepting his words and overlooking past actions. To forgive him, she would have to willingly make herself vulnerable, ceding him power and trusting that he would not abuse it. Their relationship would rely on his self-restraint and his promise to never influence her mind without consent. It was a delicate balance requiring utmost integrity. As she deliberated, Natasha realized the choice before her was not simply whether to move past betrayal, but whether to open herself to the possibility of trust once more.


    Natasha took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She knew this conversation would set the tone for their relationship going forward. Choosing her words carefully, she began. "I understand that you intended to protect Peter, even if your methods were questionable." She paused, letting her words sink in. Tyson''s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly as he absorbed the gravity of her statement.


    "I am guilty of deceiving you when we met, and even after I revealed myself as a SHIELD agent, there were times when I observed you and reported on you, so I''m not beyond reproach myself. I am willing to move past this betrayal, but only under certain conditions." Her voice was firm but not unkind. "Going forward there can be no more secrets between us, no more manipulation. If we are to work together, to be together, trust is non-negotiable." Natasha''s eyes flashed with resolve, underscoring her seriousness. "You need to respect my autonomy, Tyson. Your abilities are extraordinary and with them comes expectations. I cannot afford to constantly second guess our interactions, wondering if I''m being influenced against my will."


    Her tone softened then, acknowledging the complexity of Tyson''s situation. "I know it''s not easy having such power and constantly having to restrain yourself. But that is the reality we live in. Our actions have consequences, often far-reaching ones."


    Natasha slid closer to Tyson, her voice gentle but unwavering. "I want to believe in you. I''ve seen glimpses of the man you can be. Brave, loyal, willing to do what''s right even when it''s hard. That''s the Tyson I choose to see and the one I now choose to trust." Natasha''s voice mingled with resolve and hope as she concluded, "So let us start again, with honesty and respect forming the foundation between us."


    She searched Tyson''s face, looking for any sign that he grasped the significance of this second chance she extended to him. His response would reveal whether her trust was misplaced or justified.


    Tyson initially hung his head low in reflection. Gradually he began to nod, the subtle movement conveying more than simple agreement. Sensing there might be more beneath the surface, something yet unrevealed, Natasha observed him closely. His acceptance of her terms seemed to carry additional weight and meaning.


    As Tyson lifted his head, his eyes betrayed the depth of feeling this moment held for him. He met Natasha''s gaze directly, vulnerability tingeing his voice as he asked, "Are you sure?"


    "I''m sure. I trust you," Natasha affirmed sincerely. "No secrets between us from now on."


    Tyson nodded, accepting both her trust and the chance to start again.


    He composed himself before speaking again. "Then there''s something I need to show you," he said with such gravity that Natasha knew this moment was a turning point in their relationship.


    Tyson rapped his knuckles on the divider separating them from the front of the SHIELD van. Sliding open the small window, he instructed the driver, "Take us to House of M."


    The driver''s gaze shifted to Natasha, his eyes questioning as he sought her approval. "Ma''am?" he asked respectfully, requiring permission from the highest-ranking agent before altering their course.


    Natasha paused, considering Tyson''s request. She could sense this was part of the new openness and honesty they had just pledged to one another. Trusting Tyson''s judgment and acknowledging the significance, she replied decisively, "Do it."


    Her response demonstrated her willingness to support him fully in whatever he needed to share.


    Tyson offered the driver a brief word of thanks before closing the small window, turning his full focus back to Natasha. He contemplated how best to convey what needed to be said.


    "May I use an illusion to explain?" he asked, seeking her consent for what he was about to do. "I''ll have to take you deep into an illusion. It will be more like a psychic link than any illusion I''ve created previously. What I''m trusting you with are things no one else can know. You''ll be able to respond, but it will all be in your mind. You won''t be able to speak aloud for the duration of the illusion. Only a psionic projection of your voice will come through. You''ll need to place as much trust in me as I''m about to place in you."


    Natasha nodded, no stranger to the necessity of secrecy. Tyson gazed deeply into her eyes. She felt lost in the blue. Like sky and ocean blended until she could not discern up from down, and then she saw the green, it was like a grassland below the endless sky.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Suddenly, she was back in the van. It appeared nothing had changed until Tyson projected a vivid image. The illusion depicted a fierce battle above the Bronx between the demon and a fly mutant wearing a distinctive helmet. Tyson studied Natasha to ensure she was following the scene. "Are you familiar with this incident?" he inquired.


    The dramatic projection continued to unfold, illustrating the intensity and scale of the clash. Natasha''s eyes remained fixed on the illusion as she acknowledged, "It''s one of the events SHIELD cataloged and rediscovered when we realized mutants were real," she replied.


    Tyson elaborated on the illusory details before them. "This is Magneto. He is a powerful mutant who has hunted me. He can manipulate magnetic fields and control metals," Tyson narrated while pointing out the key figure. He then zoomed in on the false Azazel. "Your records may indicate this is Azazel, a demon or demonic-looking mutant... but it is not," Tyson clarified. As he spoke, he shifted the illusion to reflect the truth. "It is me. At the time, I had temporarily absorbed two additional powers. One from a shapeshifter and one from an exceptionally powerful telepath."


    Natasha listened intently as Tyson explained. "Okay, I''m following so far."


    Tyson allowed the illusion around them to dissipate. "The fight and everything else isn''t important," he stated, directing the narrative to the crucial point. "What was important was that I had temporarily absorbed the powers of one of the world''s strongest telepaths. I''ve also previously absorbed the actual Azazel, who had millennia of knowledge and experience. And you already know about Sabertooth''s centuries." Tyson tapped his head. "I have lifetimes upon lifetimes within my head. From this world, and others."


    He said cryptically, "And I saw a future."


    Once more, Tyson conjured an illusion, this time displaying the scene of Nat sparring with Happy Hogan in the boxing ring from a few days prior. Natasha''s eyes flickered with recognition as she took in the scene. "Yeah, that was just the other day," she confirmed.


    Tyson shook his head. "This was the first time I saw you... in the vision I had," he revealed, his words suggesting the memories of his past life had been part of something precognitive he had witnessed.


    "Think about it," Tyson continued intently, "I was here in New York when this happened." Realization dawned on Natasha''s face as she grasped the implications of his statement.


    "That''s how I recognized you immediately the moment I stepped into the gym class. I knew who you were before we even met."


    Natasha sought to understand the full extent of Tyson''s extraordinary claims. "You''re saying you saw the future."


    Tyson shook his head, correcting her statement. "No. I saw ''A'' future. A version of events yet to come. Most of what I witnessed in the vision has now come to pass, but some details have shifted and changed."


    Natasha looked at him skeptically, not fully convinced. "Like what?" she asked, desiring to comprehend the limits and implications of Tyson''s supposed vision.


    In response, Tyson conjured another illusion, immersing Natasha in the vivid scene. This time, the illusion depicted the confrontation atop the Queensboro Bridge. "Part of the challenge is I don''t know exactly when events will take place, only that they do," Tyson explained, providing context before Natasha witnessed the vision''s events.


    As Natasha watched raptly, the illusion presented Spider-Man locked in conflict with the Green Goblin. In this version of the clash, the villain simultaneously dropped the red-haired girl Mary Jane and the cable car. Reacting on instinct, Spider-Man dove after Mary Jane to save her, catching her in a breathtaking move. He then swung under the bridge to grab the falling cable car. The scene culminated with the Green Goblin''s shocking death, a stark ending to the fraught encounter.


    Processing the vivid details, Natasha remarked, "I see, so your interference saved the Goblin''s life."


    Tyson nodded in confirmation. Then, to underscore the mutability of the future he had foreseen, he shifted the illusion once more. This time, it depicted Kraven the Hunter. "That''s not the important part," Tyson said gravely. "Kraven wasn''t part of the vision at all."


    "Over the months I''ve come to realize one important fact." He paused before explaining the crucial detail.


    "It seems the more I strive to reshape the future glimpsed in my vision, the more adamantly the universe pushes back against my interference," Tyson revealed the frustrating conclusion.


    Natasha asked, "You think¡­ the universe¡­ is fighting against you specifically?"


    Tyson laughed, "When you say it like that, it makes me sound crazy. But let me show you."


    To illustrate this perplexing phenomenon, Tyson conjured another illusion depicting the battle at the Xavier Institute. Natasha watched raptly as soldiers invaded the mansion. This was different than the recordings she''d seen.


    Then Tyson showed the version of events after his interference. Before Natasha''s eyes, he teleported around the embattled campus, using telekinesis to dismantle and destroy the invading forces. His actions showcased the remarkable extent of his capabilities. However, the scene took a dramatic turn. Tyson''s extraordinary powers abruptly evaporated. He was confronted by a cadre of identical psychics, flanked by a mutant wielding writhing tentacles. The odds were overwhelmingly stacked against Tyson now. Natasha watched as this group ultimately captured Tyson. These were the events she''d seen played out in the recordings of the event. His first illusion vividly demonstrated Tyson''s point.


    His efforts to reshape the events led to unforeseen, formidable complications.


    Natasha leaned back, taking a moment to process everything Tyson had revealed. She looked at him intently and asked, "Alright then. What changed today?"


    Tyson reflected on the day''s events, reluctantly admitting, "Not much changed. I was able to save a few soldiers'' lives, and that was the extent of it. Whether or not Banner will be at House of M when we arrive remains to be seen. In the vision I had, he was in the wind."


    To further illustrate his point, Tyson conjured another illusion for Natasha''s benefit, replaying the scene of Banner being whisked away by helicopter. The vision continued, showing Banner''s eventual return and transformation into the Hulk to protect General Ross''s daughter from the Abomination. It was this sequence of events, triggered by Banner''s anger-fueled metamorphosis, that Tyson''s vision had foretold.


    Tyson also recreated his confrontation with the Abomination for Natasha. Though his intervention had altered the course of the battle, the outcome remained largely unchanged.


    Taking a moment to process everything Tyson had revealed, Natasha studied him intently. "So despite your interference, the result was more or less the same. Because of that similarity, you believe the universe didn''t push back and make changes?" she asked.


    Tyson nodded in agreement. "That seems to be the case. The less I deviate from the original vision, the smaller the repercussions," he suggested.


    Just then, the van rolled to a stop, having reached its destination. Curious about what Tyson had in mind by bringing them here, Natasha asked, "Is the only reason we''ve come to House of M to check on Banner?"


    Tyson grabbed the cooler with Banner''s blood and the Abomination''s heart. Stepping out of the van, the pair went inside as Tyson explained his reasoning. "House of M shouldn''t even exist according to the vision I was given. Neither this place nor I were part of what I saw initially. I never saw myself in the visions, as if I don''t or shouldn''t exist."


    Natasha offered an alternate perspective. "Perhaps you did not see yourself in the visions because, as the one receiving the visions, you existed outside of the events being shown," she suggested.


    "I hadn''t thought of it that way, but it''s as good an explanation as any," Tyson admitted after a moment, appreciating the new angle she had brought to their discussion, and how it had framed his meta-knowledge in a way that made sense to her.


    Tyson circled back to Natasha''s question, "As for why we''re here. Let me first ask, what happened to Ivan Vanko?"


    Natasha''s response was matter-of-fact. "He detonated himself and all of the Hammer drones in a suicidal explosion." Her account detailed the climactic conclusion of Vanko''s vendetta against Tony Stark.


    Tyson shook his head, providing a crucial detail. "Minus my intervention, that was what would have happened, according to the vision."


    Leading Natasha further down the hall, they stopped in front of a door and entered into the modern laboratory. Two men were fully engrossed in their work within the lab. One was intently focused on a workbench along the far wall, while the other sat surrounded by an array of mechanical components at a computerized workstation.


    As they entered the room, Tyson mentioned, "I''m casting an illusion over us so they won''t notice our presence." This allowed the pair to observe the men at work without interrupting or alerting them to the visitors in their midst.


    Guiding Natasha into the modern laboratory, Tyson brought her attention to the man working at the far workbench. As Natasha drew nearer, she recognized the focused scientist as Ivan Vanko. His appearance was cleaner and more kempt than she recalled, but there was no mistaking the man''s identity.


    Natasha turned to Tyson, astonishment etched on her face. "Is this real?" she whispered. The presence of Vanko, thought to be deceased, raised alarming questions in Natasha''s mind.


    "Yes," Tyson confirmed simply. With a subtle hand motion, he cast an illusion that allowed Natasha to witness the divergence of events. The illusion shifted, showing Tony Stark and James Rhodes battling Vanko''s weaponized drones and then Vanko himself. Tyson then showed his interference. Rather than allowing Vanko to die, Tyson appeared before Vanko as he landed, ensnaring him with his power. In this version, Tony and Rhodes prevailed while Vanko survived.


    Natasha''s sharp eyes studied Vanko toiling obliviously at his workbench. Something still did not make sense. If Vanko lived, why was he here working in Tyson''s lab?


    Noticing her confusion, Tyson explained further. "Vanko''s mind was poisoned by vengeance against Stark for his father''s ruin," he explained. "So I gave him a mental push with my abilities, redirecting his passions. Now instead of harm, he strives to help."


    Natasha nodded slowly as Tyson''s words sank in, the pieces coming together. She gestured to the second man present in a silent request for an explanation of this unknown person''s identity and purpose here.


    A moment later, an illusion sprang up in front of Natasha. The Lizard. She watched as the scene shifted, displaying what would have transpired had Tyson not intervened. It was a grim scenario. The Lizard infiltrated Oscorp and planned to release an aerosolized version of his formula across New York City, transforming countless innocent citizens into savage reptilian monsters. During the ensuing chaos, Spider-Man was shot by an NYPD officer, and tragically, Captain George Stacy, father of Peter Parker''s girlfriend Gwen Stacy, died.


    Tyson explained in a low voice, "I stopped the Lizard before he could enact his plan. Afterward, I relocated Dr. Connors and his lab to the House of M, where he could continue his work safely under my supervision." He continued, "I''ve guided Connors to perfect his regenerative formula while eliminating the severe side effects. He retains his human intellect but can access the Lizard''s powers when needed."


    Natasha absorbed this new information, turning over the ethical implications of Tyson''s actions. On the one hand, he had used his abilities to steer events and individuals away from destructive paths. Vanko and Connors had been redirected from pursuing vengeance or harm. On the other hand, she couldn''t help but consider the consequences of such heavy-handed manipulation, however well-intentioned. Where did one draw the line?


    Tyson inclined his head, as though reading her thoughts. "Come on," he said, leading her from the lab. They entered the executive lounge where Tyson moved behind the bar. He extracted an expensive bottle of Natasha''s favorite red wine and poured some into a glass, offering it to her. "It''s the real vintage, not a conjured illusion," he assured her with a faint smile.


    Natasha accepted the glass, her emerald eyes clouded with contemplation as she gave voice to her inner turmoil regarding Tyson''s actions. "On the surface, it seems you''re helping people," she began carefully, "But in truth, you''re controlling them. I''m torn between admiring your noble intentions and being deeply troubled by the methods. I can''t decide if I should applaud you for averting disasters or condemn you for manipulating the course of people''s lives." The ethical quandary was evident in her voice.


    Tyson let out a mirthless chuckle, acknowledging the gravity of her words. "Honestly, I''ve thought the same thing."


    Natasha then articulated the crux of her unease. "Believing you know what''s best for someone is one thing," she cautioned, her piercing eyes flashing. "But forcing them down that path, regardless of their wishes, borders on megalomania. And I put a bullet through someone tonight for precisely that."


    "I have two critical questions for you," she said, pausing to swirl the crimson liquid, the deliberate motion underscoring the import of what she was about to ask.


    Natasha''s first question cut to the heart of the matter, her eyes boring into Tyson''s with laser-like intensity. "How do you know your vision was real? If it wasn''t completely accurate, how can you be certain it wasn''t a fluke or that you yourself weren''t manipulated by one of the more powerful psyches you absorbed?" Her question reflected a fundamental uncertainty regarding the true nature of Tyson''s vision and its credibility. She then posed her second question, one that probed Tyson''s motivations. "And why save them at all? What''s the point? Green Goblin was a psychopath. The world was probably better off without him. So why intervene to rescue Vanko and the Lizard?"


    Tyson paused, gathering his thoughts before responding to Natasha''s probing questions. "Looking at the smaller picture," he began, "Connors was motivated by noble intentions. He wanted to fix his physical handicap and more broadly, he wanted to use that to help humanity, but stumbled in his methods. Similarly, Vanko managed to engineer a suit to challenge Stark''s despite access to limited resources. And once he had access to Hammer''s resources, his suit rivaled both Iron Man and War Machine." he explained, elaborating on both men''s potential that warranted a second chance at life.


    "But first, let me address your initial skepticism," Tyson continued. "As for the validity of foreseeing future events..." He trailed off, waving his hand in an elegant motion. At his command, the air shimmered, conjuring an illusion of an object familiar to Natasha.


    The Tesseract.


    It appeared as a luminous blue cube, about a foot in diameter. Strange energy pulsated within its crystalline depths, hinting at the immense power contained within its geometric form. Natasha''s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as the artifact hovered before her.


    "How could you know about this?" she asked bluntly, unable to mask her surprise. Her terse reaction affirmed the sheer improbability of Tyson possessing knowledge of such a highly classified and dangerous object. Natasha''s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she muttered under her breath, "I may be compromised. You could''ve extracted this intel from my mind unknowingly." Her statement reflected a growing unease that Tyson''s abilities may have inadvertently gleaned such sensitive information from her or others within SHIELD.


    Sensing Natasha''s descent into doubt, Tyson gently interjected, "Before you go down that rabbit hole, let me explain further."


    With a wave of his hand, the illusion shifted. The Tesseract''s shell melted away, exposing a radiant blue gemstone at its core, glimmering with cosmic light. "What you don''t know is that the Tesseract is merely a container. Inside lies an object known as an Infinity Stone. Particularly, the Space Stone."


    Tyson paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing his account. His expression grew solemn as he went on to explain the broader context. "There are six of these stones scattered throughout the universe, each holding near unlimited power. They are remnants from the creation of existence itself." He methodically listed them one by one. "Space. Time. Mind. Power. Reality. Soul."


    With a wave of his hand, the green Time Stone glowed brighter, drawing Natasha''s focus. "The Time Stone is also here on Earth," Tyson added pointedly.


    The illusion before them shifted, revealing a towering, imposing figure with purplish-blue skin etched with deep lines. He had a broad, muscular build and stood with a commanding presence that exuded power. His ornate armor was both regal and intimidating, instantly marking him as a conqueror.


    "This is the Mad Titan, Thanos," Tyson said, his tone growing more ominous. "A powerful tyrant who will stop at nothing to accomplish his twisted goal... collecting all the Infinity Stones." Tyson explained, "With the stones, Thanos gains the ability to wipe out half of all life with a snap of his fingers."


    The illusion shifted again, depicting scenes of unimaginable global catastrophe. Natasha looked on in dismay as people across Earth turned to dust. She even saw Clint Barton crying out in anguish, his family claimed among the countless victims. There was no way Tyson should know about Barton''s family, they''d hardly had any contact.


    "That''s it? That can''t be how it ends," Natasha exclaimed, shaken by the potential future Tyson had revealed. As someone who had stared down countless threats in her life, the idea of such a definitive and catastrophic end was unacceptable to her. This was a call to action, a challenge to somehow alter the course of the future she had just witnessed. There had to be a way to prevent the Mad Titan from succeeding. She would not accept this bleak outcome as the final conclusion.


    A sad smile played on Tyson''s lips as he spoke reassuringly. "Of course not. The good guys win in the end," he said. He elaborated, "Tony Stark figures out the secret of time travel. He builds a machine that allows a group to journey into the past, collecting all six Infinity Stones from various points, and undoing Thanos''s snap."


    Natasha studied Tyson closely, noticing he seemed sad despite the happy ending he had just described. Confused and concerned by his emotional response, she asked, "If there''s a victory over Thanos, why does your face say we lost?"


    Natasha gently reminded, "No secrets between us," invoking their earlier promise of complete transparency.


    In response, Tyson shifted the illusion surrounding them. The lounge transformed into a vivid alien landscape under a burnt orange sky. Natasha saw herself alongside Clint Barton, both dressed in matching uniforms. Tyson''s voice, heavy with emotion, narrated the scene that was unfolding.


    "You and Clint are chosen for the mission to retrieve the Soul Stone. But the Soul Stone demands a terrible price in exchange..." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Sacrificing the life of someone you love."


    The implication landed like a physical blow, forcing the air from Natasha''s lungs. Either she or Clint would have to die so this mission could succeed.


    Natasha watched with building dread as the illusion continued, depicting a heartbreaking scene atop the craggy cliffs. She saw herself and Clint locked in a desperate, life-or-death struggle, each trying with all their strength to prevent the other from making the ultimate sacrifice.


    As the scene played out, Tyson provided mournful narration, his voice solemn and heavy. "I''ve said before that I know there''s more to you than what you choose to show me. Because I truly do know." He paused, allowing the devastating weight of the moment to fully permeate Natasha''s senses.


    "All that red you believe is in your ledger gets wiped clean when you give your life to save half the universe." Tyson''s words acknowledged Natasha''s tireless efforts to atone for past misdeeds, and the sheer magnitude of her sacrifice.


    The illusion reached its tragic conclusion as Natasha fell to her death amid the rocky cliffs.


    "I admire you more than any person I''ve ever met. Even before we first spoke, I admired you." Tyson''s voice swelled with heartfelt respect and admiration. "What you''ve overcome, who you are, the good you''ve done... you are brave and good, and worthy of everything."


    Tyson''s confession emerged raw and heartfelt. "Over time, I''ve come to know and care for you deeply," he admitted, voice cracking. He paused, struggling to steady his trembling words. "You are precious to me, Natasha. I don''t want to lose you."


    Natasha absorbed the swell of emotions as she witnessed her potential fate. Though pierced by pain at the sight of her death, Tyson''s words wrapped her like a warm blanket. His unexpected confession touched something deep inside, a vulnerability rarely permitted light.


    "Do you believe me? Will you help me save half the universe and yourself along the way? Can you bring yourself to trust me?" His pleading words hung heavy between them, layered with naked earnestness.


    Natasha had no glib reply, no quip or evasion. Wordlessly, she stepped forward, gently pressing a gloved hand to his chest. Her answer, when it came, was far more profound than any words could convey.


    Natasha kissed him.


    With that simple press of her lips, she acknowledged their bond and committed herself fully to the mission. In that kiss, Tyson knew Natasha completely. She lowered every defense, allowing him to see the soft, vulnerable core she bared for no other. Natasha chose him unequivocally, opening herself to the possibility of a shared future.


    She was recruited into the KGB''s Red Room program at a young age. They molded her into a formidable operative, skilled in combat, espionage, and manipulation. It was in the Red Room where she met Yelena Belova, who became a sister to her, and Alexei Shostakov, the Red Guardian, a father figure of sorts. During her time in the Red Room, she was subjected to intense and brutal training. She excelled in every aspect, and quickly rose to prominence as the most adept trainee. Her skills were honed to near perfection, turning her into an unparalleled spy and assassin. Her reputation as ''the'' Black Widow grew, making her one of the world''s most feared and respected operatives. However, her life took a significant turn when she encountered Clint Barton, an agent of SHIELD. Clint was sent to eliminate her but instead saw potential in her abilities and character. He offered her a chance for redemption and a new path. Her recruitment into SHIELD began a new chapter in her life. Under Nick Fury and with the support of Clint Barton, she started to use her skills for a greater cause. She became an integral part of SHIELD, embarking on numerous missions that took her across the globe. Her expertise in espionage, combat, and intelligence gathering made her an invaluable asset to the organization.


    Tyson''s life-absorbing abilities granted him unfettered access to Natasha''s inner psyche, allowing him to sift through her memories and emotions like pages in a book. He focused on one aspect; her evolving feelings toward him.


    At first, the consummate spy regarded Tyson with professional curiosity, keeping him at arm''s length. To Natasha, Tyson was an unknown, his extraordinary powers making him dangerous. But over time Natasha''s sentiment shifted. She saw beyond Tyson''s abilities, recognizing his moral character and motivations. Her wariness transformed, deepening into friendship. Within her memories, Tyson caught glimpses of vulnerability that had cut through her composure. A softness in her eyes when she looked at him, an unguarded laugh, her hand resting gently on his shoulder; subtle tells that her emotional barriers were lowering. He felt her protective instincts toward him that went beyond duty. Natasha was permitting herself to be vulnerable around this man, against a lifetime''s conditioning. Tyson sensed the growing warmth she felt for him, mingled with trust and admiration. The woman who shunned emotional connection, whose life made relationships perilous, found in Tyson someone who knew her complexities and accepted them. Their bond was more than a partnership; he was her kindred spirit.


    Sifting through Natasha''s mind, Tyson uncovered the stunning truth. She had fallen in love with him. It was a quiet yet profound love, nurtured by their shared experiences and mutual understanding. A grave responsibility came with such knowledge of her innermost self. Her love for him was sincere. Tyson vowed to honor the privilege of her memories, treasuring the love she gifted to him.


    Tyson gently withdrew from Natasha, breaking their brief yet intimate kiss. Mere seconds had passed in reality, though immersed in her memories, it felt as if hours had drifted by.


    Natasha''s body tensed, her piercing green eyes clouded with unease. What had he glimpsed in her unfiltered thoughts and emotions? She averted her gaze.


    Tyson''s expression remained warm. "I love you too," he said softly.


    Natasha''s eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. His simple words acknowledged her hidden feelings laid bare.


    Swallowing hard, Natasha steadied herself. "So how do we save the universe?" she asked with steel in her tone. Her posture shifted, determination etched in the set of her jaw. She would stand with him, whatever was to come.


    "You''ve been busy," Natasha continued briskly, ticking each point off on her fingers. "Robbing the Federal Reserve, running the most popular show in the city, hoarding scientists and wealth."


    Her gaze bore into Tyson''s mismatched eyes. "But if you know what''s coming, what''s your plan? What are you doing about it?"


    Tyson met her piercing question with a thoughtful silence. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was measured and deliberate. "I have taken a few precautions to address impending threats." He peered at Natasha intently. "Tell me, have you heard of Trask Industries?"


    Natasha tilted her hand in a noncommittal gesture.


    Tyson nodded. "They possess technology that could prove catastrophically dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands. Like a world-ending level threat. I''ve already assembled a team to... procure the company." His tone made the implications clear.


    "But there is a much more immediate concern, given what we learned from General Ross," he continued gravely.


    Tyson paused, gathering his thoughts before proceeding. "I suppose starting from the beginning would make this easier to explain," he said slowly, his gaze distant.


    "Let''s rewind to the founding of SHIELD. America took in numerous Nazi scientists, believing they could prove useful. Their crimes were exonerated in exchange for their expertise."


    Natasha''s eyes narrowed, her red hair falling across her face as she nodded. "Operation Paperclip. German scientists brought to the States, their pasts wiped clean."


    "Exactly," Tyson confirmed. "One of those scientists, Arnim Zola, was secretly a high-ranking member of HYDRA."


    He let the words hang in the air before continuing. "Once in America, he methodically began rebuilding the organization within SHIELD. itself." Tyson''s mismatched eyes were troubled, highlighting the enormity of the challenge facing them.


    "HYDRA is now so intrinsically entwined within SHIELD that it will be exceedingly difficult to determine true allegiances," he said grimly. "I would have to use my abilities to the fullest to unmask their operatives with absolute certainty."


    Natasha absorbed the implications, her sharp mind racing. HYDRA''s infiltration of SHIELD posed a monumental threat, undermining the integrity of the entire organization. Trust could no longer be afforded within their ranks.


    Tyson''s account continued, revealing further troubling layers. "The truth remains hidden from you for years to come," he said, his voice tinged with melancholy. "But when it is finally dragged into the light, the ensuing fallout causes the very collapse of SHIELD itself."


    The notion that SHIELD, the formidable organization that had shaped her life and global security, would one day crumble unsettled her greatly. She had devoted herself fully to their mission, and to hear of its eventual dissolution was deeply unsettling.


    "Along the way, you and Captain America pay a visit to Camp Lehigh," Tyson went on, referring back to the location General Ross had mentioned earlier. "But retrieving the super soldier serum is not your true purpose there. Deep below the camp, you uncover something far more unexpected." His grave tone hinted at the gravity of what they would find beneath the surface. "In a forgotten subterranean lab straight out of the 1970s, you discover that Arnim Zola still lives, after a fashion," he continued, painting a vivid scene of antiquated computer equipment harboring a chilling secret. "Through some technological sorcery, Zola transferred his consciousness into those aging computer banks. He continues to advance Hydra''s cause even now like a digital ghost haunting the machine."


    The notion that Zola had somehow preserved his mind digitally sent an icy chill down Natasha''s spine, underscoring the depths of evil Hydra would plumb to further its ambitions. She asked pointedly, "Captain America? What are you talking about? And what happened to the super soldier serum when I went to the base?" The sharp edge in her voice conveyed the critical importance of that vial to their operations.


    "I know it sounds farfetched, but Captain America is going to be found sometime in the next few months, frozen in Arctic ice. He survived all this time, in a sort of suspended animation," Tyson explained patiently. "As for the super soldier serum... I''m afraid I don''t know for certain," he admitted with a tinge of uncertainty. "It wasn''t part of the vision. If no one retrieved it before your arrival, it was likely destroyed." He added a crucial detail, "Camp Lehigh was bombed and razed during your visit there."


    Noticing his specific phrasing, Natasha sought clarification, "During? Not after?" Her surprise at the timing of the base''s destruction was evident.


    "Yes, during," Tyson confirmed.


    Since she survives these events, she doesn''t dwell on the details.


    Natasha''s sharp mind grasped the dynamics at play. "So you''re worried that if we retrieve the serum now, the universe will retaliate against your actions?" she concluded.


    Tyson gave a noncommittal shrug, his manner conveying a blend of resignation and acceptance in the face of forces beyond his control. "It seems that way," he acknowledged gravely, his tone hinting back to the unintended consequences of his previous interferences with the timeline. "I''ve already encountered HYDRA agents. Jasper Sitwell, a SHIELD agent I met in New Mexico, Edgar Lascombe, CEO of Marchand Pharmaceuticals, and Maki Matsumoto, a mercenary working with the Hand, a group of ninjas."


    At the mention of ninjas, Natasha raised an eyebrow skeptically. Tyson held up a hand and insisted, "No Naruto bullshit, I promise. Colleen, the woman who trained us, was part of that group."


    Natasha''s expression softened as memories of their intense training resurfaced.


    "Colleen was exceptionally skilled..." she murmured, trailing off.


    Tyson continued, "Sitwell recruited me into HYDRA under the guise of SHIELD. I''m officially part of their organization now too, I suppose." He paused, then added with a touch of pride, "But I''m planning to infiltrate as a double agent."


    Natasha rolled her eyes at his bravado, though she had to admit, "You''ve done well so far, I suppose. But your power makes it easy, it''s like cheating."


    Her sharp mind turned to strategy as she posed the critical question that cut to the heart of their dilemma, "If you tried to save your school, only to have extra mutants appear to fight you... then what would happen if you went after the super soldier serum now and confronted HYDRA years earlier than intended?"


    Tyson shook his head, his grave expression conveying deep concern. "That''s why I didn''t mention their existence earlier. Who knows what would happen if I moved openly against them now?"


    Natasha nodded slowly, understanding the need for caution. With forces beyond comprehension at work, they would have to play the long game.


    "So we leave it for now. Unless you had some plans for using the serum?"


    Her pragmatism gave him pause. Though his instincts urged him to seize the super soldier serum, if every action invited unintended consequences, perhaps inaction was the wisest path, for now.


    "You make a fair point," he conceded. He clasped his hands together, gazing down as he gathered his thoughts. "My vision didn''t reveal anything about the serum''s fate. I''ve had Dr. Connors researching various projects, but I didn''t make direct plans for the super soldier serum itself." He looked back up at Natasha. "But what if, in doing nothing, we enable someone else to take hold of it? I''d almost rather claim it now than risk having to contend with an army of enemy super soldiers later."


    Natasha pursed her lips, contemplating their options. "Perhaps we could use an outside agent to retrieve it, someone unaffiliated with SHIELD. That way we don''t draw Hydra''s focus prematurely." She paused, folding her arms across her chest. "We can''t account for every possibility if everything you do alters events. We just need to prepare as best we can for what we know is coming."


    Natasha was curious regarding the potential consequences of Tyson''s past interference. "Did you experience any significant backlash when you robbed the Federal Reserve?" she asked, seeking to discern any telling patterns, to unravel the nature of the universe''s supposed reactions to his meddling.


    Tyson''s simple response of "No" indicated that the brazen action, despite its sheer magnitude, had not resulted in any direct or immediate cosmic repercussions that he could discern. But his expression remained contemplative. He added, "Well, maybe... Robbing the Federal Reserve certainly drew your attention. But I''d call that a net positive."


    Natasha''s smile was subtle, yet hinted at a shared understanding. She continued her meticulous line of questioning, intent on unraveling the layers of Tyson''s past exploits. "What about when you captured the spider that gave Spider-Man his powers?" she pressed. "Were there any consequences related to that event?"


    Again Tyson replied with an unambiguous "No."


    But once more Tyson halted, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and mentally sift through everything that had transpired in the aftermath. Natasha waited patiently, giving him space to reflect. "Maybe..." he finally said, a hesitant tone in his voice as he prepared to elaborate.


    "In my vision, Peter was the only one bitten by the spider," Tyson explained. "But before I captured it, there was another girl bitten, Cindy Moon. You might not remember her, but she was a student at Midtown. After the bite, her parents pulled her out of school entirely." He paused, brow furrowed. "I tried to follow up, but her mother was a dead end. As far as I could tell, the father is just plain dead. The mom did give me a lead though, which guided me to a pharmaceutical company. That''s how I learned the CEO, Edgar Lascombe, was HYDRA."


    Tyson''s expression was grave. "I wasn''t able to find Cindy after that. She was moved out of the country. I still haven''t been able to follow that lead yet." He hesitated before adding with concern, "I''m not sure if it''s a direct correlation, because Cindy was bitten before I captured the spider, but she wasn''t part of my vision of the future."


    Natasha pressed him for more information. "What about capturing the two scientists, Connors and Vanko?" she asked, "Have there been any consequences from saving them, having them here?"


    "I''ve only had Vanko here a few days, but it''s been months with Connors. So far I haven''t seen any major repercussions from that." Tyson''s responses revealed little, painting a picture devoid of significant changes.


    Natasha arched a slender eyebrow, unsatisfied. She continued along the same line of questioning, gesturing around them. "And acquiring this place? Manipulating Fisk?" she challenged, indicating House of M with a wave. "That was another major play."


    Comprehension slowly dawned on Tyson as he followed Natasha''s line of reasoning. "You''re right," he said, his voice tinged with unease. "Some of my actions have immediately, provoked reactions, while others seemed to go unnoticed."


    Natasha''s eyes flashed with satisfaction, having led him to her intended conclusion. She tied her observations together with one final pointed question. "So in summary. Hydra has its own Spider-Man. But I''m more concerned that you stole half a billion dollars without any apparent pushback. Acquired a valuable property and are using it to house super-scientists, and are also acquiring a potentially Apocalypse-level threat created by a technology company. So, either you''re wrong and chasing ghosts since a significant portion of your actions haven''t merited a reaction..." She paused, holding his gaze with hers. "Or we''ve yet to see the fallout when the universe corrects itself to account for the ripples caused by the House of M."


    Her words hung heavy between them, profound in their implication although Tyson had not yet faced direct consequences, the universe could still correct itself through some larger cosmic balancing act.


    Tyson slowly nodded, his brow furrowing as he contemplated her perspective. A knot of apprehension formed in his gut as he considered what unintended results could be brewing just out of sight, consequences yet to make themselves known.

 Arc 5 - Ch 20: Weeks End

    Chapter 67


    Arc 5 - Ch 20: Week¡¯s End


    Date: Saturday, June 4, 2011.


    Location: RAFT, Hudson River, New York


    Tyson and Natasha passed through a series of security checkpoints, each guarded by stone-faced agents clad in the dark blue uniforms of SHIELD before they reached Director Fury''s office. The screens lining the far wall flickered with data streams, satellite images, and security footage from around the globe. Fury stood with his back to them, hands clasped behind him as he gazed out the wide window at the steely waters of the Hudson River below. He cut an imposing figure even from behind, clad in his signature black leather trenchcoat. His one good eye was hard as it fixed upon the two agents.


    "Agent Smith. Agent Romanoff," he rumbled, "I''ve been looking forward to this debriefing. I hope you''ve got intel worth the wait."


    Tyson settled into the chair across from Fury, not speaking but making lingering, direct eye contact with the director. Suddenly his voice filled the room, emanating from everywhere, and nowhere.


    "Director Fury, I am casting an illusion to convey my message securely," a disembodied voice announced. Fury''s eye narrowed slightly in response. "What I have to share is for you and Agent Romanoff alone. My illusions can relay information without fear of interception, but your verbal responses will be audible to all present. The nature of what I have to tell you are things you will not want others to know."


    Fury''s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Natasha, seeking her opinion. She gave a single brisk nod in acquiescence. Without missing a beat, he reached over to a console and cranked up some music, the heavy beats filling the room with a layer of auditory cover. He then activated a surveillance detection device, its lights blinking rapidly as it scanned for any hidden bugs or cameras. Finding several covert listening devices, Fury''s fingers danced nimbly over the controls, efficiently rerouting their feeds to create a private audio bubble within the office.


    "Alright, Agent Smith," Fury''s words were nearly drowned out by the pounding music, his expression steely and guarded. "This room is now secure from electronic eavesdropping, and your... unique precautions are duly noted. Now, start talking. What''s so important it needed all this cloak and dagger?"


    In response, Tyson made a subtle motion, and the music''s deafening volume lowered, at least within the bubble of their perception, to little more than background noise. In reality, the blaring tunes continued to safeguard their privacy. "That''s convenient," Fury remarked dryly, a hint of grudging appreciation in his tone.


    Tyson nodded almost imperceptibly before speaking. "Before I get to the events of tonight and their significance, there''s a question that Natasha asked me months ago, and I think it''s finally time that I answer for you..." He paused, his mismatched eyes boring into Fury''s single, watchful one. "Why does no one remember mutants?" Another beat of silence. "To answer that, I need to explain what happened at Alkali Lake."


    Fury leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together, his face an inscrutable mask as he listened intently. The lights from the console washed his dark skin in a pale glow, casting shadows that emphasized the hard lines of experience on his face. His eye never left Tyson''s face, taking in each minute shift in expression as the agent began to unravel the mystery.


    Tyson''s mismatched eyes darkened as he delved into the painful memories. "I was taken to Alkali Lake," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "William Stryker, the leader of the Weapon X project, orchestrated an attack on me and several other mutants. His plan was nothing short of genocide."


    Tyson paused, jaw clenching. "Stryker had constructed a structure at Alkali Lake designed to amplify psychic abilities. He captured one of the world''s most formidable telepaths and used another mind controller to force him to kill every mutant on the planet." Fury listened intently, his single eye fixed on Tyson, taking in the agent''s every word and shift in expression. "But another faction interfered," Tyson continued after a moment. "They turned the tables, changing the telepath''s orders to target all humans instead." His eyes flashed with remembered anger.


    "I see. And since we''re all still here, I take it you or someone else stopped this from happening?" Fury replied evenly, though his shoulders tensed at the thought of the near-catastrophe.


    Tyson gave a curt nod. "I killed the mind controller who flipped the script. His abilities passed to me in his death, granting me the power to create illusions." He waved a hand vaguely around his head. "It was then that I made the choice to... erase mutants from the collective consciousness. At the time, it seemed the best way forward."


    Fury studied the agent, his single eye piercing in its intensity. "This is all very interesting, Smith," he said slowly. "But I suspect it''s not the main reason for all this secrecy."


    "No, it''s not." He hesitated, the tension in the room ratcheting up. "Stryker admitted to me that he was Hydra."


    The words dropped like stones in the ensuing ''silence''. Fury''s eye narrowed, his expression grim as the implications set in.


    "Hydra," Fury growled after a long moment, anger simmering beneath his stony exterior. "So you believe Hydra still exists and that they''ve infiltrated SHIELD." His gaze sharpened. "Do you have proof?"


    Tyson nodded. "Earlier this year, one of my classmates vanished. I decided to investigate on my own. It led me to a man named Edgar Lascombe, the CEO of Marchand Pharmaceuticals. Using my illusions, I eavesdropped on him and learned that he was Hydra." Fury''s expression remained stoic. He motioned for Tyson to go on. "As you know, with just a touch, I gain access to a person''s entire set of memories," Tyson continued, "While I was in New Mexico, I came into contact with Agent Jasper Sitwell. In his mind, I saw flashes of Hydra''s training."


    "Sitwell even tried recruiting me to their cause. It confirmed my suspicions. Hydra still exists within SHIELD."


    Fury absorbed this bombshell revelation, his jaw tightening. Hydra''s tendrils running through SHIELD could destabilize everything he had built.


    After a weighty pause, Natasha spoke up. "Banner''s gone off-grid again. But we learned something critical from General Ross." Her lips thinned to a grim line. "Ross now heads the Weapon Plus program, the current iteration of the Weapon X program. And Ross gave one of the soldiers under his command, Emil Blonsky an early version of the super soldier serum."


    Fury''s eye widened a fraction. Natasha pressed on, "Blonsky was exposed to Banner''s blood which then transformed him into the raging beast that tore through Harlem. Agent Mirage was able to subdue Bonsky, and he''s currently in the custody of Weapon Plus. But we discovered where the serum is being kept. Camp Lehigh."


    "A site that I believe is used by Hydra," Tyson tacked on ominously.


    Fury rose from his seat, pacing with purpose. He turned to Natasha, his one good eye boring into her with laser-like focus. "Suggestions?" he asked gruffly.


    "Small team infiltration and acquisition," she said crisply. "In and out quickly and quietly with the serum. No need for a full assault."


    Fury considered her words, absently stroking his chin. After a moment he gave a curt nod. "Approved. We''ll keep this low profile. Once we have the serum, I want it stored at a secure off-site facility."


    Natasha inclined her head in acknowledgment. Fury trusted her judgment. He corrected, "Banner''s not off-grid yet. Satellite images had us following your extraction, tracking his taxi was easy enough. We''ve got eyes on him. If we need to, we can bring him in, but I''ll give him space for now." Fury turned his eye on Tyson next, his expression now tinged with exasperation. "Now Agent Smith, tell me what the hell happened in New Mexico."


    Tyson''s mismatched eyes glinted with amusement. "We''re not alone in the universe," he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Natasha let out an unladylike snort.


    "The phenomena Dr. Selvig and Dr. Foster witnessed was an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, as Agent Coulson mentioned at Stark''s mansion." He continued, "This bridge was generated by a device called the Bifrost. It allows travel between different realms." Tyson''s voice took on a lecturing tone. "Turns out Asgardians are the protectors of these realms. Their prince, the tall, blond muscle-head that Coulson captured briefly was Thor. Asgardians are long-lived superhumans who see Earth as a kind of protectorate."


    Fury digested this, his expression unreadable. Natasha, however, looked intrigued despite her earlier flippancy. They''d only had so much time to talk, and hadn''t discussed everything that happened on Asgard and its implications yet. Nat was hearing this for the first time, just as Fury was.


    "Asgard is home to two princes, the thunder god Thor, and his adopted brother, the trickster Loki," Tyson explained. "It seems the Norse myths are rooted in the exploits of these so-called gods. If the idea of gods makes you uncomfortable, you can consider them long-lived beings from a world far more advanced than ours."


    "Thor''s arrogance led him to defy the will of his father, Odin, nearly plunging Asgard into war. As punishment, Odin stripped Thor of his powers, making him human, and banished him here, powerless and mortal." he continued, "The immovable object in the desert was Mjolnir, Thor''s hammer, which Odin enchanted so that only one ''worthy'' could lift it."


    "While Thor was exiled, Loki seized the throne. To prevent his brother''s return, he sent the Destroyer to end Thor''s life. The Destroyer was the giant metal construct that we fought in the desert." Tyson went on to explained the ironic twist in Loki''s scheme. "Facing the Destroyer, Thor''s courage and sacrifice allowed him to lift Mjolnir once more. Now wielding his powers once again, he laid waste to the Destroyer, foiling Loki''s plan."


    Fury leaned forward, his single eye narrowing as he processed the information. "What were the Destroyer''s capabilities?" he asked, his voice gruff with concern.


    "The Destroyer had exterior armor plating that was incredibly difficult to pierce," he began, his tone matter-of-fact. "I''m certain bullets wouldn''t have affected it at all. Even the Asgardian''s weapons, which are made from what they call ''Asgardian steel'', though I''m sure it''s not actually steel, but some other alloy, had trouble penetrating its armor."


    "My adamantium claws, however, had no difficulty cutting through it," Tyson continued. Fury''s eyebrow raised slightly at this, but he remained silent, allowing Tyson to continue his explanation. "Thor''s hammer was also able to damage it," Tyson added. "But that''s a magical weapon made from a metal called Uru, which to my knowledge has no equivalent on Earth."


    "It was superhumanly strong," he said, his voice low. "And it possessed a heat beam that fired from its faceplate. This beam was capable of destroying buildings and vehicles with ease."


    Fury nodded slowly, his face a mask of contemplation. "Lines up with Coulson''s report," he muttered, almost to himself. "The Destroyer''s power is concerning. But what''s more troubling is the fact that it was sent here at all. This Loki character, you said he was behind it?"


    Tyson nodded, his expression grim. "Yes. Loki sent the Destroyer to kill Thor and prevent his return to Asgard."


    Fury''s eye narrowed further. "And what''s to stop him from sending more of these things? Or something worse?"


    "I''ll get to that. Let me finish explaining, and by the end you''ll understand." Tyson continued, "Thor returned to Asgard with the other Asgardians, and I joined them,"


    Fury, eager to gain a deeper understanding of the events that had transpired, inquired further, "Tell me more about Asgard. Paint me a picture," he requested.


    Tyson nodded and responded, "That I can do. He projected an illusion of the view from the Bifrost observatory. "Though I never entered the main city itself, from a distance it appeared utterly massive and magnificent. A blend of futuristic technology and high fantasy architecture. It was like something straight out of a sci-fi novel, yet infused with mythological elements that made it seem otherworldly and mystical." He went on, "The world itself looked almost flat, with a visible edge where you could gaze out into an endless cosmic expanse. It was breathtaking."


    "After Loki attacked Heimdall, the guardian of the Bifrost, the other Asgardians rushed to tend to the injured guardian. Thor went to confront his brother, and I was left alone with a sorceress at the Bifrost site."


    Natasha''s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on a new detail. "You didn''t say anything before about a sorceress," she remarked.


    Fury raised an eyebrow as well, intrigued by this new information. "Yes, tell us more about this sorceress," he said.


    "I''m getting to that part," Tyson replied. "But a full account will be included in my written report."


    He went on, "The Sorceress, Amora, had been sent to Earth by Loki. I fought her in the desert. After Thor regained his powers, Amora submitted. She was one of the Asgardians that returned with us. Soon after everyone left, Loki himself approached our location and ordered the sorceress to leave. Despite his actions he was still the lawful king of Asgard at the time. I tried to reason with him, as a representative of Earth. But he dismissed my words outright."


    Tyson paused, then said, "I engaged him in combat... and lost."


    Fury leaned forward intently, his single eye boring into Tyson. His tone was a mix of disbelief and anger. "Let me make sure I have this straight. You. Who easily defeated the Green Goblin and knocked out Vanko in his oversized Iron Man suit with one punch, lost in a fight against Loki? And on top of that, you attacked the king of an advanced alien civilization exponentially more powerful than ours? You''re going to have to explain this to me very clearly because I''m struggling to comprehend how and why you would do something so stupid and get your ass handed to you in the process."


    Tyson shifted in his seat, choosing his words carefully as he addressed Fury''s concerns. "The Bifrost isn''t just for teleportation. I have no idea how far away Asgard is, but the Bifrost harnesses enough energy to travel interstellar distances in moments. Imagine trying to control that kind of power." He paused, letting the gravity of his statement sink in.


    Fury''s eye widened slightly as understanding dawned. "You''re saying this thing could destroy the planet."


    Tyson nodded. "If left open, yes. Loki had already expressed hostility toward Earth, so I thought it prudent to deny him access."


    "Risky move, but I get it," Fury conceded. "What happened after you got your ass kicked?"


    "Loki opened the Bifrost, using it as a weapon. But he didn''t target Earth, he went after a realm called Jotunheim. Thor intervened and they fought." Tyson''s mismatched eyes darkened at the memory. "Thor won, but the Bifrost was still active, stuck open. He had to destroy the bridge between it and Asgard which supplied the Bifrost''s energy to shut it down."


    Fury leaned forward intently. "So no bridge, no teleporting armies or weapons of mass destruction?"


    "Correct. We''re cut off for now," Tyson confirmed.


    Natasha, who had been listening closely, spoke up. "That explains why Asgard is out of reach, but it doesn''t explain how you got back."


    Tyson scratched his stubbled jaw. "I had help from that Asgardian sorceress I mentioned."


    Fury muttered under his breath. "Great, an alien wizard on the loose here too." He shook his head before continuing more optimistically, "Well, at least I''ve got some good news for the World Security Council. Earth isn''t facing an imminent invasion."


    Tyson held up a hand, a serious look crossing his rugged features. "Before we celebrate too much, there''s something you should know. Asgard has been Earth''s silent guardian for longer than recorded history. Like a watchful big brother, their presence has kept hostile alien races from moving against us. With the Bifrost gone, that deterrent disappears. We''re vulnerable in a way we''ve never been before."


    Fury''s expression darkened as he absorbed Tyson''s warning. "Let me get this straight. With big brother gone, the bullies are going to come around to steal our lunch money?" He shook his head. "We just went from a gated community to the bad side of town. Lovely."


    After a pause, Tyson waved a hand, and an illusory image projected between them. "Speaking of the World Security Council and potential threats, what can you tell me about this man?" Tyson asked, though his tone implied he already knew the answer.


    Fury leaned forward, recognition flitting across his weathered features. "Alexander Pierce. He''s the Secretary of the World Security Council and the man who appointed me as Director of SHIELD." A note of wariness entered his voice. "Why do you ask?"


    Tyson locked eyes with Fury, his expression deadly serious. "Because I believe Secretary Pierce is actually an agent of Hydra."


    Fury reeled at the accusation, his single eye wide with disbelief. "You think the Secretary of the World Security Council, one of the most powerful men in global security, is secretly part of a Nazi splinter group?"


    Tyson gave a solemn nod. "I do."


    He searched Tyson''s face for any hint of uncertainty. Finding none, he slowly sat back, exhaling sharply as the implications sank in.


    Fury weighed the revelations Tyson had shared. The threat of Hydra infiltrating the highest levels of global security was dire. "Dammit," he muttered, he turned and tapped at a console. After a moment, he looked up, his single eye fixed on Tyson. "Congratulations, Agent Smith you''ve been promoted to level six clearance."


    Tyson''s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Level six granted extensive privileges and meant Fury trusted him with SHIELD''s most sensitive operations. Beside him, Natasha blinked, though her expression remained neutral. As a level seven agent herself, she understood the significance of Tyson''s new status.


    Fury turned to Natasha. "Agent Romanoff, you''re leading the op to recover the super soldier serum." He glanced at Tyson. "Agent Smith, you''ll assist her."


    Tyson met Natasha''s gaze and gave a slight nod. She responded in kind, wordlessly acknowledging their new partnership.


    "I''ll be in touch on our snake issue," Fury continued, folding his arms across his chest. "Per our prior agreement, Romanoff remains your liaison, but you now have autonomy befitting your level six clearance."


    Fury''s single eye bored into them both. "We good?"


    "Yes sir," Tyson and Natasha responded in unison.


    With a subtle wave of his hand, Tyson returned the blaring music in Fury''s office to its previous deafening volume.


    "Dismissed," he barked.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    [Opening Music]


    Good evening, New York! It''s your truth-teller, J. Jonah Jameson, back with another eye-opening episode of ''The Daily Bugle''. And tonight, we''ve got a hot topic ¨C Mirage! Yes, that Mirage. Now, folks, when I first heard Mirage was cooperating with federal agencies, I laughed! I thought, "What''s this? More of Mirage''s smoke and mirrors? Another act in his circus of deception?" I was ready to call baloney!


    But hold your horses, dear listeners! In January, at Sergei Kravinoff, otherwise known as Kraven, the Hunter''s trial, Mirage was officially tagged as a federal agent. "What''s the game here?" I thought. Still, I didn¡¯t buy it. Not one bit!


    [Trial footage plays in the corner of the screen]


    Then came last Saturday''s Senate Hearing. And, oh boy, did things take a turn! Mirage, in a move that could''ve knocked me off my chair, turned over military hardware from the Green Goblin! The Green Goblin, folks!


    [A clip from Mirage at the Senate Hearing plays over half the screen]


    "I have connected with SHIELD. If the government needs me, I''ll answer the call. I''m not your enemy, Senator. I help stop those in my neighborhood who pose a threat that the police can''t handle. I kept a military weapon out of the hands of the bad guys. You wanted me to give it back, and I have... but like Mr. Stark¡­ I''m not your weapon."


    [Cut back to Jameson]


    Can you believe it? I couldn''t! Mirage, sitting there, looking all noble, pledging his allegiance to law and order! It¡¯s like watching a bulldog wearing a tutu!


    [Cut to comparison footage of Mirage and Spider-Man]


    And then there''s Spider-Man, swinging around in his pajamas, making a mess of our city! Spider-Man, if you''re out there, get a pad and start taking notes from Mirage! This is how you do it! You work with the law, not above it!


    But back to Mirage! I admit, I was wrong about him. There, I said it! J. Jonah Jameson was wrong! He''s not the villain I painted him to be. He¡¯s cooperating. He¡¯s playing by the rules, something I thought was as likely as me getting a full head of hair again!


    But hold onto your hats, because that was just the start. At the Stark Expo disaster, when Oscorp dropped the ball, things were going south fast, who swooped in? Mirage! You know who was also there? Spider-Man. But let''s be clear, folks. He was obviously taking cues from Mirage, New York''s only official hero!


    And just when you think he might take a breather, Wednesday rolls around. The second debacle at the Stark Expo was caused by Hammer Industries. A mess if I ever saw one. Who do we see jumping into the fray? You guessed it, Mirage!


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    [Cut to footage from the Stark Expo]


    But wait, there''s more! Tonight, a monster. Yes, a monster! Rampaged through Harlem. There was chaos, and panic in the streets. And who was there to stop this behemoth? Mirage, once again! He didn''t just stop the monster; he saved the lives of brave soldiers who faced this creature head-on.


    [Cut to shaky footage from the Duel of Harlem]


    Ladies and gentlemen.


    Mirage is a shining example of what a real hero looks like. He¡¯s not swinging from webs or flying around in fancy armor making a spectacle. He''s on the ground, working with our forces, ensuring the safety of our great city. Spider-Man, if you''re listening, and I know you are, take a leaf out of Mirage¡¯s book. This is how you serve the city. This is how you earn respect. Not by gallivanting across the skyline but by being a team player, by cooperating with the authorities!


    So, to Mirage, I say thank you. Thank you for your service, for your bravery, and for being the hero New York needs. This week has shown us the best of what a hero can be. Mirage didn¡¯t just step up; he soared. He''s been everywhere, doing everything, and for that, he deserves our applause.


    Betty!


    Get on the phone to House of M. I want Mirage in here for an interview.


    As we wrap up tonight''s segment, let''s remember the actions of this remarkable individual. Mirage, you''ve set a new standard for heroism in this city. And for the other vigilantes out there, it''s time to step up or step aside.


    [Closing Music]


    This is J. Jonah Jameson, signing off. Stay safe, stay informed, and always keep an eye out for the real heroes among us. Goodnight, New York!


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The observation room enclosed Kaine Parker like the walls of a prison cell. He sat motionless in one of the room''s few pieces of furniture, a cold, metal chair that offered little comfort. His gaze was fixed through the wide pane of transparent glass that dominated the far side of the room, staring across the corridor at the identical observation room opposite.


    Within that opposing room was Dr. Miles Warren fully engrossed in his latest experiment. Sitting demurely was Warren''s newest creation; a young woman whose flawless beauty and physique seemed sculpted to perfection. Her short hair framed a face of ideal symmetry and proportions. She had been engineered to be the pinnacle of human potential. Yet Kaine knew that no matter how ideal this woman appeared on the outside she was but a clone, just like himself, made from Warren''s obsessive pursuit of genetic perfection. For Warren had grown dissatisfied with Kaine, deeming him an imperfect, failed experiment.


    And Kaine was all too aware of his flaws, from his scars to his ever-present pain.


    The ceaseless pain he experienced was a constant reminder that he was a failed experiment, merely a discarded prototype in Dr. Warren''s obsessive pursuit of perfection. His scarred body from Warren''s flawed cloning process marked him as an aberration. The physical problems were not just superficial. A bone-deep hurt that consumed his every waking moment. Kaine''s cellular abnormalities left him in unrelenting pain. It never ceased, never abated. He longed to be free of this broken shell of a body, to escape the raw, naked anguish that defined his pathetic life.


    Kaine watched Warren work with a mix of simmering anger and unease. No matter how flawless this new clone appeared to be, Kaine knew from experience that Warren would always find imperfections, minute deviations from his vision that would inevitably lead to the same disappointment and rejection.


    His only respite was the television screen on the far wall. As news anchor J. Jonah Jameson launched into another diatribe, Kaine stared blankly, letting the words wash over him. He felt a flicker of recognition hearing Jameson rail against Spider-Man, against Peter Parker. The person Kaine had been cloned from. He had all of Peter''s memories and knew the life he had lived. It was one free from torment, full of purpose and promise. The gulf between that past life and Kaine''s current one was staggering. He could never be Peter. Kaine was doomed to eke out his days in this wretched, defective body, while his progenitor went blithely about his life. Bitterness welled up inside Kaine, mingling with the ever-present pain. He found himself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jameson''s sentiments. Peter didn''t deserve the gifts he''d been given. He was oblivious to Kaine''s plight. His hands curled into fists, the urge to lash out rising.


    Kaine sat transfixed, his eyes locked on the television screen as J. Jonah Jameson launched into yet another tirade. However, tonight''s vitriolic broadcast was different. The bombastic news anchor focused his attention on Mirage, extolling the masked hero''s virtues and his collaboration with authorities around the city.


    Kaine listened intently, momentarily distracted from the smoldering embers of pain that consumed his body. At the mention of Mirage, memories of Tyson surfaced in Kaine''s mind. Kaine remembered Mirage all too well, and the man behind the mask.


    As Jameson trumpeted Mirage''s heroism and selfless deeds, a slow burn of anger began to build within the depths of Kaine''s scarred body. The sheer injustice of it all struck him profoundly. Jameson, who despised Peter Parker with every fiber of his being, was now singing the praises of Tyson Smith. The disparity made Kaine''s blood boil. He could still recall Peter''s own complicated feelings towards Tyson. The effortless popularity, the flashy motorcycle, the easy confidence. Tyson represented everything Peter yearned to be but could never achieve. Everything Kaine could never be.


    Tyson was admired, and celebrated, living the life of a hero in the light of acclaim. Meanwhile, Kaine languished alone in the shadows, enduring ceaseless, naked pain. The injustice cut deep into Kaine''s core, mingling with the ever-present hurt. But beyond the jealousy and unfairness, Kaine''s anger stemmed from a more personal place.


    Tyson had helped Peter in the past, yet he had done nothing for Kaine.


    He was oblivious to Kaine''s existence, to the relentless agony that consumed his every waking moment. It was this ignorance, this lack of understanding, that truly fueled Kaine''s simmering hatred. Kaine despised Tyson for not knowing, for being blind to the depth of his suffering. In Kaine''s mind, Tyson lived a charmed life of popularity and heroism while he wasted away in obscurity, consumed by never-ending pain. Hearing Jameson extol Tyson''s virtues only amplified these feelings, deepening the simmering well of resentment. Kaine imagined Tyson soaring through the city on his motorcycle, revered, celebrated. Bile rose in his throat.


    But, Kaine was no fool.


    Kaine understood Dr. Warren''s true motivations. The geneticist saw him as nothing more than a failed experiment, a defective clone to be disposed of once his perfect creation was ready. His eyes flicked to the new clone. She was a step closer to Dr. Warren''s masterpiece, endowed with all of Peter''s intelligence, and none of Kaine''s flaws. Soon she would be released into the world, showered with the adoration and acceptance that Kaine could only dream of.


    He saw his only path to freedom was appeasement, to play the pliant subject. And so he swallowed his pride and fury, knowing each small concession brought him closer to escape.


    But compliance was only part of Kaine''s plan. Once free, he would force Peter and Tyson to see him, to acknowledge his existence. More than that, Kaine would make them feel his agony, to experience but a fraction of the ceaseless pain that defined his pathetic existence. Only then would they understand.


    Kaine trembled with anticipation, his scarred hands curling into fists. Soon, very soon, he would step from the shadows into the light, and Peter and Tyson would come to know the gnawing emptiness that ate away at his soul. They would see him as more than a failed clone, an aberration.


    Kaine would make certain of it.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking panorama of the glittering cityscape below, the lights twinkling like stars under the velvet night sky. Plush sofas in rich leather dominated the room, complemented by a sleek minimalist coffee table where two glasses of red wine awaited.


    After a grueling week fraught with peril, Tyson and Natasha were eager to unwind. Fresh from rejuvenating showers, they slipped into comfortable clothes, shedding the weight of their professional personas along with the confines of their formal wear. Tyson''s fitted black t-shirt hinted at the muscular physique beneath, while relaxed lounge pants replaced his usual skintight costume. Natasha chose a silken blouse in deep red, matching the shorts that showcased her toned legs. Her fiery locks tumbled freely over her shoulders, the picture of casual elegance.


    Settling together on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, a sense of peaceful respite enveloped them. "Tell me about the sorceress," Natasha requested. Though her tone held no traces of jealousy or mistrust, her curiosity was evident.


    "Her name is Amora," he began. "She''s powerful." He paused, conjuring up memories of their intense encounter. "We fought in New Mexico. She bested me without too much effort." He went on to describe Amora''s abilities. "She relies primarily on magic but still possesses superhuman attributes greater than mine." Tyson''s eyes glazed over briefly as he recalled a pivotal moment of their battle. "The only reason I stood any chance against her was because when she tried to put me under her spell, she kissed me, attempting to charm and beguile me."


    "But her ploy backfired," he continued, a note of grim satisfaction entering his tone. "When she kissed me, I absorbed a fragment of her power. I also got a glimpse into her soul along with it."


    Tyson''s expression became contemplative as he described his insights. "She is cunning and manipulative, that much is certain. But I don''t think she''s bad per se. There''s more nuance to her than that." He met Natasha''s attentive gaze. "And she possessed a magic that allowed her to touch me without triggering my absorption."


    He chose his next words carefully, hoping to convey the full meaning to Natasha. "You know how I mentioned that there''s a psychic imprint of everyone I''ve killed with my touch, stored in my mind?"


    Natasha nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember you saying something like that."


    "Well, it wasn''t just a metaphor," Tyson said earnestly, holding her gaze. "On two occasions, powerful telepaths helped me enter my mindscape¡­ A representation of my subconscious that''s almost like a physical space. And there, in that white room, were the remnants of those I''d killed. Jason Stryker, Victor Creed, all of them."


    Natasha''s eyes widened slightly as she grasped the implications. The idea of a tangible mental landscape, housing the echoes of those he''d absorbed, was a revelation. "I think I understand," she said after a moment, her voice tinged with fascination. Then she refocused, tying it back to their original discussion. "And this relates to Amora¡­ how?"


    Tyson''s eyes took on a faraway look as he recounted, "After Loki defeated me, Amora was there waiting. She''d been watching the whole time," he began.


    He went on to explain Amora''s predicament. "She was obligated to follow Loki''s orders, but she also supported Thor in the brewing conflict. They were engaged in what amounted to a sibling squabble, but it was also a fight for the Asgardian throne. She couldn''t interfere directly, bound as she was by law. So instead, she did something subtle." His voice took on a note of wonder.


    "She empowered me, unlocking something deep within my mutant ability. In that moment, I realized there was more to my life absorption power than I ever imagined." Tyson went on, delving deeper into the revelation. "The white room, where the psychic remnants of those I''ve killed reside, wasn''t the only mental space I could access."


    "I ended up in a long hallway beyond the white room, stretching deeper into my mindscape. Lining the hallway were doors, and behind each one lay the imprint of everyone I''ve ever touched, not just those I absorbed." Tyson met Natasha''s attentive green eyes. "A part of them, their essence, was stored inside me."


    Natasha listened raptly, grasping the profound implications of what he was describing. The idea that Tyson retained a piece of every person he''d touched, that his mind held those fragments like rooms in a vast mental mansion, was astonishing. She smiled. "I like the idea of a piece of me being inside you, no matter what happens."


    Tyson''s lips puckered for a moment, but he went on. "With Amora''s spell empowering me, I was able to open one of those doors. I gained access to and control over Azazel''s power, that red-skinned demon I impersonated during the fight against Magneto."


    Tyson gave Natasha a significant look. "It shouldn''t have been possible. Azazel was killed months ago."


    "But I had full access to Azazel''s powers, without any of the dark influence of his twisted personality, which had influenced me both times I¡¯d previously made contact with him." He shook his head, still grappling with the magnitude of what had transpired. "I was in complete control of his abilities," Tyson said, his mismatching eyes distant, as if glimpsing possibilities he''d never dreamed existed.


    "I told Fury that the Sorceress''s magic had brought us back, implying her spells had transported us from Asgard to Earth." Tyson''s gaze refocused on Natasha. "But it was her magic empowering my own mutant gift, that allowed me to return home." He lifted his wine glass and took a slow sip, the pause allowing him to steady his thoughts before continuing. "In the aftermath of my power boost, I was drained like nothing since I first absorbed Sabertooth''s healing factor." The strain in his voice made it clear how completely the experience had taxed him.


    "The last thing I remember before collapsing was Amora saying she''d come along to ensure I arrived safely." Tyson''s eyes grew distant again. "She told me to grow strong. And that she''d be watching over me."


    He let out a long breath. "Despite her cunning nature, she showed real care and interest in seeing me thrive." Tyson gave Natasha a significant look.


    Natasha reached across the table and gave his hand an understanding squeeze. "If anything, I''m thankful she brought you back to me."


    She asked pointedly, "You absorbed her memories, so you knew everything about her, at least for a little while. Do you have any insights into her true goals and ambitions?" She studied Tyson intently, reflecting her keen interest in unraveling the intricacies of Amora''s character.


    Tyson shook his head, his mismatching eyes clouded with uncertainty. "That''s just it. It doesn''t make sense," he admitted, his confusion apparent in the furrow of his brow. "She was in a perfect position in Asgard, her actions maneuvered her into a role where she stood to gain significant power and prestige. Amora has always been ambitious and hungry for influence." He paused, gaze distant as he pondered the complexity of the Asgardian enchantress. "She coveted Thor in the past, but he was smitten with Jane Foster when we left New Mexico. Maybe Amora realized she could never truly have Thor the way she desired." Tyson guessed.


    "Before we left Asgard, she claimed she needed to atone for past mistakes, but I don''t believe that for a second," he added, his tone skeptical as he dismissed the sincerity of her words.


    "But you do believe she''s invested in you now, wanting you to grow stronger?" she asked.


    "Yes, that much seemed genuine at least," he affirmed.


    Natasha sat back as she pieced together the intricacies of Amora''s behavior. "So with Thor beyond her reach, she''s set her sights on you instead?" she proposed, returning her piercing gaze to Tyson''s. "But to what ultimate end?"


    Tyson grimaced, considering her suggestion yet still grappling with uncertainty. "Maybe?" he replied hesitantly. "The sliver of her psyche inside my mind spoke to me when I was in the¡­ Hallway of Possibilities. She made it abundantly clear that she understands the full depths of what I''m capable of."


    He took a slow sip of wine, steadying his thoughts before continuing. "When she boosted my abilities, her only request was that I look upon her favorably in the future as repayment." Tyson''s voice took on a distant quality as he added, "I get the distinct impression she wants to nurture my potential, to see me grow into something greater still."


    Tyson met Natasha''s gaze again meaningfully. "She specifically urged me to imagine what we could become together."


    A contemplative silence descended. Tyson and Natasha slowly savored their wine, each lost in their own spiraling thoughts about the mysterious Asgardian enchantress and her designs for Tyson.


    In an elegant hotel suite across the bustling metropolis of New York City, Amora the Enchantress gazed intently into her enchanted mirror, its surface shimmering with arcane magic. Strange runes and glyphs were etched into the walls of the lavish room, pulsing with an eerie glow.


    She watched through the mirror with a critical eye as Tyson engaged a hulking, rampaging monstrosity.


    "Powerful, but a mere brute. Hardly a challenge," Amora commented, her tone tinged with condescension. She observed the battle with a detached, analytical gaze as if the confrontation was beneath Tyson''s true capabilities.


    Later, the image in the mirror revealed Tyson and Natasha seated together in a more intimate scene as they engaged in deep conversation. Amora watched them closely, greedily gathering insights into their relationship and personal struggles revealed through their exchange. A faint smile curved her red lips as she listened intently to Tyson and Natasha''s conversation. Her fingers lightly traced the ornate frame of the magical artifact. She gleaned hints from the conversation revealing that Tyson had shared his vision of the future. Her brow furrowed. She had dismissed it as a clever ruse, but now, hearing him again use the same premise, she felt a flicker of doubt.


    "Curious," she murmured, her lips pursing in thought. "The same tale, yet he speaks with such certainty." Amora thought back to the events on Asgard. Tyson''s actions there had been almost prescient. At the time, she had attributed it to quick thinking and adaptability. Now, in light of this repeated narrative, she wasn''t so sure. The Enchantress tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her chin, her expression a mixture of intrigue and skepticism.


    "Could there be truth to his claims?" she wondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. The implications of such a possibility were staggering. If Tyson truly possessed knowledge of future events, it would explain much about his actions. It would also make him even more valuable than she had initially believed.


    Amora''s gaze remained fixed on the mirror, watching as Tyson continued to confide in Natasha. The sincerity in his voice, and the details he shared, all lent credence to his story. Yet, the seasoned sorceress knew better than to take things at face value.


    "Truth or deception," Amora mused with a small smile, "either way, you''re oh so interesting."


    Amora leaned closer to the enchanted mirror, fascinated as their conversation shifted to herself. She listened with rapt attention and a sly smile as Tyson and Natasha analyzed her motives and speculated about the meaning behind her intrigued interest in him. Though they tossed theories back and forth, trying to decipher the sorceress'' inscrutable intentions, Amora remained silent, giving no tells to betray her thoughts. She absorbed their words like a sponge, gathering invaluable insights into how they perceived her and what they believed she was after. The mirror allowed Amora to evaluate not just Tyson''s reactions and strategies, but the very nature of his partnership with Natasha, this supposed Black Widow.


    "He''s not just strong, but noble," Amora mused aloud, breaking her silence as if conversing with the empty room. "And far more considerate and thoughtful than that oaf, Thor." She frowned slightly, at the thought of the Asgardian Prince who''d never paid heed to her advances.


    "Tyson will make a fine king. And I, his queen," she declared confidently.


    As she entertained thoughts of their potential together, the enchantress shrugged, nonchalant yet scheming. "Every king needs his mistresses and subjects," she added with a coy smile. The mirror shifted its focus to Natasha then, prompting a whispered response from Amora. "She''ll suffice, I suppose. For a start." the sorceress remarked, her tone dismissive. Viewing Natasha as a temporary fixture in Tyson''s saga, someone to be tolerated for now, but hardly an obstacle to her grander ambitions.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The Hart Senate Office Building stood as a pillar of government authority, housing the offices of prominent legislators who shaped the course of the nation. Within his spacious third-floor office, Senator Robert Kelly sat at an imposing antique desk. The wood-paneled walls and bookshelves laden with leather-bound law books exuded gravitas and tradition. Awards and commendations from Kelly''s lengthy political career adorned every available space, reflecting his rise to power and influence. Outside the tall arched windows, the Capitol Building towered above the bustling city, a constant reminder of the far-reaching consequences born within these halls.


    Pouring over a confidential briefing labeled ''Stark Expo Incidents'', Kelly scrutinized the dossier. Witness testimonies, expert analyses, and forensic evidence combined to paint a portrait of a narrowly averted catastrophe. The first section chronicled Oscorp''s failed fusion reactor experiment, an ambitious clean energy project gone terribly wrong. Pages of impenetrable scientific jargon followed the sheer terror and havoc described by those present during the reactor''s meltdown.


    Senator Kelly flipped through the thick dossier. Through the report, it was clear that the intervention of two ''heroes'' had prevented the experimental fusion reactor''s meltdown from becoming a deadly disaster. He snorted derisively at the report''s politically correct language.


    "Saved by mutants, they mean," he muttered under his breath, the words saturated with scorn. But scorn not at the mutants, at the ones who compiled the dossier.


    While the report tiptoed around directly acknowledging the heroes'' mutant status, Kelly recognized them for what they were. As he reviewed the timeline of events, one technical detail seized his attention. The fusion reaction had destabilized, generating an intense magnetic field in the reactor''s vicinity. According to witness statements, this intense magnetic pull had impeded one hero''s efforts at reaching the endangered civilians. This "Mirage" character had been forced to take a more roundabout approach, while his partner, the vigilante Spider-Man, was unaffected. Kelly''s instincts tingled at this revelation. He furrowed his brow, considering the implications.


    Why would a magnetic field hinder Mirage specifically?


    Kelly had assumed both so-called heroes were mutants, but what if that assumption was mistaken? What if Mirage was human after all, relying on some sort of advanced technology that interacted poorly with magnetism?


    The Senator steepled his fingers thoughtfully, his sharp gaze boring into the report. This anomalous detail warranted further investigation. He turned the page, his mind still mulling over the implications of Mirage''s mysterious interaction with magnetism at the Oscorp reactor. As he continued reading the dossier, his focus shifted to the next incident at the Stark Expo.


    The report provided a detailed timeline of the rampaging Hammer drones and Iron Man''s efforts to contain them. In dry, clinical language, it noted the "minimal loss of life" thanks largely to the drones'' singular focus on eliminating Stark.


    Kelly''s sharp gaze caught on the mention of Mirage''s involvement. According to eyewitnesses, the vigilante had used his illusions to expertly guide panicked crowds to safety. But from what few recordings were recovered from the Expo area, Mirage''s actions went unrecorded, leaving no video evidence of his illusions. Kelly considered the implications of this. The lack of hard evidence suggested Mirage''s abilities were psychic in nature. A classic manifestation of mutant powers.


    Yet this seemed to contradict the earlier magnetic interference. Kelly furrowed his brow, intrigued by the puzzle this presented about Mirage''s abilities.


    Delving further into the report, Kelly found accounts of Mirage physically tearing apart the Hammer drones with his bare hands. He contemplated the sheer force required for such a feat. The vigilante''s streamlined suit lacked the obvious enhancements of Stark''s armor. How could he possibly match Iron Man''s strength without an exosuit?


    No, this level of power was clearly superhuman.


    Things were not adding up with this Mirage character. The disparate abilities simply did not align. The mutant seemed capable of both extraordinarily psionic illusions and immense displays of physical strength. Such a combination was anomalous among mutants, who tended to exhibit powers within a single category, or theme, or abilities which were otherwise somehow connected.


    Kelly theorized that perhaps Mirage possessed a secondary mutation, or perhaps telekinetic powers. This would grant him the raw force needed for physical feats while still aligning with psionic abilities. The Senator nodded slowly, satisfied with this plausible explanation that fit the profile of a mutant with primary illusory powers and secondary tactile telekinesis.


    The Senator set aside the Stark Expo briefing, turning his sharp gaze to the manila folder that had just been delivered to his desk. Flipping it open, he scanned the contents; reports and photographs detailing the devastating battle that had ravaged Harlem only hours earlier.


    The folder centered on the rogue experiment that had transformed a soldier into a raging behemoth dubbed the Abomination. This hulking monster had rampaged through Harlem with unchecked strength, leaving widespread destruction and loss of life in its wake. Soldiers and civilians alike had been helpless before its power.


    Kelly''s gaze lingered on the mentions of Mirage throughout the report. The mutant had once again been at the center of the chaos. The Senator raised an eyebrow at the inclusion of a CD containing photos and videos from the scene. For security reasons, the digital files had not been transmitted remotely, but instead physically copied.


    Kelly slid the disc into his computer. The screen flickered to life, revealing footage from a building''s exterior security camera. A massive figure burst through a concrete wall, the camera lurching as the Abomination leaped into an alleyway. The security footage provided a harrowing glimpse into the devastation wrought by the rampaging Abomination. Vehicles lay strewn about the streets like the discarded toys of an angry child. Soldiers scrambled for cover, their futile shots ricocheting uselessly off the creature''s impenetrable hide. Each scene showcased the Abomination''s titanic strength and capacity for indiscriminate destruction.


    Senator Kelly watched as the footage shifted to Mirage''s sudden intervention. The mutant arrived to stop the taxi descending to crush the military Humvee. Muscles bulging, Mirage held the vehicle aloft, his teeth gritted from the strain. Kelly scrutinized the image, reconsidering his earlier notions about Mirage utilizing telekinesis. The raw physicality of the act was evident; this was strength borne of muscle alone.


    But Mirage''s heroic efforts proved short-lived. Pitted against the Abomination''s vastly superior might, his resistance quickly faltered. Mirage''s eyes widened in desperation, his breaths growing ragged as the taxi inched closer to crushing him and the soldiers behind.


    Just when it seemed the Abomination''s victory was assured, the footage captured a sudden change in the beast. Brow furrowing in confusion, the creature turned this way and that, releasing the taxi to jump away toward some invisible foe. Kelly surmised Mirage had deployed his illusions as a distraction. While the camera recorded nothing, the Abomination was clearly battling phantoms conjured from the mutant''s imagination. Once again, Mirage had demonstrated his penchant for both physical and psychic feats, a rare combination among mutants.


    But what unfolded next left the Senator stunned and questioning all he thought he knew about the mutant''s abilities.


    With startling suddenness, metal talons tore from Mirage''s fingers. Kelly reeled at this unexpected development. Since when did the illusionist have claws? The senator scrutinized the screen as Mirage buried those razor-sharp claws into the Abomination''s back. The beast''s impenetrable hide, impervious to rockets and gunfire alike, was pierced with ease by these mysterious weapons.


    Kelly''s mind raced, grappling with this revelation. But the shocking developments were far from over. Before the senator''s disbelieving eyes, Mirage''s body began to swell and shift, muscles expanding, clothes tearing from the strain. The illusionist grew steadily in height and mass, his mask ripped away to reveal his face transforming as he attained gigantic proportions. Soon Mirage matched the Abomination, having shapeshifted into a hulking behemoth.


    Overwhelmed by the implications of what he had just witnessed, Kelly paused the video and slouched back in his chair. The revelation of Mirage''s transformation and his use of metallic claws opened up a whole new dimension.


    It was clear now that Mirage was no ordinary mutant. He was not simply an illusionist or someone with enhanced strength or tactile telekinesis. No, it was evident Mirage possessed abilities far more complex than Kelly had realized¡­


    Abilities he''d been searching for.


    The senator slowly reached for his phone. He dialed a number ingrained in his memory, one not saved among his contacts.


    The voice that answered was unmistakable, carrying a distinct tone of calm authority laced with a slight European accent. It resonated with gravitas, the voice of one accustomed to commanding respect and even fear. Smooth yet underlaid with strength, it compelled attention without the need to raise its volume.


    "Hello, Senator Kelly," the voice greeted, "To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?"


    As Kelly responded, his voice took on a distinctly feminine lilt, his eyes flashing a vivid yellow.


    "I''ve found him."

 Arc 6 - Ch 1: Wrath of Kaine

    Chapter 68


    Arc 6 - Ch 1: Wrath of Kaine


    Date: Friday, June 10, 2011.


    Location: Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, New York


    The building stood unremarkable among its neighbors, giving no outward indication of the laboratory hidden below. Jessica blinked against the morning sun as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Her chestnut hair fell in soft waves reaching her shoulders. Though she took in their surroundings, her thoughts were turned inward, contemplating their newfound freedom. Beside her, Kaine radiated coiled tension, his hardened features rough and scarred. Where Jessica exuded a quiet confidence in their release, Kaine''s skepticism simmered beneath a guarded exterior.


    As they walked, Jessica asked, "Can you believe we''re finally free?" her voice gentle yet earnest.


    Kaine''s only response was a noncommittal grunt, his gravelly tone clipped. His piercing eyes swept the busy streets for any sign of danger. Jessica noticed the barest hint of easing in his taut muscles as if the ordinary sights and sounds of the city were slowly penetrating his distrust.


    Turning to him with uncertainty, she pressed on. "What should we do?"


    Kaine''s bitterness lashed out, his resentment at his situation spilling over. "I don''t know, Jessica. What do you think we should do?" His mocking tone twisted cruelly as he added, "Maybe you should go meet up with Mary Jane. Have a real girl''s day and get your nails done."


    The barbed words struck painfully, dismissing and belittling Jessica''s struggle. Anger and hurt flashed across her face at the flippant remark. "Really, Kaine?" she shot back, unconcealed frustration challenging his narrow view.


    Kaine rounded on her, his frayed temper erupting. "Why don''t you just leave me alone!" he snarled, the venom in his words meant to push her away. "Go to school or something."


    Jessica reeled from the verbal blow. Dealing with Kaine was draining, his lingering bitterness a constant reminder that they were both damaged, struggling to move forward. But their struggles were so profoundly different that they could not find common ground.


    Kaine''s skin was a tapestry of scars and his body wracked with a pain that never fully faded. The discomfort fueled his simmering intensity and anger. In contrast, Jessica''s perfect appearance hid her extraordinary inner journey. Though she inhabited the form of a beautiful young woman, her mind retained the memories of a life once lived as a boy. The dissonance between mind and body gave the sensation of being a stranger living inside her skin. Both were misfits, contending with transformations that set them apart. Though Kaine''s scars marked his exterior, Jessica''s ran deeper.


    And as she turned away, the gulf between them felt wider than ever.


    Kaine''s callous words echoed in her mind.


    Go to school or something.


    Despite their harsh delivery, they contained a kernel of truth. She couldn''t return to her old life at Midtown High, as if nothing had changed. But college was different. It represented a fresh start, a clean slate to reinvent herself, free from the shadows of her past.


    Jessica took a deep breath and turned back towards Kaine. "I think I will."


    As Jessica walked alone, she felt lighter, filled with a new sense of hope and purpose. The prospect of college offered a world of knowledge and experiences to shape the¡­ woman she would become. Her future was hers to define, one decision at a time.


    Kaine stood motionless as Jessica''s figure faded into the distance, a storm of emotions raging inside him. Anger boiled within, unrelenting, clouding his every thought. He watched Jessica glide effortlessly into their new reality, adapting flawlessly, while his existence remained tortured. To Kaine, she embodied a perfection he could never attain, unblemished and unmarked by the scars and deformities that branded him a freakish outcast. His biting words, urging her to go to school, reflected his preoccupations more than any real concern for her path. His mind churned, consumed by figures like Tyson and Peter Parker. They were painful symbols of everything he could never be, all he had lost, and what he secretly yearned for despite himself.


    "Maybe I''ll go to school too," Kaine muttered. The words tasted bitter on his tongue.


    He found his feet carrying him toward Midtown High. The school signified far more than just classrooms and hallways; it represented a life forever beyond his reach, a normalcy he could never have. His steps were driven not by a desire to blend in or seek out remnants of Peter''s life, but by a masochistic need to confront his otherness.


    As Kaine approached Midtown High, the familiar setting did little to calm the storm within. Instead, each step nearer seemed to stoke the fires of his anger, blurring Peter''s past and his present in a haze of fury.


    The sight of the parking lot triggered a flood of unwanted memories, each a sharp stab to his already frayed nerves. It was on this very asphalt that Flash slammed him to the ground on the first day of senior year in front of a crowd of his classmates. It was an act of humiliation seared into Kaine''s mind. That day had marked a turning point, not for the degrading incident itself, but for the false salvation that followed. Tyson''s intervention had seemed an act of kindness that went against the merciless social order of high school. But Kaine wasn''t naive like Peter. He knew Tyson''s heroics were fueled more by a thirst for popularity and making a scene on his first day than any genuine concern for Peter. The memory stung; a bitter reminder of the loneliness that had always gnawed at his... at Peter''s life.


    When Flash next turned his aggression toward Peter, in the hallway, Tyson did not intervene, his earlier bravado was nowhere to be found. Yet Peter had not needed saving. His new strength was enough to fend off any attack. Tyson only helped smooth things with the principal, but he hadn¡¯t embellished the story, which might have kept Peter out of trouble.


    They were no longer the vulnerable boys that had been easy targets for bullies. Anyone who challenged Kaine now would regret it. Yet this strength felt hollow because he was alone.


    As Kaine neared Midtown High''s entrance, the gymnasium caught his eye. The gym stood prominently, attached to the main building. A faint smile crept onto his face as he recalled coming out on top during basketball with Flash in gym class. For once, he had turned the tables on his tormentor. He¡¯d even bested Tyson at basketball that day. However, the smile quickly faded, replaced by a familiar scowl as another memory surfaced. This one involved Tyson and their beautiful student-teacher, Ms. Rushman. From the outset, Ms. Rushman had shown clear favoritism toward Tyson. A fact that didn''t sit well with Kaine.


    His thoughts darkened as memories of them resurfaced. He recalled the day in gym class when Tyson had turned his charm and confidence toward Felicia Hardy. Tyson''s demonstration of physical prowess garnered the attention and admiration of their classmates, while also earning a date with Felicia.


    Recalling the scene irritated Kaine, his hands balling into fists at his sides. It wasn''t merely that Tyson was showing off, though the grandstanding had irked him. No, what truly gnawed at Kaine was the stark contrast Tyson''s actions highlighted between them. Kaine possessed powers similar to Peter Parker''s, including strength and agility far beyond normal human limits. Peter could have easily outperformed Tyson at any physical challenge, like climbing the rope. Yet he had always restrained himself, holding back to avoid revealing his abilities and maintaining his secret identity.


    While Kaine hid in the shadows, Tyson basked in the spotlight, driven more by a thirst for popularity than any genuine display of skill. His recklessness and hunger for attention were things Kaine could never reconcile with. Kaine''s path had been marked with constant struggle, the opposite of Tyson''s bravado. His hands curled into tight fists, the memory stoking a simmering anger.


    Kaine paused at the front entrance of Midtown High, his resolve faltering as he acknowledged the stark truth. Though a clone of Peter Parker, their appearances were distinctly different. And the divergence went beyond physical traits. Peter carried an everyman charm, his features blending boyish innocence with quiet strength. His manner conveyed an awkward grace and resilience that made him instantly relatable. He was the quintessential boy next door whose humble presence hid his extraordinary abilities. In contrast, Kaine''s sharper, more rugged features bore only a passing resemblance to Peter''s. Faint scars added to his edgy appearance, distinguishing him from Peter''s friendly demeanor.


    Trying to pose as Peter was futile, Kaine couldn''t blend in. He opted for stealth instead. Scaling the exterior of the building allowed him to avoid attention.


    Kaine ascended the brickwork, crawling up the science wing, peering into each classroom through the windows. His gaze fell upon a scene that ignited his simmering anger into an inferno. Through the window of the chemistry lab, he spied Tyson and Gwen Stacy, heads bent together, talking while immersed in a project.


    He watched through the window as Gwen and Tyson continued their conversation, oblivious to his presence outside. He strained to hear their muted voices, catching snippets of words here and there.


    "...scholarship...Oxford..." said Gwen.


    Tyson''s brow furrowed momentarily. "In England?" he asked.


    Gwen laughed lightly. "Well, it''s not Oxford, Connecticut."


    Tyson chuckled along with her. "In that case, you''ll come back drinking tea and talking all posh and proper!" He affected an exaggerated British accent on the last few words, eliciting another laugh from Gwen.


    "I enjoy tea just fine already, thanks," Gwen quipped back.


    Tyson''s expression grew more serious. "Have you told Peter yet?"


    Gwen bit her lip. "No, not yet. I don''t know how to bring it up."


    Tyson nodded sympathetically. "You should tell him soon. I mean, he tells you all his secrets, right?" To illustrate his point, Tyson pantomimed shooting a web out of his wrist.


    Gwen gave his arm a light, playful smack. "Shh, stop that!" she scolded, but she was only amused. "I know, but what if I get this scholarship? What would that mean for... well, for everything here?"


    Tyson shrugged. "You''ll have to tell Peter eventually. We all know you''re too smart not to get whatever you apply for."


    Gwen looked thoughtful, chewing her lip again. "It''s just... I don''t want him to feel like I''m abandoning him. And it''s not like I''ve decided yet, it''s just an option."


    "I''m sure Peter will understand," Tyson replied gently. "He knows how driven you are, how talented. This is an amazing opportunity."


    "I hope you''re right. I just... I need a little more time to think it all through."


    Tyson nodded. "Of course. But you should tell him sooner rather than later." He glanced up at the clock. "We better get back to work."


    Gwen sighed, flipping her textbook back open. "You''re right. Let''s get focused."


    The two turned their attention back to their project and their heads bent together again over the pages. Kaine observed them for a moment longer, watching Tyson''s arm brush against Gwen''s as he pointed something out in the text. The casual intimacy of the gesture made Kaine''s jaw clench.


    His mind rebelled at Gwen leaving, and going to college out of the country. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew how much Peter cared for Gwen; how much he cared for Gwen. Kaine knew this news would cut him deeply. And Tyson knew too. The fact that Gwen had confided in Tyson instead of Peter stirred resentment within Kaine. What right did Tyson have to know about Gwen''s private ambitions before Peter did? Kaine''s hands curled into fists at his sides. As far as he was concerned, Tyson had no place meddling in Peter and Gwen''s relationship.


    Kaine''s grip on the concrete ledge tightened, crumbling it beneath his fingertips. Watching Gwen laugh with Tyson through the classroom window ignited a fierce possessiveness within him. It wasn''t just Tyson encroaching on something Kaine felt belonged to Peter and himself. It was a stark reminder of Kaine''s isolation; such moments of warmth were lost to him.


    In that instant, Kaine understood with cutting clarity that some desires remained out of reach, taunting him with false promises. That pain was a bitter pill to swallow.


    Kaine''s gaze on the pair was intense, a storm brewing in his eyes. He remembered his time with Gwen from when he was Peter. The feel of her in his arms, her lips'' sweetness, and each was a sharp stab to his cold reality. Seeing Gwen oblivious to his existence and instead spending time with charming, ambitious Tyson ignited fierce possessiveness. Kaine knew she harbored feelings for him. The thought of Tyson usurping something so precious that Kaine had dared hope was his, was unbearable.


    Yet the harsh truth remained. Kaine was not the man Gwen had known. His face and his scars ensured she wouldn''t recognize him.


    But an idea flickered in Kaine''s mind.


    Gwen would not recognize him, but she knew Spider-Man.


    He could become the hero, stepping into the role Peter carved out.


    Masquerading as Spider-Man to reclaim Gwen hadn''t occurred to Kaine when he''d been in captivity. But as he retreated from the window, the idea grew. It could rekindle his connection with Gwen.


    It was a chance to be seen, and not for his scars.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson gunned the engine of his motorcycle, weaving through the congested streets with reckless abandon. The midday traffic was a snarled mess of honking horns and screeching brakes, but with a cloak of illusion concealing him, he was unbound by the rules of the road. His power made him an invisible rider slipping silently through the deadlock. When the chokehold of cars grew too dense, he hopped the curb, tires skimming the sidewalk as oblivious pedestrians continued on their path. The journey from Midtown High to Downtown was frustrating for most, but not Tyson.


    Thirty-five minutes later, he strode into his lavish suite at the Four Seasons, but an unexpected sight gave him pause as he entered the opulent living room.


    There, lounging on his sofa as if she owned the place, was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Her usual black jumpsuit was replaced by an oversized fluffy robe that engulfed her. Red curls cascaded freely over her shoulders, giving a rare glimpse of the woman behind the spy facade.


    "What are you watching?" Tyson asked cautiously, trying to mask his surprise.


    "Naruto," Natasha replied nonchalantly her piercing green eyes never leaving the screen where an animated ninja battle raged.


    He scrutinized the television just to be sure this wasn''t some trick. But there was no mistaking the black hair, black robes with red clouds, and Sharingan of Itachi Uchiha.


    He turned back to Natasha, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Are you fucking with me right now?"


    Natasha''s serious expression finally cracked as she broke into genuine laughter, the sound warm and unrestrained. As her laughter faded, Natasha''s eyes glinted with mischief. "Did you know Fury set up alerts to notify me anytime you got caught speeding or running lights?" she began, a hint of amusement lingering in her voice.


    Tyson''s eyes widened slightly. Of course, Fury would have tracking measures in place after assigning Natasha as his handler.


    "Well, he never disabled that feature after promoting you," Natasha continued, "It was pretty obvious where you were headed with all the violations you racked up on the way over here." Tyson felt a flush creep up his neck as Natasha described his reckless ride through the city. "For a minute, I thought it was an emergency," she added, "But nope. Just you trying to avoid traffic. Your awareness of electronic surveillance needs improvement. You can control the human element, but should be wary of recording devices, cameras, and such." Her tone was playful yet chiding, and Tyson found himself grinning sheepishly.


    Tyson nodded, silently conceding Natasha''s point. They met because he had robbed the Federal Reserve Bank, and SHIELD had used footage of him to piece together his identity. He''d gotten away with the heist only to be discovered later because he''d been caught on camera.


    While he hadn''t gotten away clean, he was satisfied with the result. Having the infamous Black Widow as an ally but also as his live-in girlfriend was a personal triumph. Natasha Romanoff had become a trusted partner in his plans for the future and daily life.


    Though the events of the previous week were grueling, the memory of being viciously stabbed in the eye and having half his body incinerated bore a silver lining. That harrowing ordeal had resulted in Tyson claiming Loki''s enchanted Uru dagger. Before last week, he''d experienced relative peace over the last few months, in so far as he hadn''t faced any life-threatening challenges. When he had first arrived in this world, Tyson''s life had been marked by constant turmoil and a relentless string of threats.


    Magneto, Stryker, and Azazel, all had gotten the best of him early on.


    But now things were different.


    The gold from the Federal Reserve heist had long since been laundered and invested, the bulk of it funneled through Felicia Hardy''s art trade business at House of M or stock investments. Additional plans were already in motion to acquire Trask Industries, a critical step in securing his long-term future. After encounters with Thor, Iron Man, and the Hulk, Tyson found his life shifting toward greater stability and control. By subtly manipulating figures like Wilson Fisk, Curt Connors, and Ivan Vanko, he now held sway over these volatile players, keeping their actions tightly bound within limits he deemed acceptable.


    Overall, Tyson found himself in a position of strength and influence. With powerful allies and significant threats under his control, the path ahead seemed full of promise.


    And having Natasha living with him had proven far more enjoyable than he could have anticipated. Her vibrant presence filled his suite; her quick wit, striking intellect, and fierce spirit never failed to invigorate him.


    Shaking off the last remnants of introspection, Tyson asked, "I had to rush home so we wouldn''t be late. You didn¡¯t forget, did you?"


    "Of course not, I just wanted to mess with you," Natasha replied, her voice tinged with warmth and affection that spoke to the depth of their bond.


    She stood, causing her bathrobe to fall from her shoulders, revealing the black lingerie she wore underneath as it pooled on the floor.


    Delicate lace traced intricate patterns across her skin, the dark fabric a stark contrast against her pale complexion. The garment hugged her curves. It exuded confidence and allure without trying too hard, much like Natasha. Tyson''s gaze traveled slowly, appreciating every detail, drinking in every contour.


    "You look...breathtaking," he murmured, crossing the room to meet her. His hands found her waist, pulling her close. Natasha gazed up at him through dark lashes.


    "I hoped you''d approve," she purred.


    "I thought for a second you''d already be dressed under that robe," he commented.


    Natasha flashed a knowing smile, the slightest hint of playfulness in her tone. "I could''ve been, but this is better, isn''t it?" she responded rhetorically.


    She draped her arms lazily around his neck. Tyson leaned in, his lips hovering above her ear. "Are you sure you aren''t still just a SHIELD agent sent to stay close to me?" he whispered.


    Natasha tilted her head up, her breath hot against his cheek. "Even if I was, would you push me away?" she challenged.


    Tyson needed no words to answer. With aching slowness, he brought his mouth to hers. Natasha''s body melted into his, perfectly molded against his muscular frame.


    This was no illusion.


    With the meeting of their lips came a now familiar sensation, a siphoning of Natasha''s essence into Tyson''s being. This transferal of life force had become commonplace since their first kiss. For Tyson, it was a glimpse into Natasha''s soul, affirming her openness, and allowing him access to her thoughts and memories. For Natasha, it was a sacrifice willingly given, a display of trust where she made herself vulnerable to him by allowing him access to her innermost self, ensuring his trust in her. She actively engaged in these intimate exchanges despite the risks of Tyson''s life-draining touch because she understood the importance of offering him unfiltered affection. Her deliberate approach was tangible proof of her care for him and reinforced their bond through much-needed physical contact.


    Their lips parted all too quickly. Tyson carefully restrained the kiss before his power could bring Natasha harm. Still, they lingered in an embrace, neither eager to back away.


    In fully accepting one another, flaws and all, Tyson and Natasha''s relationship was rooted in profound trust. Tyson had welcomed every facet of Natasha''s complex past and present self. And she, in turn, had embraced the intricacies of his abilities, even the inherent dangers they posed.


    This time when they kissed, Tyson glimpsed an unspoken trouble weighing on her mind.


    He knew the matter would need to be addressed. But he recognized this was not the time. He knew she would open up when she was ready and not a moment before.


    Setting aside his concerns, he focused instead on enjoying their playful moment.


    Tyson used his illusion power to create a mirror image of himself behind Natasha. The illusion''s arms encircled her waist. Natasha arched her spine, rising onto her toes. Her movements pressed her ass against the illusory Tyson, separated only by the thin fabric of her underwear.


    Natasha rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate tease. Her voice was honey as she warned, "Careful now. Promises made should be promises kept."


    The calculated provocation in her eyes and the confidence of her motions spoke volumes.


    With a thought, Tyson banished his doppelganger. It dissolved like mist, leaving Natasha''s curves pressed against empty air.


    "You started this when you stripped."


    Natasha turned, sauntering away. "And here I thought you''d appreciate the view."


    Amusement washed over Tyson. And he did appreciate the view; watching transfixed as she slipped into the bedroom, moving to get dressed.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    One advantage of living in a five-star hotel was the access to high-end transportation. While Tyson almost always opted for a motorcycle to get around the city, limos always idled near his residence. And on the rare occasion when one wasn''t immediately available, the hotel''s attentive concierge swiftly arranged for one.


    Tyson and Natasha exited the Four Seasons and slid into the backseat of a limousine. Their destination was Una Pizza Napoletana in the Lower East Side, renowned for its authentic Neapolitan pies. The concierge had not reserved a table but instead phoned in a pickup order.


    In a twist, Tyson and Natasha played an unusual role that evening.


    Pizza delivery people.


    The limo approached its destination, the iconic 200 Park Avenue, a currently under-renovation skyscraper that dominated the Manhattan skyline. They were here for an event that had drawn New York''s elite and most influential figures.


    Tyson adjusted the fox half-mask that obscured the upper half of his face. Beside him, Natasha Romanoff had donned one of her photostatic veils before leaving the apartment, disguising her features under those of a beautiful, but non-descript brunette woman.


    Their arrival would be far from subtle. In recent months, Mirage''s exploits had become fixtures on the front pages of every major local newspaper. The beautiful agent''s presence at the Green Goblin''s arrest and the Harlem rampage had fueled endless media speculation about the true nature of their partnership.


    SHIELD had stepped in, ensuring no clear photos of Natasha made it onto the internet or into articles. The tabloid headline that had portrayed them as star-crossed lovers was swiftly killed before printing. While the article''s existence had amused Tyson, it had only exasperated Natasha. But since no pictures of her had been made public, using a photostatic veil to shift her appearance at each public appearance, made Mirage seem more like a playboy, and Natasha less like his constant date or handler.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The limo drew closer to their destination; an extravagant fundraiser at the under-renovation Met Life building. Together, they stepped out of the limo and into the lavish lobby, the clicks of photographers'' cameras heralding their arrival.


    As they entered, Tyson hoisted the stack of pizza boxes. The combination of Mirage''s heroic persona and the mundane task of delivering pizzas captivated the onlookers, blending the extraordinary with the ordinary in a way that humanized the hero. As Tyson and Natasha made their way through the parted crowd, they were keenly aware of the eyes tracking their every move, the hushed whispers swirling around them, and the camera flashes. Yet they moved with a calm, unhurried pace.


    Natasha managed a polite smile for the cameras, but once they pushed past the glare of the flashbulbs, her smile faded into a scowl. "I''m never going to be able to go out in public with you without a photostatic veil again," she muttered, her complaint both sincere and tinged with wry humor.


    Tyson suggested cheekily, "What''s wrong with photostatic veils? Or...you could just stay with me. Be my trusty sidekick." he joked.


    Natasha''s eyes narrowed. "They itch... and don''t even think about going there." Her voice held an undercurrent of threat wrapped in humor.


    Tyson backpedaled with a nervous chuckle. "Kidding, kidding."


    As they continued into the lobby, Natasha muttered "You''re going to pay for that one later tonight."


    Tyson carefully set the stack of boxes on an empty table. Then the moment everyone had been anticipating finally arrived as the guest of honor emerged from the sea of mingling attendees. His entrance was timed for maximum impact, befitting his reputation for flair and showmanship.


    "David Blaine!" Tony Stark called out, his voice tinged with amusement and challenge. "I hope those pizzas are the real deal."


    Tyson turned to face the speaker. He volleyed back smoothly. "I know it''s not the same as flying to Naples on a private jet or in a supersonic suit, but it''ll have to do."


    Extending a hand in greeting, Tyson firmly shook with Tony Stark; genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and the man within the high-tech armor of Iron Man. With a slight gesture towards Natasha, Tyson made introductions. "You already know my date for the evening. Ms. Rushman."


    Tony noticed the woman was not Natasha. But he knew she was a spy, and assumed she wore a disguise he couldn''t decipher.


    "Ms. Rushman, it''s¡­ sort of good to see you again." Ever the provocateur, Tony couldn''t resist stirring the pot. "So, are you two a couple now? Because I''m pretty sure I set this up at my birthday party."


    "You did. We knew each other before, but your party helped me score a date. So thanks for that, and the invite. You always throw a good party." he said, wrapping an arm around Natasha''s waist.


    Tony looked pleased that his actions had brought Mirage and Natasha together that night. Pepper Potts, however, gently interjected, "We''re the ones who should be thanking you. I can''t explain how much trouble you saved us by covering the house in your illusion."


    "Let''s not worry about business right now, there will be time for that later," Tony said. Grabbing a slice of pizza, he seamlessly blended into the crowd.


    After Tony''s arrival, the initial formalities gave way to a more casual mingling. The presence of the heroes sparked excitement among the guests, many eager for a chance to exchange words or share a moment with these larger-than-life figures. As the afternoon progressed, the event wound down, and Tony and Pepper extended an invitation to continue the festivities upstairs at their private bar. Chairs and sofas formed conversation areas throughout the room, while subtle artwork adorned the walls, adding character without overwhelming the senses. Overall it wasn''t dissimilar to the VIP lounge at House of M.


    The group settled in with drinks and the conversation drifted toward Tony''s latest ambitious endeavors.


    "I read this whole place cost over two billion to purchase, yet you''re planning to dismantle half of it," Tyson said, "Why not just set up shop somewhere cheaper?"


    Tony''s face lit up, eager to explain his vision. "It''s all to house an Arc reactor. This will be a proof of concept before expanding it city-wide."


    "This building sits right above Grand Central Station," Tony continued, hands gesturing animatedly. "If the prototype works, I''ll scale up the Arc reactor to power all of Manhattan''s transit system; subways, trains, stations for electric busses, the whole shebang."


    Tyson let out an impressed whistle. "That''s an ambitious goal. But isn''t all this costing you a fortune in the meantime?"


    "The press and goodwill will make up for it," Tony said with a wave. "Once it''s running, I can sell the excess energy to the city at a discount. The energy will be far cleaner than what they''ve got too. Indian Point is on its last legs, it''s only a matter of time before the city needs another power source."


    He sipped his drink before adding, "Oscorp has a similar bioelectric project underway, but this will blow them out of the water." Confidence radiated from Tony''s voice.


    "I wanted you to know," Tyson began, "with the fortune I''ve amassed from House of M, I plan to expand into technology. I''m in negotiations to acquire Trask Industries."


    Pepper''s eyes flashed with curiosity. "Trask?" she asked in a tone inviting elaboration.


    In response, Tony activated a holographic display with a sweep of his hand. Files, data projections, and statistics on Trask Industries floated through the air.


    "Trask was successful in the ''70s but has floundered since," Tony summarized skeptically as he sifted through the holograms. "No major projects for decades. Why them?" He asked, seeking the strategic rationale behind acquiring a company that seemed a faded shadow of its former glory. "Just because they''re underfunded and an easy buyout?"


    Sensing the conversation had reached an important point, Tyson made a decision.


    He reached for his mask.


    Natasha reached placing a hand on his arm, briefly halting him. "Are you sure about this?"


    "I am," he stated.


    Natasha removed her hand, satisfied he knew what he was doing. And Tyson removed his mask, revealing his true face to Tony and Pepper.


    "Tyson Smith, soon to be Midtown High graduate, part-time entertainer, and superhero," he introduced.


    Pepper''s eyes widened in surprise as the truth dawned on her. "You are just a kid," she murmured, her voice hushed with the weight of her realization. Tyson''s massive frame and imposing physique had clouded her perception, but now, seeing him unmasked, his youth was undeniable. Though he stood at an imposing height, his features still held a trace of the softness of adolescence. Pepper took in the sight of his face without the anonymity of his mask.


    Tyson acknowledged the truth behind her words. "I know I said so at the hearing, but with how big I am, it''s easy to forget I''m still in high school," he admitted with an easy chuckle. Turning to Tony he asked, "What do you know about mutants?"


    Tony''s eyes sparked with interest as he leaned back, the scientist in him revving for an in-depth discussion. "Mutants, huh? Their DNA contains a genetic variation dubbed the X-Gene. It manifests in countless permutations, each bestowing extraordinary abilities. Wild stuff." He gestured expansively, "These powers run the gamut from shooting lasers from your eyes to pooping ice cream. They tend to emerge during periods of intense emotional turmoil like puberty, but can manifest from birth in some." Tony''s tone grew thoughtful, a hint of gravity emerging. "But from a research perspective, mutants represent boundless potential. Just imagine the applications. Medical miracles, energy solutions, you name it. The key lies in decoding how that X-Gene works, and more critically, how we can harness that knowledge."


    Connecting the dots, Tony continued, "You mentioned being a mutant at the Senate hearing. The illusions, the mismatched eyes. It adds up."


    Tyson leaned forward as he prepared to share. "Let me give you the abridged version of my story," he began, his voice low and solemn. "As far as the public is concerned, my mutant ability is illusions. In truth, my power is far deeper." He paused as if gathering the words to explain his extraordinary gift. "When I touch someone, skin to skin, I gain a copy of them. It''s like I absorb a replica of their essence which gets imprinted onto me. Their skills and knowledge, memories, and even their powers. I get it all." His gaze flickered to his hands, flexing his fingers. "But it comes with a cost. My touch drains lifeforce. Prolonged contact could kill. For a normal person, five seconds is all it takes to put them into a coma. If I kill someone with my touch, the imprint becomes permanent." His tone was grave, carrying the weight of this dangerous facet of his power.


    "My ability to create illusions came from a mutant whose group took me hostage. I didn''t mean to kill him, but he was weak and died before I had a chance to release him."


    Tony watched Tyson intently as he spoke, focused on each revelation. When Tyson extended his hand, allowing metallic claws to slide from his fingertips, Tony''s eyes widened in surprise.


    "Talons," Tyson noted. "These plus superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, enhanced healing, and senses came from a mutant named Sabertooth. He came after me but got more than he bargained for. All my bones are coated with adamantium." His jaw tightened at the memory.


    Tony whistled. "Now that is an expensive upgrade," he remarked.


    Tyson''s expression darkened. "It was an involuntary gift, courtesy of William Stryker and the Weapon X program."


    Pepper gasped, "You''re so young, but you''ve been through so much."


    "That depends on your perspective. I gain memories from those who I''ve absorbed. As far as I remember, I''ve already lived several lifetimes." Tyson continued. "As you said, there are applications for studying mutants'' powers. Well, there''s a mutant out there who built a machine. It harnesses his power to activate the latent X-gene. In short, it turns humans into mutants."


    Tyson''s hands curled into fists. "The problem is, using the machine would kill him. So he''s hunting me to use instead. With one touch, I gain his power and become his disposable battery."


    Tony''s brow furrowed as he processed this revelation. "So Trask has some tech that could fix this guy''s machine, get him off your back?" he speculated.


    Tyson shook his head. "No. The mutant after me is a terrorist who controls magnetism. And he wears a helmet that blocks telepathy. My illusions are useless against him." Tyson''s expression was grim. "He''s my perfect counter."


    Tony met Tyson''s gaze. "Then we better figure out a plan."


    Tyson continued explaining the situation. "That''s partly why I''m interested in Trask Industries. In the 1970s, they pioneered drone technology designed to hunt and neutralize mutants. The drones were crafted entirely from non-metallic components."


    This crucial detail represented a tactical advantage against Tyson''s foe, who could manipulate metal effortlessly. Tony nodded, impressed. As an engineer himself, he saw potential in repurposing obsolete technology. "With some upgrades, those old drones could be pretty effective. Not a bad plan."


    Tyson''s tone grew more ominous as he revealed the second, far more alarming aspect of Trask''s anti-mutant efforts. "They developed technology to detain mutants. Collars that disable their abilities. It''s the kind of thing that could lead to prison camps straight out of World War II."


    Tony''s expression darkened as the gravity of Tyson''s words sank in, painting a stark picture of the catastrophic misuse such technology could enable if it fell into the wrong hands.


    "I aim to keep that tech contained, restricted only to those who truly need it to defend against or detain dangerous mutants," Tyson continued. "Mutants occupy a precarious place in society. As powerful as we can be, there are so few of us, it makes us vulnerable. And the mutants that make the news are the strong ones, most mutants aren''t noteworthy. I''m strong, but at baseline, I was less dangerous than anyone with a gun. But Mutants are the ''other,'' the minority disliked and feared by the majority." Tyson''s jaw set with conviction. "Someone will inevitably develop similar technology down the line. Current projections estimate it will be decades before mutant numbers rise enough for us to be a significant percentage of the population. If we can push off the dystopian future long enough, we might grow to have great enough numbers to defend ourselves, or earn enough favor with the general populace to have our own civil rights movement."


    "That''s why I''m acting now to pull the plug on Trask. I''m in a position where I can do what no other mutant can; stop them before they get out of hand." Tyson''s gaze swept the room, lingering on the floor-to-ceiling windows and modern decor. Despite the casual atmosphere, his tone was serious as he raised a pertinent question. "How secure is this place?"


    Tony quipped back without missing a beat, "Didn''t know you''d worry about that with the triple imposter here." His comment was an amusing nod to Natasha and her espionage and infiltration skills. She responded with an eye roll, unfazed by Tony''s remark. Seeking to assuage any concerns, Tony called out, "Jarvis?"


    At his prompt, the familiar voice of his AI emerged from the phone''s speaker. "The room is secure, sir," Jarvis confirmed.


    Tony gave Tyson a nod of assurance that their privacy was guaranteed.


    With a subtle gesture over his shoulder, Tyson conjured up an illusion.


    Iron Man appeared next to Tyson in his iconic red and gold suit. The iconic helmet opened to reveal Tony''s face within, a perfect replica down to his trademark goatee.


    The illusory Tony spoke, "You''ve seen my illusion before, but this only scratches the surface of my power. It''s not just visual."


    Iron Man snapped his armored fingers. At the gesture, the opening chords of "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath rang out, filling the room. He sauntered over to the bar. As he walked, he shed the Iron Man armor piece by piece. When he reached the bar and began pouring wine into glasses, the metal suit had shed to reveal an impeccably tailored three-piece suit. With the finesse of a seasoned host, he approached Tony and Pepper, extending a glass of wine to each with a flourish before dissipating into thin air.


    "Go ahead." Tyson encouraged.


    Tony and Pepper exchanged a glance before tentatively taking a sip. Tyson explained, "Smells and tastes aren''t that difficult for me to recreate either."


    Pepper''s eyes widened, clearly impressed by the authenticity of the illusion. "This is quite convincing," she remarked, swishing the illusory wine in her glass.


    "Exactly," Tyson affirmed, folding his arms across his chest. "I can override every sense."


    Tyson hesitated as he prepared to disclose a difficult truth.


    "I''m just going to come out with it," he began, "I tricked everyone at the Stark Expo. Ivan Vanko is alive."


    Tony and Pepper exchanged glances, but remained silent, allowing Tyson to explain himself.


    "Vanko''s anger toward you was fueled by his conviction that your father was responsible for his own father''s downfall and imprisonment. In his eyes, you were carrying on your father''s legacy." Tyson said gently. "What Vanko needed wasn''t death, but help. Therapy and guidance to move past his rage. He was misguided, yes, but also undoubtedly a genius."


    "As far as I know, he''s the only other person on this planet who successfully miniaturized arc reactor technology. His mind is brilliant, even if his motivations were twisted."


    Tony wouldn''t argue that. Vanko had proven himself extraordinarily gifted during their brief encounters.


    "So, I''ve been providing him that help," Tyson revealed. As he spoke, the interior of Stark Tower melted away, replaced by a cozy cottage. Vanko sat at a worktable, focused intently on some delicate mechanical work.


    "I''ve been giving him therapy, helping him work through his anger and grief," Tyson explained, his voice softening with empathy. "And guiding him to use his gifts positively, instead of for revenge."


    Ivan Vanko left the worktable to sit beside a bed, where an older, bedridden man lay. This man bore a striking resemblance to Ivan, with similar features, unmistakably his father.


    The elder Vanko, frail yet lucid, addressed his son with a voice tinged with regret, "Ivan. Don''t hold hate in your heart." His words were a plea, an acknowledgment of the heavy burden his actions had placed on Ivan''s shoulders. "I made my mistakes, trying to sell the secrets of the Arc reactor. I betrayed my friends."


    The older man''s voice grew weaker, yet imbued with somber clarity, "Don''t think poorly of me.¡± Anton Vanko''s voice softened as he sought to impart a final piece of wisdom to his son. "Do not blame the Starks for this foolish old man''s mistakes," he urged, "Let go of the vendetta that consumed me."


    "I''m proud of you for your accomplishments and for trying to represent our family," Anton continued, "But don''t waste your life and potential on false revenge," he advised, understanding the futility of such pursuits. "Build something great, help the world."


    As Anton''s counsel concluded, Ivan, visibly moved by his father''s words, fought back tears.


    Tony regarded the fading illusion with a skeptical gaze, his arms crossed firmly over his chest. After a moment, he quipped dryly, "Illusion therapy, huh? I''ll admit, that''s a new one. Never thought I''d see a therapy session where the therapist could conjure up dead dads from thin air." He shifted in his seat, gears visibly turning in his mind as he considered the implications. "You know, I''ve had my share of... let''s call them ''paternal issues''," Tony continued, his tone deceptively light even as his words acknowledged the complex relationship with his late father. "And I''ve seen plenty of unconventional solutions. But this?" He gestured at the space where the illusion had been. "This is something else entirely."


    Tony''s piercing eyes flicked back to Tyson, a glimmer of respect mingling with characteristic irreverence. "Gonna hand it to you. Using your powers to give someone a chance to rewrite their worst day, or at least chat with it? That''s pretty out there. But hey, if it works, it works. Just... try not to start a supervillain support group for hugging out childhood trauma, alright?" Despite the flippant jest, his tone conveyed that he recognized the potential value of Tyson''s unorthodox approach.


    Natasha''s lilting laughter filled the room. Tyson rubbed his neck sheepishly, a hint of pink tinging his cheeks.


    Pepper picked up on the undercurrents of the conversation. Gently probing, she asked, "Vanko''s not the only one, is he?"


    Tyson hesitated, shifting his weight. "Not exactly," he admitted after a pause.


    "At this rate, House of M is turning into a supervillain rehabilitation center," Natasha joked, though her comment highlighted the morally ambiguous nature of Tyson''s interventions.


    Tyson sighed heavily. "It''s not that bad," he protested weakly, though his tone was unconvincing.


    Tony tapped his fingers rhythmically on the low table before them, his razor-sharp mind analyzing the possibilities and implications of Tyson''s clandestine interventions.


    After a pensive moment, he broke the heavy silence. "So I appreciate your honesty, but I knew you saved Vanko," he admitted.


    Tyson''s eyes widened in surprise, disbelief coloring his words. "You did?"


    Tony nodded curtly, his gaze steady and knowing. "When we first met, after your little demonstration at the Senate hearing, I realized I couldn''t counter your powers directly. So I took a small precaution with the suits. Jarvis monitors everything in my vicinity, just in case."


    The billionaire''s vigilance was understandable, even expected, and Tyson bore no resentment over the covert surveillance. Given the nature of his abilities, such caution was only prudent. And he knew Tony Stark was incredible at identifying weaknesses and fixing them.


    "Can''t fault a man for covering his bases," Tyson said lightheartedly with an amicable shrug.


    Natasha let out a silvery laugh, her green eyes glinting with mischief. "Mirage, so easily thwarted by his greatest nemesis... cameras!" She grinned, unable to resist teasing.


    Tony quirked an eyebrow at Natasha, his expression wry. "I thought it was some covert SHIELD op, not celebrity rehab with Dr. Drew," he quipped.


    Tony nodded in thoughtful agreement. "Alright, I''ll admit this plan has merit," he said, "I can recognize a good idea when it''s staring me in the face, even if it''s not how I would have approached things."


    He clasped Tyson firmly on the shoulder, meeting his mismatched eyes with an earnest look. "Consider me onboard." Tony''s voice took on a more solemn tone as he continued. "I know what it''s like to be handed a second chance, to try and make up for past mistakes. If I can help give that opportunity to others..."


    He trailed off, looking thoughtful before turning to his holographic interface. His fingers danced across the display, inputting commands with practiced ease. "I''ll forward some notes to Felicia on potential upgrades for Vanko to implement into Trask''s drones. He might be able to integrate some of my designs, and get you better prepared to handle any... incidents."


    He looked back at Tyson, his expression sobering. "And if you''ve got unstable employees, it''s probably best if I help you with your security. I''ll send over an AI to integrate into your building. It''s not Jarvis, but I''ve got a few others. I think one in particular will fit you perfectly."


    "I appreciate that, Tony. Truly." Tyson met the billionaire''s gaze, sincerity etched on his chiseled features. "It means a lot that you''re willing to help like this. I know you''re taking a leap of faith."


    Tony dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, well, I''ve taken bigger leaps on less. If you can help people, I''ll give it a shot."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Gwen Stacy sat at her desk, focused intently on calculus equations. Pale blue walls and floral bedding, photos of loved ones, stacks of textbooks, and motivational quotes surrounded her. The pages of her notebook were filled with numbers and formulas.


    A sudden rap at the window pane made her pulse quicken. She whirled around to see a familiar figure perched on the fire escape, backlit by the setting sun. Though his red and blue costume looked slightly worn, the distinctive mask and web pattern were unmistakable.


    Gwen rushed to slide the window open. "Well, hey there, Spider-Guy. What''s with the get-up? I thought we weren''t meeting until later," she said, her voice bubbly and playful. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she gave him a knowing look.


    "What if my dad found Spider-Man sneaking into his daughter''s bedroom?" Gwen teased, leaning on the window frame. She took in the defined muscles of his suit, admiring his athletic physique.


    Spider-Man tensed, caught off guard by her casual tone. "Is he still hunting me?" he asked sharply.


    Gwen''s laughter rang out, assuming his concern was merely joking about her father''s efforts against Spider-Man. "Don''t worry, I won''t let him arrest you," she promised affectionately.


    The moment was shattered with the ring of the doorbell.


    Gwen''s reaction was immediate, her eyes widening in alarm. She whispered in a low urgent voice. "My dad''s home. He can''t see you like this. Hide, change your costume, do something. I can''t open the door with Spider-Man standing in my room." She spoke rapidly, knowing the dire consequences if her father discovered them. "Whoever''s at the door, if I don''t answer, then my dad will come checking."


    Spider-Man gave a quick thumbs up in silent acknowledgment of her words. An agile leap across the room, had him landing soundlessly behind Gwen''s bed. Crouching low, he concealed himself, hidden from view by the bed frame.


    Gwen crossed the room and glanced back at Spider-Man''s hidden form before she stepped into the empty hallway. With her father nowhere in sight tension ebbed from her body with each step. As she neared the front door, her father''s muffled voice reached her ears. His usual warmth was conspicuously absent, replaced with a formal, restrained tone. He reserved that voice only for work, and people he didn''t like, particularly her boyfriend, Peter Parker.


    As Gwen came into full view of the living room, what she saw rooted her in place. There, framed in the open doorway, stood Peter Parker. Gwen''s mind reeled, unable to comprehend the impossibility of it all. Peter was here, exchanging stilted pleasantries with her father.


    But if Peter was here, who was the stranger in her room wearing Spider-Man''s unmistakable costume?


    Her sense of unease grew as the gravity of the situation washed over her. Whoever now hid in her room behind that familiar mask was completely unknown to her.


    An imposter.


    Peter spoke to her father stilted, but politely. However, they noticed the abrupt shift in Gwen''s demeanor as she entered. Her body tensed, as she came to a sudden halt. The confusion and unease playing across her features set both men on edge.


    Captain Stacy''s instincts kicked in immediately. Both protective father and vigilant police captain, he edged closer to Gwen. "What''s wrong, sweetie?" he asked gently.


    Before either could glean an answer, an unexpected figure emerged from the hallway. Gwen turned slowly. Her pulse raced as she faced the figure looming behind her.


    There stood Spider-Man.


    The sight jarred Peter Parker standing mere feet away. Surprise and defensiveness crept into his voice. "Who are you?" Peter demanded, his eyes locked on the brazen impersonator.


    Unfazed, the costumed figure exuded confidence. He mimicked Spider-Man''s trademark swagger, and declared, "You know who I am." A stunned silence descended, all eyes fixed on the unwelcome intruder.


    "I''m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!" he proclaimed, into the tense quiet with a hint of theatricality added to his voice.


    Gwen''s unease morphed into dread. The iconic line was familiar yet jarringly incongruous coming from this stranger.


    Captain Stacy''s voice edged with paternal protectiveness. "How did you get in here? Get away from my daughter!"


    The costumed figure was undeterred. He placed a hand firmly on Gwen''s shoulder, his grip displaying his possessiveness. "I don''t think so," he declared.


    Peter tensed, muscles coiling in anticipation. The stakes were deeply personal, but Gwen''s safety was paramount. As Captain Stacy dashed to confront the imposter, the situation careened rapidly. Consumed by fury, the imposter reacted with shocking force. He shoved Gwen aside, indifferent to her well-being, his sole focus meeting the captain''s advance.


    Diving towards Gwen, Peter wrapped her in his arms as he sought to shield her from harm. Their momentum carried them crashing through a glass coffee table. Jagged shards exploded outward, cascading across the floor. Peter absorbed the brunt of the impact, his body a barricade protecting Gwen from a majority of the sharp shrapnel.


    The imposter Spider-Man''s attention was momentarily diverted back toward Gwen by the harm he had caused. Captain Stacy seized this window of opportunity, he reached up to the top of a nearby china cabinet, retrieving a concealed firearm. He''d prepared contingencies for precisely this type of situation. With practiced motions, he loaded the gun and aimed at the intruder, his sole focus neutralizing the immediate threat to his daughter''s safety.


    Gunshots rang out, deafening in the confined space.


    The Spider-Man, however, displayed uncanny agility. He evaded the barrage of bullets, weaving and dodging with his heightened reflexes. The room transformed into a battlefield where Spider-Man flowed around the projectiles, his movements unpredictable and hyper-reactive. Though disciplined and accurate, each of Captain Stacy''s shots missed by mere inches as Spider-Man continued to elude his rounds; ricocheting off walls and furniture in a whirlwind of acrobatics.


    Amidst the wreckage of the coffee table, Gwen clutched Peter''s sleeve, pain and panic swirling in her eyes. "Help him," she pleaded, her voice strained with urgency. But Peter was more worried for Gwen, so he began to assess her injuries. Her grip tightened, desperation bleeding into her words. "Peter, please."


    The gravity of her request was evident. Peter''s attention snapped to the confrontation. Captain Stacy''s gun clicked as the chamber emptied. The imposter closed the distance. His leg lashed out in a powerful kick that hammered into the captain''s chest.


    The impact was devastating. Captain Stacy was sent flying backward, crashing into a china cabinet, reducing it to ruins in an explosion of shattering glass and splintering wood. His body lay unmoving amidst the debris. Spider-Man lingered, surveying the destruction with satisfaction.


    The imposter''s moment of grim triumph was abruptly shattered, much like the cabinet itself, when a sudden force struck him with staggering intensity. Propelled by righteous anger, Peter delivered a powerful punch that sent Spider-Man hurtling out of the living room and into the hallway.


    As Peter dashed after the imposter who had brought such chaos into their lives, Gwen was consumed with deep concern for her father. She began a slow, painstaking journey across the living room floor littered with shards of glass from the shattered coffee table and china cabinet. The sharp edges dug mercilessly into her hands, arms, and legs as she crawled, heedless of the danger. Her singular focus was reaching her father. Gwen persisted doggedly through the hazardous terrain, shards slicing her palms, her eyes fixed on the crumpled form of her beloved father.


    Finally reaching her father''s side, she was confronted with the dire gravity of his condition. The man who had always been her pillar of strength and her protector now lay injured and vulnerable before her. As the harsh reality sank in, tears welled in Gwen''s eyes. Never before had she seen her father so helpless, so fragile.


    Her protector now needed protecting.


    Gwen cradled her father''s broken body, her anguished sobs echoing through the wreckage. Captain Stacy fought through excruciating pain to offer his daughter gentle reassurance. With great effort, he raised his trembling hand to her lips, a wordless plea for her to calm.


    "It''s going to be okay," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. Though weakened by his injuries, his words carried the firm conviction of a father comforting his child, even in his darkest hour.


    "You''re strong, Gwen. And smart," Captain Stacy said, each phrase punctuated by ragged breaths. A violent cough interrupted, speckling his lips with blood. Undeterred, he continued, "Smarter than me. Make sure you go to school, and get a good job. Take care of yourself."


    Gwen listened intently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her father''s steadfast resolve, despite his condition, inspired a sense of duty within her. "I will," she pledged, her voice barely a whisper against the swell of grief.


    The captain''s eyes seemed to drift. He uttered a weighty request.


    "Promise me."


    Gwen leaned in close, her response immediate and unwavering. "I promise," she swore.


    "Promise me you''ll get far away, somewhere safe. Away from Spider-Man."


    It was her father''s desperate, dying wish; to see his only child safe from the dangers that had invaded their lives. His words struck her like a blow. To distance herself from Peter. But gazing down at her father''s earnest face, she knew there was only one possible reply.


    "I promise," Gwen vowed solemnly.


    The silence that descended upon the room was deafening, broken only by the muffled sounds of the ongoing battle raging deeper in the apartment. Captain Stacy mustered the last remnants of his fading strength, his eyes brimming with paternal love as they found his daughter''s tear-streaked face.


    "I''m so proud of you, Gwen," he whispered strained yet affectionate. Though muted, his words resonated sincerely, conveying a father''s pride and admiration for the remarkable young woman he raised. He managed a tender smile.


    "I love you," he breathed.


    The simple phrase encapsulated a lifetime of cherished memories. Gwen''s tears flowed freely down her cheeks, overcome by anguish and disbelief. She clutched her father''s hand, willing him to keep speaking, to offer any small measure of comfort to ease her sorrow. Each fleeting second felt like an eternity as she silently begged him to stay, praying he could withstand the pain and push back against the creeping darkness trying to steal him away.


    But only silence answered her pleas, punctuated by her muffled sobs and the sounds of fighting. Captain Stacy''s eyes had grown vacant, enveloping Gwen in the deafening quiet of his absence. An aching chasm opened within her, the profound and sudden loss leaving her bereft. She bowed her head, overcome with grief.


    The image of her father''s tender smile etched into her mind even as the light faded from his eyes.

 Arc 6 - Ch 2: No More Quips?

    Chapter 69


    Arc 6 - Ch 2: No More Quips?


    Date: Friday, June 10, 2011.


    Location: Queens, New York


    The imposter Spider-Man was knocked backward into the hallway by Peter Parker. A tense confrontation in the narrow confines of Gwen Stacy''s apartment ensued as Peter raced after the figure who had invaded the sanctuary of his girlfriend''s home.


    Peter lunged forward, cocking back his fist to deliver a powerful blow. But as his knuckles shot toward the masked face of his opponent, they were caught in an iron grip that matched his strength. Peter''s eyes widened in shock behind his mask. Since donning the red and blue suit months ago, Peter had faced all manner of criminals and villains. He was accustomed to overpowering thugs and petty crooks effortlessly with his enhanced abilities. But now, for the first time, he found himself evenly matched. Straining against the vice-like grip on his fist, he wondered how this was possible.


    Twisting his captured arm, Peter broke the impostor''s hold and leaped into a backflip, landing in a crouch several feet away down the narrow hallway. The doppelganger turned to face him, mirroring his stance. A tense silence descended, broken only by Peter and the faux Spider-Man''s measured breathing.


    The imposter was a mirror image, clad in a replica of Peter''s costume.


    "Who are you underneath that mask?" Peter asked, finally breaking the tense silence.


    The doppelganger remained mute.


    Peter barely dodged the incoming blow, the imposter''s fist sailing past his ear. There was no warning, no tingling sensation of incoming danger from his spider-sense. The missed fist opened into a hook, catching Peter by the neck and yanking him off balance. Before he could react, his opponent''s knee slammed brutally into his gut.


    Peter doubled over with a pained gasp as the air rushed from his lungs. The world spun dizzily around him.


    Capitalizing on Peter''s disorientation, the false hero clasped his hands together, bringing them down in a hammer strike upon Peter''s back. He crumpled to the floor with a resounding thud.


    The moment Peter hit the floor, he knew he was in trouble. Getting the wind knocked out of him was nothing new but this was different. As he lay there, bruised and sucking air, the full weight of the situation sank in. This was no two-bit villain to be quickly webbed up and handed over to the cops.


    He didn''t have long to reflect. Peter scrambled to rise but was too slow. The imposter''s foot slammed into his ribs with crushing force, launching him through the air to crash through the bedroom wall in an explosion of plaster and wood.


    Agony blazed through Peter''s side as he tumbled into the Stacys'' bedroom, the impact jarring his already battered body. Only a lucky landing on their bed kept him in the fight. Gasping, he forced himself upright. He had no time to catch his breath before the door splintered inwards and the doppelganger stalked through.


    Peter dove into a roll, narrowly avoiding a punch that shattered the nightstand behind him. He came up swinging but the double anticipated it, blocking the blow. What followed was a dizzying exchange of attacks. Neither gave ground as they traded devastating hits. They crashed through furniture and destroyed the drywall, oblivious to everything but the singular goal of destroying their opponent.


    Each of the doppelganger''s blows was aimed to exploit every opening and wear Peter down. Peter fought back gamely, matching his double''s attacks. But it quickly became clear that the imposter''s aggressive tactics and sheer physical power pushed him to his limits. Fists and feet landed with meaty thuds that echoed off the walls of the demolished room. The faux Spider-Man launched himself towards Peter, twisting his body to deliver a spinning kick aimed directly at his head. Peter narrowly ducked the strike, rolling away with the agility that had always been his trademark. But no sooner had he avoided the kick than he was relentlessly forced back on the defensive.


    The battle raged wildly around the demolished room, possessions and debris scattering as they collided. The doppelganger aimed a crushing blow as he descended, one that Peter barely managed to block despite summoning all his strength. The impact resonated through Peter''s arms, reverberating through his bones.


    He found himself locked in a desperate battle against an imposter wearing his costume and wielding his strength. The false Spider-Man unleashed powerful blows that Peter struggled to defend against. Peter dodged and blocked on reflex alone as the doppelganger pressed his advantage relentlessly.


    Searching for an opening, some way to shift the flow of the fight, Peter''s counterattacks grew increasingly desperate.


    In a moment of inspiration, Peter aimed his wrist, hoping to immobilize his foe. With a flick, he webbed the imposter''s foot to the floor. Victory seemed at hand as the doppelganger thrashed against the unyielding webs. He charged, ready to capitalize on the opening.


    But the false Spider-Man possessed shocking strength.


    He tore his leg free from the floorboards, ripping a chunk of wood with it, still entangled with the webbing.


    Peter''s haymaker met only empty air as the doppelganger spun and unleashed a powerful roundhouse kick. The blow caught Peter full in the chest, launching him across the room to crash painfully into the building''s outer brick wall. The kick shattered the remains of floorboards stuck to his foot, freeing him completely.


    Before Peter could rise, the imposter advanced, wielding his web-shooting powers in a mockery of Peter''s failed tactic. The false Spider-Man bound one of Peter''s hands to the brick wall behind him. Peter struggled in vain against the imposter''s webs, desperate to free himself, but the false Spider-Man was relentless. With a quick flick of his wrist, he fired more webbing, encasing the free hand Peter had been using to try and free his trapped one.


    Now, Peter found himself with his wrists bound together and still attached to the brickwork.


    The webs formed a tight inescapable bond, like handcuffs made of the strongest cable. The webbing was too resilient, but Peter refused to submit. Bracing his feet against the wall, every muscle in his body straining, letting out a guttural yell as he fought against the adhesive. With a final heave, the webs tore free from the wall, though his hands remained hopelessly bound together in webbing.


    With his hands still tied, Peter had to adapt.


    As the false Spider-Man rushed in, Peter backfliped, narrowly avoiding a knockout blow. He landed in a crouch, bound hands held defensively in front of him. The doppelganger pressed the advantage, raining down blows on the vulnerable hero. Peter blocked and dodged as best he could, but his restraints slowed him.


    And then Peter heard it. A low chuckle emerged from his opponent.


    The doppelganger was laughing at him.


    Peter''s predicament amused him as he continued his beat down. He set his jaw, ignoring the pain. He had to find a way to turn this around, and fast.


    The blows rained down relentlessly upon Peter Parker, punishing him mercilessly. He could only block and dodge as best he could against the savage onslaught. But the restraints binding his arms slowed him, and Peter found himself being battered like a training dummy.


    The doppelganger''s low, cruel chuckle echoed with each devastating strike as he amused himself with Peter''s helplessness. Jaw clenched, Peter ignored the blossoming agony and focused.


    In a moment of desperation, Peter resorted to a classic Spider-Man tactic...


    He taunted his foe.


    "Why don''t you take off that mask?" he goaded, affecting a mocking bravado. "Let''s see how pretty you are under there."


    The barb momentarily caught the doppelganger off guard, his rhythm faltering. Peter had been hoping for just such an opening. Seizing the opportunity, he put his plan into motion as the imposter roared in rage, charging straight for him. Even bound as he was, Peter''s reflexes took over. He leaped over the oncoming doppelganger, executing a tight inverted half-twist in midair.


    As he landed directly behind his foe, Peter snaked his bound arms around the attacker''s neck and locked his legs around the torso in a vice-like grip.


    The sudden grappling hold shifted the fight''s dynamic entirely. Leveraging his strength, Peter squeezed, attempting to choke the doppelganger into submission.


    The doppelganger thrashed violently, seeking to dislodge Peter. But he clung on with relentless determination, his survival instincts overcoming exhaustion and pain. The two grappled furiously. But where the doppelganger was driven by rage, Peter was fueled by grit and desperation. For now, it was enough to keep him locked on.


    Peter Parker''s arms burned with exertion. The imposter''s struggles grew weaker, its movements more sluggish, until finally, it went limp in Peter''s grasp. Warily, he loosened his grip, ready to react if it showed any signs of fight left.


    But the imposter remained still.


    Peter untangled himself with slow, pained movements, his body battered and beaten from the brawl. As he pulled away, the heavy silence that had descended on the room was shattered by a raw, anguished sob.


    His head jerked up. Gwen.


    Ignoring the screaming protests of his abused muscles, Peter limped urgently toward the living room. The sight that awaited made his heart clench. Gwen knelt on the floor, cuts and bruises marring her skin, cradling the lifeless body of her father. Captain Stacy had been impaled by a wood beam from the china cabinet when the imposter knocked him through it. His blood stained Gwen''s hands as she clutched him.


    Peter moved closer, grief and guilt settling heavily on his shoulders. He had failed. The captain was gone, leaving behind a yawning chasm of loss evidenced in Gwen''s wrenching sobs. Peter''s bound hands prevented him from reaching out to offer any comfort.


    There was nothing he could do.


    Captain Stacy was dead.


    And at that moment, standing uselessly nearby, Peter had never felt more powerless.


    The grief that permeated the room was palpable, a heavy weight that pressed down on them all. Gwen turned her tear-streaked face toward Peter, lips parting as if to speak when her eyes went wide with alarm. That subtle shift in her expression was the only warning before disaster struck.


    Without his spider-sense, and dulled by exhaustion, Peter reacted too slowly. The imposter behind him seized the opportunity and slammed a brutal blow against the back of Peter''s head. Stunned, Peter could do nothing as the false Spider-Man unleashed a barrage of punches directed at his face.


    The room had been filled with quiet mourning only moments before. Now there was only the sickening thud of flesh striking flesh as the imposter ruthlessly attacked. Then, silence descended, broken only by a chilling laugh from the fake hero.


    "I can''t believe you fell for that," the pretender jeered, his voice dripping with cruel mockery. "Playing dead has to be the oldest trick in the book." The arrogance and disdain in his words cut through the heavy silence.


    Peter lay unmoving, finally succumbing to the repeated blows. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth to pool on the floor. The imposter stood over him, fists still clenched, as Gwen looked on, helplessly horrified.


    The impostor Spider-Man stood over the unconscious Peter.


    "Who''s prettier now, Peter?" he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.


    "Think that''ll heal in time for graduation pictures?" His laughter was a chilling sound, underscoring his brutal actions, and the disdain in his words.


    "Oh, no more quips?"


    The imposter waited for a response, but when none came, he finished, "Didn''t think so."


    Across the room, Gwen Stacy observed the horrific scene unfolding before her in helpless horror. It was like a nightmare made real. But even as she watched, Gwen could feel her strength rapidly fading. The adrenaline that had sustained her through the initial shock was gone, leaving her alarmingly lightheaded.


    Glancing down, Gwen saw the crimson trail left in her wake as she had crawled across the glass-strewn floor of the living room. The realization of her dire situation came too late. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision. With a soft sigh, she slumped to the floor.


    Kaine surveyed the aftermath, gleeful, but his celebration of triumphing over Peter faded when he realized noone remained to join in. The still forms of Mr. Stacy and Peter lay where they had fallen. And Gwen...


    Kaine''s demeanor shifted as he took in Gwen''s condition.


    Her blonde hair fanned out, her body was limp and unmoving. She bled from multiple cuts, but one large laceration on her quadricep was the worst. The sight pierced through his frenzied haze in a stark realization.


    "Oh no. Gwen. What did they do to you?" he murmured. His voice was laced with sudden concern, contrasting his previous brutality. His mind scrambled for justification. "This was their fault," he said to himself. "If Peter hadn''t come, if your father wasn''t home, none of this would have happened." The twisted logic absolved him, or so he thought.


    Kaine approached Gwen''s prone form, movements now gentle, intentions shifted. Carefully lifting her, he whispered a promise, "Don''t worry Gwen, I''ll save you."


    In his mind, he had recast himself as the hero, willfully ignoring the grim truth that his actions had directly led to her peril. His mind spun as he tried to figure out what to do next. He was no doctor, and Dr. Warren was the only one he knew. However, Warren specialized in genetics, not medicine, and Kaine knew the scientist would likely lock him up forever if he brought Gwen back in this condition.


    Especially after what had happened with his last lab assistant.


    Leaving her on a hospital doorstep briefly crossed Kaine''s mind, but the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. It seemed too detached, impersonal, after everything that had transpired between them. As much as he hated to admit it, guilt was creeping in, cracking his facade. In his indecision, Kaine''s thoughts circled back to Peter Parker against his will. What would Peter do in this situation? Who would he turn to? The answer came grudgingly.


    Tyson.


    Parker''s friend had proven reliable in crises before. Swallowing his pride, Kaine realized Tyson was his best option to get Gwen the help she needed, even if it meant relying on someone he considered an adversary.


    Having made his difficult choice, Kaine held Gwen as gently and carried her to the nearest window. With the injured girl secure in his arms, he launched himself out into the night, web-slinging across the city toward downtown and Tyson''s apartment.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The last rays of the setting sun painted the evening sky in vibrant hues as Kaine arrived at the balcony of Tyson''s downtown apartment with the limp form of Gwen still cradled carefully in his arms. During their journey across the city, she had not stirred, and her continued unconsciousness added another layer of worry to Kaine''s already anxious state of mind.


    Finding the apartment dark, Kaine''s initial knock went unanswered. Growing frustrated and desperate, he pounded on the glass door until it shattered. The sound echoed through the silent interior.


    "That ought to get his attention," he muttered, unaware of the irony that his method of seeking help was tinged with the same aggression that had defined his earlier actions.


    Stepping into the dark apartment, Kaine''s eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of light. Making his way to the entryway, he found the switch and flicked it on.


    "Tyson?" he called out tentatively.


    Only silence greeted him.


    The apartment was empty.


    Tyson''s absence left Kaine frustrated, the person he had reluctantly pinned his hopes on was nowhere to be found. He paced the length of Tyson''s darkened apartment while Gwen lay unconscious in the center of the living room, near the entrance.


    "Why does Peter get it so easy?" Kaine burst out, his voice ragged with frustration. The empty room offered no reply but silence. He had hoped to enlist Tyson''s aid with Gwen, but the man was nowhere to be found. Kaine felt the bitter sting of abandonment. Once again, Peter seemed to have all the support and resources he could ask for, while Kaine was left to fend for himself.


    Kaine''s thoughts spiraled downward into resentment. Tyson''s absence was no accident. The man was conspiring against him, intent on stealing Gwen away.


    "I knew it," he growled under his breath. "He''s trying to take her from me." Rage boiled up inside Kaine, blinding hot.


    With a wordless cry, he lashed out, smashing his fist into the nearby terrarium.


    Glass exploded outward, shards skittering across the hardwood floor with a musical tinkling. Kaine''s chest heaved as he stared down at the wreckage, but the act of destruction did little to calm the storm inside him. He was adrift, lost in turbulent waters of anger, jealousy, and despair. Somewhere beneath it all lay concern for the unconscious girl at his feet. But as Kaine resumed his pacing, muttering to himself, his thoughts were consumed by the injustice of his plight.


    He had trusted Tyson, and counted on his aid in saving Gwen, only to find himself abandoned in his hour of need. Now she lay unconscious and helpless while Kaine faced impossible odds alone. He muttered angrily to himself, cursing Tyson''s name. That backstabbing coward had probably planned this betrayal from the start.


    He wanted to leave Kaine to fend for himself. So be it.


    But there would be a price to pay.


    "If Tyson refuses to help me save Gwen, then I''ll make him regret it," Kaine growled, his voice laced with cold determination. "I''ll take away everything he loves. His home, his possessions, everything."


    Kaine''s gaze fell upon the ruins of the glass terrarium.


    Even the empty fish tank must have meant something.


    He looked around realizing that this apartment meant a great deal to Tyson. He remembered having Thanksgiving dinner here when Tyson had gathered those closest to him.


    With vicious satisfaction, he set about destroying everything in sight, overturning furniture, tearing paintings from the walls, flinging glassware and valuables. The once pristine suite became a war zone, utterly demolished by Kaine''s unrestrained rage. His message was clear.


    Tyson had failed him, and now he would lose everything.


    When the suite lay in shambles, Kaine paused to admire his handiwork. Then his gaze fell upon Gwen''s motionless form, and sadness pierced his heart.


    "I tried to help," he whispered. "It''s their fault, not mine. I tried to be the hero."


    With a resigned sigh, Kaine turned and headed for the balcony. Without looking back, Kaine fired a webline and swung away into the night.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Waiters in crisp uniforms glided between tables, as Tyson and Natasha entered the restaurant inside the Four Seasons. After Stark''s afternoon ceremony, they settled on dessert. They were led to a secluded booth in a far corner of the dining room. The table was adorned with fine china and delicate glassware that caught the soft light. Their presence was marked only by the gentle clink of silverware and murmured conversation, the intimate setting gave a measure of privacy from the other patrons.


    After placing their order, and receiving their drinks, Natasha leaned in. "SHIELD has reactivated Project PEGASUS," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Barton was assigned as one of the guards." Tyson raised an eyebrow, at Natasha''s revelation.


    "PEGASUS had been shut down for years. Whatever they''ve got going on, it''s important enough to bring in Hawkeye as extra security," she continued. "This lines up with what you said was going to happen."


    Tyson lifted the wine glass, his thoughts turning inward as he swirled the ruby liquid pensively. A distant look clouded his mismatched eyes, betraying that his mind was parsing the implications of Natasha''s revelation.


    This was what had been weighing heavily on her mind.


    "You''re going to leave," he stated, his voice tinged with resigned certainty. It wasn''t a question. Tyson had already accepted the inevitable truth, knowing her thoughts after their earlier kiss.


    Natasha felt compelled to explain her decision, wanting to lay out her rationale. "You said that when things go down, I''m on a mission, undercover. Fury just offered me a mission to investigate stolen Stark Industries weapons in Russia. I don''t have to take it..." she trailed off, torn between her sense of duty and her desire to stay.


    Tyson interrupted softly, "But it tracks with my vision." His quiet statement acknowledged the connection between what he knew would happen and her new assignment, validating her inclination to accept it.


    His mind raced for alternatives, unwilling to let go so easily. His voice carried hope as he proposed, "The school year is almost over. I could come to Russia for the summer."


    But Natasha slowly shook her head, red curls bouncing in dissent. "That''s sweet, but you have too much to do here," she countered gently.


    Undeterred, Tyson persisted, "Felicia and her team can handle the acquisition of Trask Industries."


    Yet Natasha quickly pointed out the flaw in his plan. "Felicia already has her hands full running your other operations. Plus, there are Mirage''s shows that only you can put on."


    Tyson found no rebuttal to that, his role as Mirage was irreplaceable. "Will you go after Dreykov now that you know he''s alive?" he asked, "Or look for Yelena?"


    Natasha''s gaze dropped to the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. He leaned back in his seat, studying Natasha''s face. He could see the conflict brewing behind her emerald eyes, the struggle between duty and personal desires. The mention of Dreykov and Yelena seemed to stir something deep within her, a mix of emotions flickered across her face.


    "I could," she said slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Tyson''s. "But it would be years earlier than you said I do." Tyson nodded, understanding. Yet he could see the longing in Natasha''s eyes, the desire to right wrongs and reunite with her sister. Natasha took a sip of her wine, using the moment to gather her thoughts. "It''s not just about timing," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I go after Dreykov now, I might not be prepared. If she''s being controlled, like you mentioned, I don''t have a way to break that."


    Tyson listened intently, noting the subtle shifts in Natasha''s body language. Her shoulders tensed slightly, and her grip on the wine glass tightened.


    "There''s also the risk of changing too much," she continued. "If I act now, based on what you''ve told me, who knows how it might affect everything else? The future you''ve seen could be completely altered."


    Tyson nodded, acknowledging the validity of her concerns. He reached across the table, his hand covering hers in a gesture of support. "It''s your decision, Nat. Whatever you choose, I''ll back you up."


    Natasha''s lips curved into a small smile, grateful for his understanding. "I appreciate that," she said softly. "But I think... I think I need to let things play out as they''re meant to. At least for now."


    "Or I could come with you," he suggested, "Fair shot I could override the mind control on Yelena. Or at least mitigate it."


    Natasha considered his words, touched by his offer of support. Yet she slowly shook her head.


    "You need to stay here," she replied firmly, though not unkindly.


    Tyson searched her face, looking for any sign of doubt behind her stoic features. But Natasha''s mind was made up.


    "Alright," he conceded, though his tone betrayed his lingering concern. "But the offer stands if you change your mind. Just call me."


    Natasha''s lips quirked in a hint of a smile. She reached across the table, her hand covering his in a brief, meaningful squeeze.


    "I know," she said softly. "And thank you. But this is something I need to do on my own. I know I can fix this, but if you come, who knows what will happen."


    Tyson turned his hand beneath hers, the protection of his gloves allowed their fingers to intertwine. "I understand," he murmured. And though reluctant, he did understand her need to face this alone, and he couldn''t blame her.


    Natasha''s closing remark sealed the argument.


    "Besides, after graduation, you promised the girl on the phone that you''d hang out."


    Tyson''s frown deepened at the reminder. He had indeed promised Jubilee that they''d hang out post-graduation. Even though he''d invited her to Mirage''s debut show in April, and spent the day with her in Monaco, Jubilee''s excitement for their post-graduation plans was palpable even through the phone. Tyson knew he couldn''t disappoint her.


    He slumped back in his chair as the weight of resignation pressed down upon his shoulders. "What about us?" he asked.


    Her eyes, usually so guarded, flickered with vulnerability. "You know there isn''t another person who I feel for the way I do about you," she confessed, but she pressed on. "From my memories, you know how missions can go."


    Her gaze drifted away, lost in the ghosts of her past. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the weight of their unspoken fears.


    It was Natasha who finally broke the silence. Her voice carried a note of resolve as she stated, "There will be time to figure things out when everything is settled and we know we''re all safe." A hint of optimism threaded through her words. "No need to rock the boat so soon... Besides, if your vision holds, I''ll return in less than a year."


    "So, where are you taking the girl from the phone for your date? Some grand adventure?" Natasha asked. Her question carried a playful lilt as the aroma of their freshly arrived desserts enveloped the table.


    Tyson let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in resignation. He didn''t need to voice his thoughts aloud, his body language spoke volumes.


    Natasha reached out to grasp his large hand in her slender one, offering a reassuring squeeze. She leaned in, planting a brief, tender kiss on his cheek. The fleeting contact created a bridge, allowing Natasha''s emotions to flow into Tyson''s mind, enveloping him in a cascade of her thoughts and feelings.


    "It''s okay. Everything will be okay," she murmured. Her assurance wasn''t just empty platitudes. Tyson could sense the earnest conviction behind her words and see her stoic acceptance of their challenging reality within her memories.


    Natasha had mastered the art of compartmentalization, a necessary skill in espionage and covert ops. It was her way of coping, of preserving some small semblance of normalcy. And with her kiss, Tyson too could compartmentalize his feelings. He took a moment to gather his scattered thoughts before responding. Though difficult, he knew that going their separate ways was the best option for their futures.


    Shaking his head slightly, he finally answered her earlier question, traces of humor now tempering his voice. "You don''t have to refer to her as ''the girl on the phone''. You met her at the opening for House of M, remember?"


    "I know," Natasha replied, "but it''s nostalgic for me to tease you about her like this."


    Tyson''s eyes glinted with amusement as Natasha gently ribbed him about his mysterious phone companion when she was his teacher and spying on him.


    "She''s got this fascination with the underground rave scene lately," he explained, "Wants to check out one of those pop-up, word-of-mouth dance parties. The kind that doesn''t pay much attention to things like age limits if you know how to find them."


    Natasha said, "Ah, to be young and rebellious. I can practically hear the muted thuds leaking from some abandoned warehouse on the city''s outskirts."


    He rolled his eyes. "You''re sounding like my teacher again. Next, you''ll tell me stories about how back in your day¡­" Tyson joked before continuing, "I told her we could hit up any club in the city. I''d use my abilities to bypass the lines and slide right into the VIP section if that''s what she was after. I even told her we could meet Jay-Z at the 40/40 club." He shook his head. "But no, she has her heart set on this rave. Wanted to plan the whole night herself... almost like a date."


    He let out a small huff of laughter at the paradox. "It''s funny that you and my ex call it a date, but Jubilee? She refuses to put that label on it."


    Natasha took a thoughtful sip of her wine, contemplating his words. There was a probing note in her voice when she finally asked. "You don''t think she''s actually into you in that way?"


    "It''s not that simple," he clarified, "I''ve borrowed Jubilee''s powers before, so there''s no doubt she''s attracted to me. I felt it through her memories."


    He let out a small huff. "But there''s more to it. She''s outgoing, sure, but there''s a shyness buried in there too, a hesitation that holds her back... And then there''s her friendship with Illyana to consider. Maybe she''s trying to navigate that, to respect what the two of us once had."


    Natasha listened intently, focused on Tyson over the rim of her wine glass as she took a thoughtful sip. The crimson liquid left a faint stain on her full lips as she set the glass down with a soft clink against the table. There was a probing note in her voice when she finally responded.


    "Relationships, especially those just starting or rekindling from the past, can be complex," she said. "Perhaps Jubilee is being cautious, not just out of respect for your history with Illyana, but also due to the uncertainty of stepping into what might feel like uncharted emotional territory for her." Natasha leaned forward, her elbows resting on the white tablecloth. "It could be lingering respect for your past love, as you said, or even uncertainty about where she truly stands. Not just with you, but within the broader context of your mutual friends. Voicing how she feels aloud could alter your friendship in ways she might not be ready for."


    With a small shake of her head, red locks swaying gently across her shoulders, Natasha continued, "However, understanding her feelings through borrowed memories and navigating them in real life are two very different things. It''s one thing knowing how someone felt in the past or is feeling in the moment. Quite another to truly understand why they act the way they do."


    "Your power spoils you. The rest of us don''t have the luxury of knowing how everyone else thinks and feels with a single touch."


    "I know, I know," he sighed. "It''s just... With my abilities, I can read people so easily. Their thoughts and feelings all come through crystal clear with one touch."


    Natasha took another sip of wine before responding. "Perhaps instead of focusing on labels, you should concentrate on what you and Jubilee truly want from each other," she said plainly. "Direct, honest communication can cut through the most tangled webs." Setting her glass down, Natasha met his gaze. "Remember, the bravest thing in any relationship is to let your true feelings be known."


    "I had to practically drag a universal threat out of you just to get your real feelings into the open."


    Natasha regarded him frankly. "Maybe with Jubilee, you can step out from behind your abilities for a night. Just be Tyson. No powers, no expectations. And see where honesty takes you both."


    He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "How can you give such good relationship advice?"


    Natasha''s mouth quirked up. "What can I say? Years of training in the art of reading people." She lifted her glass in a mock toast.


    Tyson set his glass down, his large hand dwarfing the delicate stem. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders hunching slightly as he met her gaze.


    "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.


    Natasha''s expression softened. "Because I care about you, Tyson," she said, "And I want you to be happy, even when I''m not around."


    Her words struck him with unexpected force.


    He searched her face, noting the sincerity in her eyes and the slight tension in her jaw that betrayed her conflicted emotions. She continued, "You''re not the impulsive, unsure boy who robbed the Federal Reserve. But there is still so much ahead that will test your limits."


    "You showed me the future. You showed me my death."


    Tyson opened his mouth to protest, to remind her that they would fight to prevent her fate, but she pressed a finger to his lips, halting his words. In that brief contact, she shared flashes of her innermost thoughts; feelings of acceptance and resolve.


    "I know," she continued, dropping her hand. "But the truth remains. I may die. And if my life is the price to save countless others, I will pay it gladly. It''s my choice to make." Her jaw tensed with determination. "You said it''s the choice I did make. It''s the one I will make again if needed... And when that moment comes, you will let me make it."


    She emphasized, "You will let me go."


    Tyson shook his head, unwilling to accept that scenario, but no words escaped him.


    Natasha''s gaze hardened. "You will." She repeated.


    "Even if it''s you holding my arm as I hang over that cliff," she stated with finality. Then her features softened once more.


    "And if that day comes... I don''t want you to face the future alone."


    Tyson was in awe of her ability to challenge him while offering complete support. "Thank you for your honesty," he said finally, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. "And for believing in me. It means more than you know."


    "Don''t think I missed how you didn''t say, Yes, or Okay, there." Natasha pointed out, before her lips curved into a coy, almost playful smile as she stated matter-of-factly, "Of course I believe in you. And besides, I don''t know why you''re getting all emotional about this. I''m not even your girlfriend."


    Her teasing words and sly expression briefly lifted Tyson''s somber mood, drawing a chuckle from his throat. Her ability to read him and know exactly when he needed a bit of lightness never ceased to impress him. With just a few precisely chosen words, she had made whatever challenges awaited seem far away.


    As the waiter cleared the remnants of dessert from their table, Tyson asked with a hint of regret. "So, when do you leave?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable wistfulness in the question that he couldn''t conceal.


    "Tomorrow," she replied bluntly, the single word revealing the fleeting nature of their time together.


    Tyson looked at her intently, his mismatched eyes searching her face as he asked the obvious follow-up, "So tonight is your last night in New York?"


    Natasha''s gaze smoldered like emerald embers, conveying the promise of the night ahead. Her lips curled sensuously, hinting at the delights to come. She lifted her wine glass and finished the burgundy liquid in one motion. The resonant clink of empty glass meeting table punctuated the sultry exchange.


    "Yes," she purred, her voice low and throaty. "Do you want to spend it talking in this restaurant?"


    The invitation in her tone was unmistakable. Tyson needed no further persuasion. He left a generous gratuity on the tablecloth, not waiting for a check. Taking Natasha''s hand, he gently pulled her to her feet, unconcealed desire smoldering in his mismatched eyes.


    Her rich, melodic laughter filled the space between them as he led her to the elevator, exuding an intoxicating joy and thrill at the prospect of the night ahead. As the doors slid closed, the complexities of their lives faded into the background, and all that existed was the passion of the present moment.

 Arc 6 - Ch 3: Goodbye Spider

    Chapter 70


    Arc 6 - Ch 3: Goodbye Spider


    Date: Friday, June 10, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    As the elevator ascended to the top floor, the illusion of Tyson was entwined with Natasha. The illusion allowed him to experience moments of closeness and connection, albeit vicariously, through the sensory feedback. To them both it felt real, but Tyson couldn''t kiss Natasha like that, it''d kill her. Over the months he''d been in the city, his illusion power had become more proficient, stronger, and precise. Maybe it was because Jason Stryker had never worked to improve his power, but Tyson was better with it than Jason ever was. Rogue''s power, Tyson''s base power, was a different story.


    He hadn''t improved his control of the life-draining touch in the slightest.


    It was immensely frustrating.


    Tyson led the way to his suite. By now he was adept at dividing his attention between his tangible self and his illusory duplicates. Over time, Tyson had honed his abilities to such an extent that managing dual presences had become almost second nature. It wasn''t like being ambidextrous at this point, it was as effortless as clapping. During the Stark Expo, he''d pushed himself to his limits. He learned that a dozen people was the upper limit of what he could deeply influence; meaning sensing through their senses at a given time.


    The illusion, while providing a temporary escape from the constraints of his actual power, also served as a reminder of the barriers his ability erected between him and a normal life.


    Or, perhaps, it was better to say, that his ability required that he erect barriers around himself to experience a normal life.


    As they neared the entrance to his suite, Tyson resolved not to let his musings about his power dampen the evening ahead. This would be his last night with Natasha, and the woman was becoming an expert at ensuring they enjoyed themselves without making skin contact. Plenty of latex, but no skin.


    Tyson opened the door and froze. His broad shoulders blocked Natasha''s view of the scene of devastation within his suite. His projected self, the illusion he manifested, entangled with Natasha, mirrored his shock.


    "What the fuck," they said in a rare breach of Tyson''s normally asynchronous illusion.


    The suite looked like a tornado had hit it, but the damage held an unnatural deliberateness. Every piece of furniture, and every belonging, seemed to have been singled out and attacked with focused destruction, leaving only wreckage behind. Even the kitchen sink lay incongruously in the hallway, underscoring the bizarre destruction.


    Natasha, unable to see past Tyson''s broad back filling the doorway, heard his shocked outburst but not the cause. "What''s wrong?" she asked, confusion and concern evident.


    Tyson did not immediately reply. Cold fury rose within him, fury at this personal violation. His eyes narrowed, as did his pupils, forming into slits.


    Tyson muttered, "Intruders," in a low growl, alerting Natasha to the situation before allowing his primal instincts to take over and propel him into action. He dismissed his illusion. His claws extended with a sharp snikt as he launched into the suite with a powerful, feline leap.


    The torrent of adrenaline heightened his senses, granting him a moment of clarity as he soared into the apartment. His keen senses picked up on the presence of a figure crumpled near the entrance, and a familiar scent in the air.


    Gwen.


    Her scent; green apple, citrus, and mint, was tainted by the coppery tang of blood and Peter''s masculine musk, yet something was slightly off. Recognition tempered the aggressive impulse still pounding through him. The brief flicker of confusion was enough to rein in his feral fury. With an effort of will, Tyson retracted his adamantium claws.


    Searching the suite, Tyson''s honed instincts assured him no other threats remained. There was an absence of unfamiliar scents, guaranteeing they were alone. His attention snapped to the entryway where Gwen''s prone form lay in his living room.


    Natasha had crossed the threshold into the suite but, struggled to comprehend the extent of the devastation laid out before her. Her eyes swept across the chaotic wreckage, taking in the overturned furniture, shattered glass, and destroyed decorations. She moved closer and recognition dawned along with understanding. The prone body was a girl Natasha recognized in passing from her time at Midtown and her attendance at Tyson''s Thanksgiving. Blood matted the girl''s blonde hair, her limbs sprawled at awkward angles across the carpet. Natasha''s chest tightened, but she forced her voice to remain steady.


    "Is that..." she began.


    "Gwen Stacy," Tyson cut her off with a growl, his rumbling voice clipped and urgent. "Peter''s scent is present."


    Natasha absorbed this information with a slow nod. Tyson''s senses were far beyond human, if he scented Peter, then the boy had been here, tangled up in whatever had happened. But he was gone now, and only the aftermath remained. The immediate threat had passed, but Gwen needed help. Natasha''s gaze hardened with resolve.


    "Call 911," she instructed Tyson briskly. "I''ll do what I can for her."


    At her direction, Tyson completely reigned in his instincts and retrieved his phone. Natasha turned her attention to Gwen, checking her vitals and assessing her injuries with a practiced eye. The girl was unconscious but alive. Natasha heard Tyson leave the room, speaking rapidly to emergency services.


    Natasha took off Gwen''s belt, wrapping it around her thigh. She had a laceration on her leg that still oozed slowly. She pulled the belt tight, using it as a makeshift tourniquet.


    Her hands stilled over Gwen''s limp form as a sharp sting erupted on her thigh.


    Brow furrowing, she glanced down, expecting to see a gash marring her skin or a shard of glass protruding from her leg. But there was nothing.


    She brushed her fingers over the spot, probing for an unseen wound, but felt only a slight bump, no tacky wetness of blood or slice of pain. Perhaps a sliver of glass had pricked her when she knelt next to Gwen, and it had already dislodged when she shifted her weight.


    Tyson reached under the bathroom sink for the first aid kit when he heard Natasha''s sharp hiss. "Are you alright?" his call carried from the other room, heavy with concern.


    There was a pause, a moment too long before Natasha''s voice reached him. "I''m fine," Natasha called back, "It was just a prick." There was another pause before Natasha said, "Must have been a piece of glass I missed."


    Tyson answered some questions for the dispatcher as he returned to Natasha with the first aid kit. She refocused on Gwen and worked to stabilize the girl until help could arrive.


    Once Tyson finished his call to 911 he contacted the hotel concierge to inform them so that the emergency responders could be directed to his suite. He put his phone on speaker and followed Natasha''s instructions as they worked steadily on Gwen. He put on some gloves from the first aid kit, allowing him to assist in stabilizing her without risking touching her and draining her life.


    The EMTs swept in with the singular focus of emergency medical providers, swiftly taking over Gwen''s care from Natasha and Tyson. The transition was seamless despite the makeshift nature of the initial treatment. The EMTs transferred Gwen from the floor to a stretcher, hooking her up to IVs and monitoring equipment.


    Then a police officer arrived accompanied by a hotel security guard, the officer surveyed the disarray in the suite, eyes sharp and assessing. The police officer turned his attention to Tyson after ensuring Gwen was in the capable hands of the EMTs. He pulled out a small notebook and prepared to document Tyson''s account of the evening''s events.


    "Mr. Tyson," the officer began, his tone firm yet not unkind, "I understand this has been a distressing evening for you. I need to ask you a few questions to help piece together what happened here. Can you walk me through when you last saw your suite before this incident?"


    Tyson still reeled from the shock of the devastation and concern for Gwen. "I was here right after school, maybe around 3 pm but stayed only half an hour before leaving the hotel. I didn''t come back to my suite until just before we found... Gwen like this," he explained, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside. "Before that, I was in the hotel''s restaurant for dessert,


    The officer made note of this, then glanced around the wrecked suite. "Did you notice anything unusual when you entered? Any signs of forced entry, or was anything missing?"


    Tyson shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the chaos that had been his sanctuary. "No signs of forced entry that I could see. It''s hard to tell if anything''s missing with everything in this state."


    The officer hummed in acknowledgment, scribbling down Tyson''s responses. "Were you expecting Ms. Stacy or anyone else in your suite today? Do you know how she might have ended up here, or in this condition?"


    Tyson responded, "No. I wasn''t expecting Gwen or anyone else. I... I don''t know how she ended up here like this."


    The officer looked up from his notes, meeting Tyson''s gaze. "I understand this is difficult, Mr. Tyson, but any information you can provide could be crucial to our investigation. Do you know anyone who might have a motive to cause this destruction or harm Ms. Stacy?"


    Tyson''s mind raced as he considered who would want to hurt Gwen, and who could get her up here. Not Peter, though his scent all over the suite was still troubling. But that left Curt Connors and¡­ fuck.


    Norman Osborne.


    The police officer stood waiting patiently for Tyson''s answer. He couldn''t speak his thoughts, so he had to fabricate a reasonable response. "Gwen''s father is NYPD, a captain I think," he began, carefully considering his words. "They live out in Queens."


    The officer nodded, his expression unreadable as he closed his notebook. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Tyson. We''ll do everything we can to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, please stay available if we have further questions."


    As the officer left, Tyson felt a sense of unease. He watched as the EMTs maneuvered the stretcher holding an ashen Gwen toward the elevator. The doors slid closed, bearing Gwen away to lifesaving care. In their wake, the devastation of the scene felt more stark.


    Tyson moved toward the door, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere of his now crime-scene suite. Before he could cross the threshold, Natasha''s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. He looked at her in surprise, but she gestured wordlessly to the shattered remains of the terrarium.


    "Fuck," Tyson breathed out as the realization struck him.


    His spider was gone.


    And with it went one of his plans for gaining a new superpower without killing someone. And when he was so close. They were in the final phases of acquiring Trask Industries. He''d been planning to use their mutation-suppressing technology. Donning an inhibitor collar would have let him suppress his death touch long enough for the spider to bite and impart its gifts.


    But now that hope was lost. Connors still had Cindy Moon¡¯s blood sample at House of M, so all hope wasn¡¯t lost, but it was much more of a longshot now.


    Together they exited the devastation of the suite, the officers closed the doors behind them to preserve the crime scene.


    Tyson sank into one of the plush guest chairs in the lobby, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket.


    Natasha''s gaze flicked to the phone. "Who are you calling?"


    "Peter," Tyson replied, his fingers already dialing. "His scent was everywhere in the room. If anyone can explain what happened, it''s him." Then he paused, thumb hovering over the call button as another thought occurred. "Can you call Maria Hill? Find out if Norman Osborn is still locked up on the RAFT." Osborn was one of the few others Tyson could think of with both motive and means to orchestrate Gwen''s abduction.


    Natasha gave a curt nod, pulling out her phone to make the call. Around them the lobby buzzed with activity, hotel patrons coming and going, oblivious to the hidden drama unfolding in their midst.


    Tyson called Peter twice but received no answer. Peter''s failure to pick up added to the urgency and concern that had taken root in Tyson''s gut.


    Natasha reported, "Osborn''s confirmed in his cell." Her update confirmed one potential suspect was locked away and unable to orchestrate Gwen''s abduction.


    Tyson dialed another number as he tapped his foot impatiently. Felicia Hardy answered on the second ring. "Felicia," Tyson said without preamble, "I need you to check on Connors. Where is he right now?"


    Tyson could hear Felicia''s nails clacking over a keyboard. As head of the House of M, she had access to the entire system. However, that might change soon with Tony''s promised AI.


    Felicia replied, "Dr. Connors is showing as being in his lab all afternoon," she reported. Her confirmation did not explain the night''s events, but it did eliminate another possibility, allowing Tyson and Natasha to refocus their suspicions elsewhere.


    "Alright, thanks," Tyson said. "I''ll fill you in later." He disconnected and updated Natasha, "Connors is accounted for too."


    With each confirmed location and alibi, potential suspects were eliminated, slowly piecing together a clearer picture of the night''s events.


    Natasha asked, "What are you thinking?"


    Tyson sighed deeply before replying to Natasha''s question. He wasn''t sure what to think anymore.


    "Dr. Connors and Norman Osborn were my best guesses since they both knew Gwen Stacy," he said. "I hate to consider it, but Peter is looking more and more like the next suspect on the list."


    Tyson shook his head, dismissing the thought immediately. "But I know there''s no way he''d hurt Gwen. Maybe he had fought with someone in my place. Someone who didn''t have a distinct scent that I could detect..." Tyson''s voice trailed off.


    "But who could that be?" he wondered aloud. "Even the Asgardians, who are technically aliens, had scents."


    Tyson stopped, rubbing his chin in contemplation before the answer dawned on him. "The only other person who comes to mind is...Harry Osborn." Saying the name out loud cemented the suspicion in Tyson''s mind. "Fuck," Tyson muttered under his breath as realization dawned on him. "It might be Harry."


    Natasha''s brows furrowed in confusion as she asked, "Who''s Harry?"


    Tyson leaned forward in his chair, lowering his voice as he replied. "Harry Osborn. Norman Osborn''s son. He''s the new CEO at Oscorp now. He''d have access to all the stuff Norman was working on, including that glider I gave back to him during the Senate hearing." Tyson shook his head, continuing his explanation. "But it doesn''t fit perfectly. I didn''t smell Harry or the glider''s exhaust in the suite. And Norman favored those pumpkin bombs, which didn''t match the destruction."


    Natasha nodded slowly, absorbing this new information. "So he has the means and potentially a motive, but no physical evidence places him at the scene."


    "Exactly. Harry Osborn had just become their prime suspect." Tyson confirmed even though all of the puzzle pieces didn''t quite fit together yet in his mind. There were still too many unknowns.


    Tyson''s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID with a flicker of hope.


    Peter Parker (Home)


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Here we go, maybe some answers," he muttered, hitting the speaker button to allow Natasha to listen in.


    To his surprise, it wasn''t Peter''s voice that greeted him, but Aunt May''s. Her familiar, concerned tone immediately sent a ripple of apprehension through Tyson. He hadn''t heard her sound this worried since the night they lost Uncle Ben.


    "Tyson?" she asked, her voice taut with tension.


    Tyson''s heart sank, but he struggled to keep his voice steady. "Yes, Aunt May, it''s me."


    The relief in her voice was palpable as she replied, "Oh, thank goodness." Then she dropped a bombshell that sent Tyson''s thoughts careening. "I just got a call from the police."


    Why would the police contact Aunt May? Tyson hadn''t mentioned Peter during their earlier inquiry.


    Maintaining a calm facade, he asked, "What did they say?" But his attempt to sound casual did little to mask the growing tension and concern in his voice, for Peter''s well-being and the unfolding complex situation.


    Tyson listened with a furrowed brow as Aunt May''s distressed voice conveyed the gravity of the situation. He amplified and projected her voice using his illusion power so that Natasha alone could listen.


    "Oh, Tyson, it''s awful. Peter was with Gwen, at her house. Spider-Man attacked them. They found Peter, he was beaten and tied up in webbing. Gwen''s dad was killed, and Gwen is missing. Her mother is beside herself."


    As Aunt May relayed the harrowing events, Tyson and Natasha exchanged looks of disbelief and confusion. The mention of Spider-Man attacking Peter, when Peter was Spider-Man unbeknownst to her, the tragic loss of Gwen''s father, and Gwen''s sudden disappearance followed by her perplexing appearance at his suite painted a picture that neither of them could reconcile with their understanding of the convoluted situation.


    Tyson asked, "Where is Peter now?" still trying to process the shocking news.


    "In the hospital, of course," Aunt May responded, worried but relieved that Peter was at least receiving medical care.


    Without hesitation, Tyson replied, "Tell Mrs. Stacy that Gwen is hurt, but she''ll be okay, she''s on her way to the hospital. And I''m coming too. I''ll see you soon." His decision was immediate, driven by loyalty to Peter and the urgent need to piece together the events that had occurred that afternoon.


    Tyson and Natasha stepped into the bustling hospital, the air was thick with tension and the sharp scent of antiseptic. Nurses rushed past, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor as they navigated between worried families and stern-faced doctors.


    Tyson''s enhanced senses picked up the faint beeping of heart monitors. "We need to find out if they took a blood sample from Peter. If they did, I need you to get it."


    "You''re worried about his identity being compromised." she guessed.


    Tyson nodded, his jaw clenched. "If they run tests, they might find something... unusual. We can''t risk that."


    Without another word, Natasha slipped away, disappearing around a corner. Tyson watched her go, marveling at her ability to blend seamlessly with her surroundings. Even in this chaotic environment, she moved unnoticed and unremarkable.


    He went to the nurse''s station. "I''m looking for Peter Parker''s room," he said.


    "Visiting hours ended at 9 pm." The nurse said, glanced up. When her tired eyes met Tyson''s mismatched ones, they softened. She tapped at her computer before responding, "Room 307, just down the hall to your left."


    Tyson thanked her and then he heard a commotion coming from that direction. He set off, his long strides eating up the distance quickly. The hospital room was in chaos when Tyson arrived. The sight that greeted him made his heart clench.


    Peter had awoken in a panic, frantically trying to leave his bed to search for Gwen despite his injuries. The medical staff struggled in vain to restrain him.


    Tyson conjured a brilliant flash of light, enveloping the room in a sudden, disorienting flare.


    "Relax, Pete. Gwen is fine," he said, imbuing the statement with a weight of assurance backed by his illusion. Still blinking against the lingering effects of the flash, Peter recognized the familiar voice.


    "Tyson?" he asked uncertainly, relief mixing with confusion.


    "Yeah man, it''s me," Tyson confirmed. He dispelled the lingering disorientation, restoring clarity to Peter''s vision. With the immediate crisis averted, the medical team gradually dispersed, once they recognized Peter''s newly calmed state and with some gentle nudging from Tyson''s power. They left the room. In their wake, a heavy silence settled over the pair, punctuated only by the steady beep and hum of monitoring equipment.


    Tyson surveyed his friend, taking in the extent of Peter''s injuries with a critical eye. The bruises and abrasions painted a vivid picture of violence across Peter''s swollen features. His face was a mottled canvas of bruises and cuts. His right eye was swollen shut, and his lip was split and puffy. It was clear he had endured a severe beating at the hands of his mysterious attacker.


    With the staff gone, Tyson leaned in, urgency and concern etched into his expression. "What happened?" he pressed, eager to unravel the events that had battered his friend so extensively and left Gwen in a similar state in his apartment.


    Peter recounted the clash as steadily as he could, though the strain of the trauma threaded his voice. He detailed the altercation with the imposter Spider-Man, holding nothing back. Tyson listened intently. His features tightened into a frown as the harrowing account unfolded. The gravity of the situation deepened with each word.


    As Peter concluded, Tyson aimed to identify this formidable foe. "Was his suit black?" he inquired pointedly.


    Peter dismissed the notion with a shake of his head. "No, it was mostly red like mine."


    Tyson grew more specific in his questioning, hoping to narrow the possibilities.


    "So it wasn''t moving or changing shape and size? No tendrils streaming off of it?" He asked, hinting at symbiote traits.


    Peter''s confusion at the line of inquiry was evident. "No..."


    Tyson let out a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a Venom or Carnage situation.


    Tyson''s questions became more specific as he struggled to unravel the puzzle laid out before him. "Did he have six arms?" he asked. Tyson remembered seeing a picture of a Spider-Man doppelganger, once on the internet, that had six arms.


    "Uhh, no," Peter replied, clearly having difficulty keeping pace with Tyson''s rapidly shifting questions.


    With each answer, Tyson found himself even more perplexed. The identity of the assailant continued to elude him. Who could have possessed the strength and agility comparable to Peter''s while knowing their personal lives? This individual had orchestrated an assault that left Peter gravely injured and had utilized Tyson''s apartment as a stage for Gwen''s injuries, suggesting a deeply personal vendetta. The absence of any telling characteristics like additional limbs or a symbiote suit only compounded the mystery, leaving Tyson to contemplate the unsettling list of potential suspects who could have both the capability and motive to execute such a calculated attack.


    Tyson''s solemnly asked, "Do you trust me?"


    His tone was grave, indicating to Peter that he was about to reveal something significant.


    "Of course," Peter immediately responded.


    Tyson shifted uneasily, the weight of his next words pressing heavily on him. He locked eyes with Peter, ensuring he had his full attention. "Peter, there''s something about my abilities I haven''t shared with you," he began, "My power isn''t just about creating illusions. When I make direct skin contact I can temporarily absorb other''s powers and memories. It''s a part of why I''m always covered up... to avoid accidental contact."


    Peter''s eyes widened in surprise, but he remained silent, allowing Tyson to continue. "It''s a double-edged sword, though," Tyson admitted, "It can be lethal if the contact is prolonged. That''s why I''ve never risked touching you or anyone else unless necessary."


    Peter absorbed the implications of Tyson''s words. Tyson pressed on, the urgency of their situation lending a tremor to his voice. "I''m offering to use this ability to access your memories from the attack. It might give us a clue about who''s behind this. But I need to be clear. It will give me access to everything, not just the memories of the attack. Your memories and entire life''s worth of experiences and your powers. It''ll only be for a minute, but I wanted you to know."


    Peter remained silent as the magnitude of Tyson''s request sank in. The trust Tyson was asking for was monumental, yet the desperation of their circumstances left them with few options. Finally, Peter spoke, "Tyson, if you think this can help find whoever did this... do it. I trust you."


    Tyson raised his hand to hover in the space between them. "All it takes is a high five, then," he said, the ghost of his usual humor peeking through despite the gravity of their situation.


    Tyson''s hand hovered between them. Peter stared at it for a long moment. This was no small thing Tyson asked of him. To willingly allow another person access to his innermost memories, his powers required complete trust, the kind that left one vulnerable and exposed. But Peter knew the necessity of their situation. If Tyson''s ability could shed any light on who was behind the attack, it was a risk worth taking.


    Steeling himself, Peter slapped Tyson''s hand in affirmation. He tensed, unsure what to expect.


    Tyson used his illusions to mask the life-draining effects of his touch. Still, the brief contact reverberated through Tyson''s mind and body with the force of a shockwave. He saw flashes of Peter''s life. It was over in a moment that felt like a lifetime.


    His early childhood was marked by tragedy when his parents, were killed. At six years old, he was orphaned and taken in by his loving aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. Growing up in Forest Hills, Queens, he was a quiet, introspective child. He buried himself in books and science, finding solace in the world of knowledge. His intelligence set him apart while making him a target for bullies. Despite the challenges, he was always at the top of his class, particularly in science.


    High school at Midtown High was a mix of academic triumphs and social struggles. He was labeled a "nerd" and often felt like an outsider. This deepened his friendship with Harry Osborn, Harry wasn''t as academically inclined as Peter, but their shared experiences as outsiders brought them together.


    He harbored a crush on Mary Jane Watson for years, but always felt too shy and awkward to act on his feelings. Everything changed during that fateful field trip. He was taking a photo of MJ when a spider bit him on the hand. His new friend, Tyson helped him home, but that night, he fell ill. When he awoke, Peter discovered he had undergone a startling transformation. His vision had improved. His body had become more muscular and toned. Most shockingly, he later found he could stick to walls and had developed an uncanny "spider-sense" that warned him of danger.


    Excited by his new abilities, he initially saw them as a way to make money and gain popularity. He designed a costume, adopting the moniker "Spider-Man" to compete in an amateur wrestling match. His newfound success went to his head, and he became careless. This carelessness led to the most defining moment of his life. When a thief ran past him, he didn''t bother to stop him, thinking it wasn''t his problem. That same thief later murdered his Uncle Ben. Consumed by guilt and grief, he realized that with great power comes great responsibility. He vowed to use his abilities to protect the innocent and fight crime as Spider-Man.


    Balancing his new life as a superhero, academic pursuits, plus his relationship with Gwen Stacy, all while keeping his secret identity proved challenging.


    His first major villains as Spider-Man came in the form of the Green Goblin, Kraven the Hunter, and the Lizard. But along the way he gained an ally in Tyson, Mirage, and his girlfriend Gwen who he revealed his identity to.


    Despite the hardships, he wouldn''t trade his life for anything. Because being Spider-Man wasn''t just a responsibility, it was who he was.


    Tyson''s eyes had closed during the fleeting moment of contact. He took a moment to parse Peter''s memories of the fight at Gwen''s. His initial look of concentration slowly gave way to clarity.


    Peter tentatively asked, "Did it work?"


    In response, Tyson extended his arm toward the far corner of the hospital room with his middle and ring fingers bent. To Peter''s amazement, a small web line shot forth, crafting an unobtrusive spiderweb against the ceiling in the corner.


    Peter''s concern quickly resurfaced. "Do you know who did this?" he asked intently, desperately hoping for a breakthrough.


    The hint of a smile faded from Tyson''s face as he replied, "Not yet. But your memories helped rule out a lot of potential suspects."


    Tyson stood, his movements slow and thoughtful. Turning to Peter, he gently reassured, "Rest up, Pete. Gwen''s safe. She''s resting too." His words were meant to provide some small measure of comfort.


    "I''ll look into this," Tyson continued, "If I figure out who was behind the attack, I''ll let you know. And I''ll help you take them down, whatever it takes."


    He headed to the hospital lounge and leaned back into one of the overstuffed chairs. Tyson tapped the back of his head against the wall behind him gently, in thought, making a dull thunk each time it made contact. He was contemplating the revelations from his glimpse into Peter''s memories.


    Natasha joined him. He looked over, noticing she wore a loose-fitting sweatsuit instead of her dress, which had been stained with blood and torn from the glass around his apartment. She slid the vial of Peter''s blood to him, which he quickly pocketed. After a respectful silence, she gently prompted, "Walk me through it?" inviting him to unburden himself by sharing his insights.


    Without a word, Tyson engaged his illusionary abilities around them to ensure their conversation remained private. The subtle manipulation of their surroundings was second nature to him now, an almost reflexive precaution.


    "It was a Spider-Man who attacked them. And I don''t say that lightly. I thought it could just be an imposter. Maybe someone who''d taken the goblin formula or a mutant with agility and strength had decided to hit Spider-Man where it hurt while wearing the costume." He paused, letting the implication of his conclusion sink in. "But this guy shot webs too. It wasn''t just scene dressing to frame Spider-Man, he used the webs in combat."


    "Okay, so who does that leave?" Natasha asked, ready to help piece together the puzzle. Her questions aided in focusing Tyson''s thoughts.


    "As far as I know, we have four potential situations," he began.


    "Firstly, it could be someone else was bitten by the same spider as Peter. That seems the least far-fetched option. There were plenty of other students from Midtown there that day. Someone might have been bitten before I arrived. Other students would know both me and Peter."


    "As for who might have the motivation to target us," Tyson concluded, "Flash Thompson ranks high on my list of suspects. But it doesn''t match up. If Flash had been bitten at the same time as Peter, he would''ve shown signs while we were at Midtown, there was the basketball game and the fight, and he seemed normal then."


    "Damn," Natasha muttered under her breath. She remembered Flash Thompson from being undercover as a student-teacher at Midtown High. Tyson was right that Flash would have the motive to go after Peter and himself. After a thoughtful pause, she prompted, "Ok so not Flash, someone who flew below the radar. What''s the second possibility?"


    Tyson continued trying to piece together the puzzle before them. "The second scenario is someone mimicked Peter''s powers." he said, "Peter''s webbing could be made with enough chemistry knowledge, and a web-shooter could be created. This opens up a broader range of potential suspects, but then reduces it, considering the combination of technological prowess, physical strength, and agility needed to simulate Spider-Man''s abilities."


    "Or a straight-up power duplicator," Tyson added, expanding on the notion of a mimic. "But those are rare enough that I can''t think of others besides myself."


    Tyson''s voice took on a grave tone. "The third possibility is that someone managed to clone Peter. There''s only one person I can think of who could do so, and I seriously hope I''m wrong."


    "Who?" Natasha asked, pressing for the identity of this individual.


    Reluctant to even utter the name, Tyson resorted to his abilities, creating an illusionary duplicate that announced the name he hesitated to speak.


    "Nathaniel Essex, otherwise known as Mr. Sinister."


    Using an illusion to convey this information underscored Tyson''s reluctance. Natasha connected the dots, pinning the name to Essex Corp. She asked in follow-up, "He''s that bad?" trying to gauge the level of threat he posed.


    "He''s on the short list of people I hope to avoid fighting," he admitted, revealing the depth of his concern regarding the potential involvement of Mr. Sinister. Natasha knew Tyson was accustomed to danger. He hadn''t hesitated to fight the Abomination. He claimed to have fought a Norse god. The fact that he wanted to avoid Essex highlighted how dangerous this¡­ Mr. Sinister must be.


    "And what''s the last scenario, dare I ask?" Natasha ventured.


    Tyson exhaled heavily, his rugged features betraying the complexity of the final theory taking shape in his mind. "Even more of a headache... dimensional or time shenanigans," he began slowly, "We could be dealing with a Spider-Man from an alternate universe, or an alternate timeline. Maybe a Peter Parker that went bad, or where Flash Thompson got bit instead of Peter, or maybe a future Peter or a descendant of Peter who came back in time." Natasha reacted with stunned silence, her eyes blinking rapidly as she struggled to process the scope of Tyson''s suggestion. The notion of alternate realities and time travel introduced a dizzying level of unpredictability and complexity that was difficult to grasp. Sensing Natasha''s skepticism, Tyson pressed, "I know it sounds far-fetched, but remember how I told you about your future. Time travel is possible..." His voice trailed off meaningfully, willing her to consider the full range of improbable possibilities they now faced.


    The future he spoke of seemed so far away, yet the danger they faced was anything but.


    Natasha cocked her head, red curls spilling over her shoulder as she considered their situation from a new angle. "Let''s step back for a moment since we''re getting abstract about this," she proposed. Tyson nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "You believe the universe pushes back the more you change things, right?" she pressed on. "So Peter and Gwen getting attacked by some faker wasn''t part of your vision. So what did you change to make all this happen?"


    Tyson frowned, brows knitting together in consternation. Natasha''s reasoning forced him into deep introspection as he mentally sifted through the myriad actions and decisions he had made that could have inadvertently set this deadly chain of events into motion. The silence between them stretched as Tyson wrestled with the implications of her suggestion. Then a moment of stark realization dawned on his features. He let out a heavy exhale, laden with the weight of acknowledgment.


    "Fuck. It''s probably my fault," he conceded quietly.


    As Tyson explained further, his voice took on a tone of regret. "Curt Connors. I stopped him before he could unleash his plan on the city." He paused, shaking his head before continuing. "Connors was supposed to try infecting everyone with that damned lizard serum. Spider-Man would''ve had to stop him, but not before..." His voice trailed off meaningfully.


    Natasha''s emerald eyes narrowed with understanding. "Before Peter got hurt trying to stop him," she finished for him. "And Gwen''s father was supposed to die too."


    "You think this is just blowback?" she continued, her tone gentle yet probing. "The universe''s way of correcting itself? Making sure he still dies, even if Connors doesn''t unleash the serum?"


    Tyson''s response was heavy with resignation. "Yeah. It makes sense. The results are mostly the same."


    Natasha nodded slowly, piecing together the implications. "So you took Connors off the board..."


    "And now some new piece got added to replace him," Tyson finished with a muttered agreement. "Sure seems like it."


    Natasha''s observation highlighted the unpredictable nature of his actions'' consequences; removing one threat could inadvertently give rise to another.


    Tyson''s senses picked up on the subtle changes in Natasha''s demeanor as they sat in pensive silence. A thin sheen glistened on her brow, and her fair skin had taken a pale pallor that drew his attentive eye.


    "You okay?" he asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.


    Natasha brushed aside his worry with a flippant jest. "Yeah, I''m just tired. I was hoping someone would''ve put me to bed by now," she quipped, her suggestive undertone temporarily lightening the somber mood that had settled over their weighty conversation.


    "You should stay with Peter. I think I''ll head over to the RAFT to get some rest," she said. "Do you need a place to stay since your room''s a crime scene and got trashed?"


    "Nah, I''ve got spare rooms back at the House of M," Tyson replied, waving off her offer. "I did promise him at the Expo that I''d explain why I have a metal skeleton. I suppose now is as good a time as any."


    Natasha raised a black-gloved hand to her lips before placing it gently upon Tyson''s own, the heartwarming gesture was laden with unspoken emotions.


    "I''ll see you in a few months. Be safe," she said, promising their eventual reunion.


    "You too," Tyson echoed softly.


    As the Black Widow walked away, Tyson was left with the lingering warmth of her farewell upon his lips and the stark reminder of the nature of their relationship.


    Her retreating figure was a familiar sight. It echoed the cycle of brief encounters and partings that had defined their lives.

 Arc 6 - Ch 4: Interview

    Chapter 71


    Arc 6 - Ch 4: Interview


    Date: Monday, June 13, 2011.


    Location: Warren''s Lab, Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, New York


    Harry Osborne stepped into the secret lab of Dr. Miles Warren, located in an inconspicuous building in Brooklyn. Dr. Warren greeted Harry with a measured smile, "There''s someone I want you to see, and perhaps meet if you''re interested," he said, gesturing towards a one-way mirror.


    Harry peered into the room, his gaze falling upon a young man, seemingly close to his age. The room was spartanly furnished, with a single bed and a small desk.


    "What am I looking at?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity.


    Dr. Warren cleared his throat. "This is my prototype creation. His name is Kaine. He is imperfect, scarred, and mentally troubled."


    Harry nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Okay."


    Dr. Warren led Harry down the hall to another room, where a pretty young woman sat, at a table working studiously. "This was my second attempt," Dr. Warren explained with a hint of pride in his voice. "She''s perfect in almost every way. Due to issues in my first cloning attempt, I adjusted the sample chromosomes, so here we have a female clone instead of a male."


    Harry studied the young woman through the glass, his mind racing to keep up with Warren''s progress.


    Dr. Warren continued, "I released them for an afternoon to see how they responded to being in the world with a little freedom."


    Harry''s head snapped towards Dr. Warren, his eyes widening. "Miles, I thought I told you to keep me in the loop," he interrupted, his tone sharp.


    Dr. Warren''s face fell, and he stammered an apology. "I''m sorry, Mr. Osborne. I didn''t think two teenagers could get into much trouble in a single afternoon."


    Harry sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "You know nothing about teenagers," he muttered. "So, what did they do?"


    Dr. Warren shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there''s something else. These are the clones I made using the sample of Spider-Man''s DNA that you gave me."


    Harry''s displeasure was evident, his jaw clenching as he processed the information. Dr. Warren hastily explained, "The girl, she calls herself Jessica. She registered for classes at Empire State University in the fall. By her accounts, nothing remarkable happened."


    "And the mentally unstable young man?" Harry prompted, his voice low and dangerous.


    Dr. Warren looked nervous, his hands fidgeting with the tablet he held. "That is where the problem lies, sir," he admitted. He pulled up a news clip on the tablet, the image of J. Jonah Jameson appearing on the screen.


    "I''m aware of Captain Stacy''s death," Harry said tersely, recognizing the clip. He prompted the doctor to continue.


    Dr. Warren''s nervous energy was evident in his fidgeting hands and averted eyes. "Kaine came back extremely distraught after the incident. He claimed that unnamed others had forced him into the heinous act. After calming the unstable young man, I learned the full truth." Warren paused before admitting, "Kaine killed Captain Stacy and injured his daughter Gwen and another student, all while disguised as Spider-Man."


    Harry''s eyes widened fractionally in surprise. "Let me make sure I understand this correctly," he said slowly, his voice measured despite the dangerous glint in his eyes. "The clone you made of Spider-Man. Dressed up as Spider-Man, then he framed Spider-Man for the murder of a police captain?"


    Dr. Warren nodded sadly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.


    Harry fought to hide the grin that threatened to spread across his face. The wheels in his mind turned, calculating the potential implications of this development. He schooled his features into a mask of concern, while internally, a sense of dark satisfaction began to take root. His ambition and desire for revenge against Spider-Man fueled his thoughts. Dr. Warren awaited Harry''s reaction, believing his future hung in the balance. Meanwhile, Harry was realizing the true potential of Dr. Warren''s creations. The imperfect clone, Kaine, was a powerful weapon against his nemesis.


    He turned to Dr. Warren, "Miles," he said, "I believe we have much to discuss. Your work has opened up a world of possibilities, and I intend to seize every opportunity that presents itself. But first I want to speak with them."


    Dr. Warren nodded, relief etched on his face.


    Harry knocked on the door, his knuckles rapping against the smooth surface. He entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the young man who focused on him with an intense gaze.


    "Harry?" Kaine asked, his voice laced with surprise.


    Taken aback, Harry replied, "You know me?"


    Kaine began mumbling, his words tumbling out in a disjointed stream. "Of course, you wouldn''t recognize me, wouldn''t know me. No one does."


    Harry''s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Kaine''s ramblings. "I know your name is Kaine," he said, hoping to ease the tension in the room.


    Kaine was about to launch into a tirade, his frustration bubbling to the surface, but then he remembered something crucial. Harry was in charge of Oscorp. Dr. Warren must work for him. If he could get in Harry''s good graces, perhaps Harry could help him. Maybe Harry would be different from the others, Peter and Tyson. Maybe Harry would be able to do what they couldn''t.


    Taking a deep breath, Kaine changed his demeanor. "I''m sorry if I''ve caused you trouble, Mr. Osborne," he said, his tone now pleasant and apologetic.


    Harry recognized the shift in Kaine''s behavior. Dr. Warren had warned him about Kaine''s ability to act appropriately when he wanted something. Warren explained how Kaine had acted ''normal'' to try to get released, and once he did, that''s when he went after Captain Stacy dressed as Spider-Man.


    Deciding to play along, Harry responded, "No trouble at all. I wanted to meet you and see if there was anything I could do for you."


    "Oh, thank you. You''re the first one who''s treated me with any kind of decency," Kaine said, his voice filled with faux gratitude.


    Harry nodded already working out how to turn this to his advantage. "What do you need, pal?" he asked trying to take on a friendly and accommodating tone.


    Kaine''s expression turned pained. "Something to make the pain stop. I''m always in pain," he confessed, his voice strained.


    Harry''s eyebrows raised in surprise. It was the first thing that Kaine had said that seemed genuine. "Dr. Warren hasn''t given you anything?"


    Kaine shook his head. "Over-the-counter stuff isn''t enough. I''m still in pain all the time," he explained pleadingly.


    Harry considered the request, his mind already formulating a plan. "Alright, I''ll make sure you get something strong enough to take the edge off what you''re feeling. I''ll take care of it as soon as I leave here, making it my top priority, but I might need a little time to figure out what works for you," he assured Kaine, who nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features.


    "That''s fine. I''ve waited this long, a little more time isn''t a problem," he said, his voice filled with gratitude.


    "Can I ask you about what happened when you went out?" Harry asked, keeping his tone casual and non-judgmental.


    Kaine''s expression turned faux apologetic. "I''m sorry," he said, his voice was filled with regret, but it rang hollow.


    Harry quickly reassured him. "I''m not here to chastise you. I''m just curious."


    "Jessica said she was going to register for school, so I thought I''d visit the school. So I went to Midtown High," Kaine explained hesitantly.


    "Why did you choose Midtown High?" Harry prompted, his mind already connecting the dots.


    Kaine answered, "Because that''s where we went to school."


    Harry''s breath hitched. Kaine had the memories of the blood sample he was cloned from. He had all the memories of Spider-Man, and Spider-Man had gone to Midtown High. This was Harry''s chance to figure out the vigilante''s identity.


    Probing further, he asked, "Okay, so you went to Midtown High. Then what happened?"


    Kaine''s face contorted with anger. "I saw him, trying to steal our girl," he snarled.


    Harry leaned forward, his curiosity intensifying. "Who?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.


    "Tyson!" Kaine exclaimed, his voice filled with rage and jealousy.


    Harry considered Kaine''s words carefully. Tyson was dating Felicia Hardy as far as he knew. So Kaine, or rather Spider-Man, had been someone who dated Felicia. But try as he might, Harry couldn''t remember Felicia dating anyone from school recently besides maybe Tyson, but he was too big to be Spider-Man.


    "So your girl was Felicia?" Harry asked, seeking clarification.


    Kaine''s face screwed up in confusion. "Felicia? No. Tyson already has his hooks in Felicia. But he''s insatiable. I saw him making a move toward Gwen," he explained, his voice filled with bitterness.


    Now it was Harry''s turn to be confused. "Gwen? Gwen Stacy?" he asked, his mind spinning with the new information.


    Kaine nodded enthusiastically, saying, "That''s why I had to go see her. Had to make sure Tyson didn''t get to her."


    The pieces were falling into place for Harry. He asked, "So that''s why you went to her house?"


    Kaine confirmed, "Yes. And everything was going so well until Peter showed up. Then her father shot at me, so I hurt him. Peter made me. And I hurt Gwen too... But it was Peter''s fault. So I hurt him. Then I brought Gwen to Tyson because I thought Tyson could help."


    Harry''s mind reeled from Kaine''s word vomit. The information hardly made sense, but he tried to piece it together. "Slow down, buddy. It''s okay," Harry said, his voice calm and reassuring. "So Peter showed up. Why was that a problem?"


    Kaine said, "Because I was dressed as Spider-Man."


    Harry nodded, "Yeah, I understand, but why was that a problem."


    Kaine''s answer was simple, accompanied by a wicked smile. "Because Peter is Spider-Man."


    Harry froze, his world tilting on its axis. It couldn''t be. Peter Parker, his best friend since they were children... was Spider-Man? Peter had been the one who captured his father, along with Mirage, and both had been present for the disaster at the Stark Expo.


    Shaking his head, Harry tried to process the revelation. "Okay, so Peter is Spider-Man. Now I understand. But I don''t get one thing. If you thought Tyson was trying to steal Gwen, why bring her to his place?" he asked, trying to make sense of it all.


    Kaine explained hurriedly, "Because Tyson has always been there for Peter. I thought he could help me. But he wasn''t there, he didn''t help. He must have been trying to set me up, he wanted to see Gwen hurt... so she''d turn to him, or something."


    Harry pressed further, still not fully understanding Kaine''s logic. "I get that he might be reliable, but why not bring Gwen to the hospital?"


    Kaine''s answer was resolute. "I brought her to Tyson because Tyson should''ve been able to help her best. He''s a hero, after all."


    For the second time in as many minutes, Harry froze. Tyson, a hero? Who... He thought of his wild hair, large frame, and his brown skin... Mirage. It was so obvious, how had he missed it? Tyson was Mirage. Peter and Tyson had worked together to put his father in jail. A mix of emotions swirled within Harry; betrayal, anger, confusion. But he couldn''t let them show here. He needed to keep up the fa?ade, to maintain the illusion of being Kaine''s ally.


    Harry turned to Kaine and pulled him into a tight hug. "Don''t worry, buddy. Everything is going to be okay. I''m going to take care of you," he promised, his voice filled with a sincerity he didn''t truly feel.


    Kaine hugged Harry back, his voice filled with relief and gratitude. "At least I have one friend," he said, his words muffled against Harry''s shoulder.


    As they embraced, Harry''s mind spun with the implications of Kaine''s revelations. Peter Parker, his childhood friend, was Spider-Man. Tyson was Mirage. The two heroes who had played a role in his father''s downfall were the same people he had once considered his friends. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that festered with each passing moment. But Harry knew he had to keep his emotions in check, to play the role of the caring and understanding friend. He needed Kaine on his side, needed the clone''s trust and loyalty.


    As he held Kaine, Harry was already formulating a plan. He would use Kaine to exact his revenge against Peter and Tyson. He would make them pay for their betrayal, for the pain they had caused him and his family. But first, he needed to gain Kaine''s complete trust. He needed to show him that he was different from the others, that he was the only one who truly understood him and the only one he could trust.


    "I''m here for you, Kaine. I''ll make sure you get the help you need, the pain relief you deserve. And together, we''ll figure out a way to make things right," Harry promised, his words dripping with false sincerity.


    "Thank you, Harry. Thank you for being my friend," he whispered.


    Harry smiled, "Of course," he said, his words like honey laced with poison.


    He had been given a gift, a weapon in the form of Kaine, and he would use it to its fullest potential. The truth about Peter and Tyson had shattered Harry''s world, but it had also given him a new purpose, a burning desire for revenge. With Kaine, he would make them pay for their betrayal.


    After finishing reassuring Kaine, Harry left his room. The young CEO made his way back to Dr. Warren.


    "So, what about the girl? Is she special?" Harry asked.


    Dr. Warren''s chest swelled with pride as he replied, "She''s a perfect cloned specimen. Physically and intellectually she is in the upper percentile for young women her age."


    Harry raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "That''s it? Nothing special as far as abilities, no superpowers?"


    Dr. Warren shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "Not that she''s exhibited. Maybe it''s a side effect of the chromosome changes I made. Or something else, but she didn''t seem to gain Spider-Man''s powers."


    "And her memories?" he asked, trying to calculate where she fit into his next moves.


    "Somewhat," Dr. Warren replied, "She retained knowledge, but not memories. She''s intelligent, exceptionally so."


    A flicker of recognition crossed Harry''s face. She was smart like Peter, but nothing else. The pieces of the puzzle and the plan slowly fell into place.


    "So, something in the process wiped out her powers and memories, but left everything else intact and perfect," Harry mused. Dr. Warren nodded, his frustration evident. Harry leaned forward, fixing Dr. Warren with a piercing stare. "And you think that you''ve perfected the process?"


    Dr. Warren straightened his posture, his voice filled with confidence. "I do. I''m ready for another trial. Male this time, since I''m not sure what went wrong with the female specimen. But I''m certain that I can create the perfect Spider-Man."


    Harry''s lips curled into a smile, a plan already forming in his mind. "Alright, Dr. Warren. We''re going forward with this. But we''re moving to a new location. I want that expedited. Bring Kaine with you, release Jessica."


    Dr. Warren''s eyes widened in surprise. "Release Jessica... why?" he asked, confusion etched on his face.


    Harry''s expression hardened, his voice taking on a cold, calculating edge. "She has no powers, so she''s not useful or nearly as perfect as you claim. She''s a liability. We don''t need her seeing any other Oscorp employees and risking exposing us. Release her while she''s ignorant. When she returns, this place will be empty, we will have moved on. She''s pretty and smart, she''ll get by just fine¡­ Unless you want to dispose of her."


    Dr. Warren hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between Harry and the door that led to Jessica''s room as he grasped the implications of what Harry wanted. But as he met the CEO''s unwavering gaze, he knew there was no room for argument. He nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. "Alright," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, as if remembering his place, Dr. Warren stood up straighter, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "Yes sir, Mr. Osborne. I''ll make the necessary preparations."


    Harry nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. He had the information he needed, and now it was time to set his plan into motion. His father languished in prison while Harry alone weathered the mounting pressures from the Oscorp board after the recent failure at the Stark Expo. But fortune''s tide was turning at last. Now that he knew Peter Parker''s and Tyson''s secret identities as Spider-Man and Mirage, with Kaine under his command, opportunity beckoned. The bio-electric power plant Oscorp had developed, soon to undergo city review, would provide a direct counter to whatever technology Stark was developing in his new tower.


    Despite the setback at the Stark Expo, Oscorp''s future looked bright.


    With his new assets, Harry felt confident he could finally enact the perfect plan to eliminate those who had wronged him. Somewhere out there, Peter and Tyson were going about their lives, oblivious to the storm about to descend upon them. But they would learn soon enough. They would know what it meant to cross Harry Osborne, to betray his trust. And by the time they realized the error of their ways, it would be too late.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Harry smiled a cruel, twisted expression that seemed to distort his handsome features. The game had changed, and Harry Osborne held all the cards. And he would play them with a cunning that would leave his enemies reeling in his wake.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Date: Friday, June 24, 2011.


    Location: Midtown Manhattan, New York


    Tyson throttled the engine of his motorcycle as he sped uptown, in his Mirage costume. The early rush hour crowd was hampering his efforts, but he didn''t rush. He didn''t need to have Fury wondering why he was violating traffic laws so early. He had been in a transitional phase lately, dividing his time between the House of M and one of the Four Seasons'' smaller, alternate suites. The temporary lodgings were still luxurious by most standards, just half the size of his usual sprawling accommodations. But the renovations on the Empire Suite would finally be finished later that afternoon, and he looked forward to settling back into the familiar space.


    As he drove, his thoughts returned to Natasha''s latest mission, the takeover plans being implemented for Trask Industries, and the nagging suspicion he still harbored about that mysterious new Spider-Man impostor who had popped up recently.


    Tyson''s contemplations were interrupted when he noticed a man standing in the middle of the busy street ahead. The man was bent at the waist, gathering large rolled diagrams that had fallen from his arms, oblivious to the danger as cars and trucks barreled past him on either side.


    Acting quickly, Tyson summoned a squadron of illusory neon-vested Mirages wielding stop signs to block the traffic around the pedestrian. Tyson brought his motorcycle to a halt and dismounted, scooping up the last dropped documents and handing them back to their owner.


    The man looked up, suddenly recognizing the illusions of Mirage protecting him from certain vehicular manslaughter. His eyes widened behind thick crooked glasses as the dangerous situation dawned on him. Tyson extended a steadying hand and guided the shaken man to the safety of the sidewalk, then dismissed his illusions allowing traffic to continue.


    "You alright there, buddy?" Tyson asked, genuine concern evident in his mismatched blue and green eyes.


    The man nodded mutely, still rattled by his near miss with oncoming traffic. When he found his voice, it came out high-pitched and quavering. "Yeah, thanks to you. I... I don''t know what I was thinking. You saved my hide."


    No longer in mortal danger, Tyson took in the man''s appearance. His unfortunate combover did little to hide his encroaching baldness. Crooked glasses perched on his nose, and he wore a rumpled shirt sporting an askew ID badge. The name on the badge rang a bell in Tyson''s head.


    Maxwell Dillon.


    Though the man''s unassuming look hid it at first, the meta-knowledge in Tyson''s mind, with the name printed on the ID, made the identity unmistakable.


    Tyson quickly sorted through his memories of the man, "No problem, Max," Tyson said evenly. "Just be a little more careful next time."


    Max started at the sound of his name. "You. I know you. You''re that hero, Mirage. How did you know my name?"


    "Must have been the mask that gave it away, huh? Your name is on your ID, bud," Mirage answered.


    "I thought you only appeared when villains were around," Max said, "and to do those shows."


    Mirage shrugged. "Today''s a special occasion. I was invited to J. Jonah Jameson''s morning show at the Daily Bugle. You were lucky I was on my way there..." He trailed off at the coincidence but maintained his smile. What were the odds that he would run into the man that would become Electro the morning he rides uptown? Tyson fought to maintain his friendly demeanor while considering how to approach this. If Tyson remembered correctly from the movie, Max wanted to be recognized above all else. He could do that.


    Mirage straightened the glasses for Max, as the man''s hands were full with the large blueprints he carried. "Alright, Max," Mirage said evenly. It looks like you''re good to go. Just do me a favor and be more careful while crossing the street." He gestured to the other illusionary Mirages surrounding them and joked, "While it seems like I can be everywhere at once, I can''t. It''s only an illusion."


    Max laughed, amused by the display of powers. Mirage chuckled at his joke before walking back over to his motorcycle. "It was nice to meet you, Max," Mirage said with a slight nod. Before the hero sped off, continuing his journey uptown, he looked back at the grateful man and said, "I''ll be seeing you around. Check out The Daily Bugle this morning if you get a chance."


    Max was left standing in the middle of the intersection. He mumbled in awe, "It was nice to meet me. A superhero said it was nice to meet me." A car beeped at Max then, breaking him from his musings. Shaken back to reality, Max hurried across the busy street, continuing to his workplace at Oscorp Tower, invigorated by the encounter. He speed-walked into the polished granite lobby with the oversized blueprints awkwardly cradled in his arms. His supervisor, Mr. Smythe, stood with arms crossed and foot tapping, his perpetual scowl displaying his irritation at Max''s tardiness.


    "You''re late again, Max," Smythe snapped as Max approached.


    "I know, I''m sorry," Max stammered, his cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. "There was an incident on the way here, I got held up."


    Mr. Smythe cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Save the excuses. Do you have the plans for the new power plant or not?"


    Max swallowed hard, beads of nervous sweat gathering at his hairline. "Yes sir, right here," he said, hefting the cumbersome blueprints higher in his arms. "Just need to finalize a few details and then they''ll be ready for review."


    Smythe''s scowl only deepened at this. "See that you do. The board is anxious to move forward after Octavius''s failure." He turned sharply on his heel and strode away, expensive Italian loafers clicking on the polished floor.


    Max sighed, feeling the weight of Oscorp''s expectations bearing down. The new power plant was crucial for the company''s expansion into energy, and the shadow cast by Dr. Otto Octavius''s ruined demonstration still loomed large. The once-promising scientist had been disgraced after a catastrophic accident involving faulty containment fields during a public display of his fusion reactor. Though the ensuing destruction had been mitigated by the timely intervention of Spider-Man and Mirage, Octavius was still comatose.


    Shifting the cumbersome blueprints, Max made for the elevator, a trickle of apprehension creeping down his spine. Though confident in his engineering skills, this project felt beyond him. The sheer scale and complexity were daunting, not to mention the pressure to deliver after Octavius''s failure. And there had been no discussion of compensation or credit beyond his standard salary.


    As the elevator ascended, Max''s thoughts wandered back to the encounter with Mirage, the mysterious hero who had saved his life just minutes before.


    What would Mirage think if he knew Max''s role in these designs? Would he be impressed by the technical elegance, or disappointed to see Max simply enabling Oscorp''s endless ambition?


    With a shake of his head, Max tried to banish such doubts. He had a job to do and intended to see it through, no matter any misgivings. Stepping out on his floor, blueprints clutched tight to his chest, he felt a swell of happiness at having met a real hero who saw him, if only for a moment.


    The glow of the computer monitor cast a pallid light across Max''s office. Hunched over the massive desk, he studied the blueprints intently, bushy eyebrows knit together. The schematics for Oscorp''s new power plant sprawled before him, weighing on his mind as heavily as his encounter with Mirage earlier that day.


    Try as he might to focus on the designs, Max''s thoughts kept wandering back to the mysterious hero. After all, it wasn''t every day one met an extraordinary man who knew your name and saved your life. Max sighed and pushed away from the desk. He stood, blueprints clutched to his chest, and crossed over to the window overlooking the city. A break was in order.


    Turning from the window, Max sat at his computer and navigated to thedailybugle.net. The livestream loaded, revealing the perpetually irate visage of J. Jonah Jameson. Though notorious for tirades against costumed heroes, particularly Spider-Man, he sat across from Mirage himself. Max''s eyes widened at the sight of the black-clad man wearing a fox mask emerging onscreen. His mismatched eyes regarded the camera, the same eyes that had looked upon Max earlier that day.


    <ol>


    <li> Jonah Jameson, the brash and formidable editor-in-chief, sat poised behind his desk, papers neatly stacked before him. His trademark flat-top haircut, bushy mustache, and stern expression adorned his visage, signaling the no-nonsense conversation to come. Across from him sat Mirage, clad in a black costume with a fox half-mask. His mismatched eyes met the camera, the same eyes that had looked upon Max earlier that day.</li>


    </ol>


    Jameson opened with a pointed glance and commanding voice. "Good morning, New York! You''re tuned to the Daily Bugle where truth isn''t just a word, it''s our mission. I''m your host, J. Jonah Jameson, and today we''ve got a guest who''s been the talk of the city these past few months. Mirage."


    Jameson turned, gaze sharp as he fixated on Mirage. "Mirage, you''ve been quite the spectacle in our city. Swooping in, stopping a threat, and then vanishing. The people of New York want to know, and it''s my job to ask the tough questions. Who is Mirage? And more importantly, what''s your stake in our city?"


    Mirage seemed unmoved by the provocation. He leaned forward slightly, voice calm. "Mr. Jameson, I understand the skepticism. In a city that''s seen everything, it''s only natural to be skeptical of a guy walking around in a mask claiming to be a hero. As far as my stake... I live here too. You reported on my first appearance at the Brooklyn Bridge when the Lizard attacked. I was able to help because I was nearby, in Chinatown at the time. When the Green Goblin attacked at the Unity Day Parade I was there with my fellow New Yorkers. This city is my home, so I help protect it."


    Jameson leaned forward, "Since you brought him up, let''s talk about the Green Goblin. What is your vendetta against Oscorp? You took down Norman Osborn, commandeered their glider, and then dared to return it only when the Senate demanded. Not to mention the spectacle you made of Oscorp at the Stark Expo. Harry Osborn himself has accused you of harassment. What do you have to say to that, Mirage?"


    Mirage sat calmly under the harsh lights of the studio, his masked face betraying no hint of unease at the accusatory questions. When he spoke, it was in a calm, measured tone that left little room for doubt.


    "I don''t harbor any personal grievances against the Osborns or Oscorp as an entity. It''s crucial to distinguish between Norman Osborn, the man, and the monster he became. My confrontation was with the Green Goblin, not Norman." Mirage paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Before his tragic transformation, I had the opportunity to meet Norman Osborn. Do you know what I thought of him? He was charismatic, gracious, and undeniably brilliant." Without pausing, Mirage continued, preempting any interruption from Jameson. "The decision to experiment with that serum was Norman''s downfall, transforming him into the Green Goblin. That''s the entity I was compelled to confront, not Norman himself." Mirage''s voice was steady and sincere. "As for the glider, its capabilities were demonstrated to all of New York during Unity Day. Leaving such technology in the streets would have been irresponsible. Oscorp had already demonstrated its inability to secure it. In my hands, I knew it was safe. When the Senate issued their directive, I complied. I''m a New Yorker, an American. I respect the authority of our institutions. The glider''s fate is now in Oscorp''s hands. My only hope is that it doesn''t find its way back onto our streets, causing more chaos."


    Mirage continued, "My presence at the Stark Expo wasn''t about targeting Oscorp or any other corporation. I was there, like many others, out of genuine interest in the advancements being showcased. I was at Dr. Octavius''s presentation when things went south, and it was only right to step in. The same goes for the incident with Hammer Industries'' drones. It wasn''t about the spectacle or picking sides. It was about being there for the city when it mattered."


    Mirage shifted slightly, his tone becoming more earnest, "And about Oscorp. I truly believe in the potential of their work. Despite their setbacks, the innovations coming out of Oscorp have been nothing short of revolutionary. The company''s contributions to science, our city, and the world, shouldn''t be overshadowed by a few unfortunate incidents. Had Dr. Octavious''s experiment succeeded, or when Oscorp solves the issue of magnetic containment, harnessing nuclear fusion would solve the world''s energy problems."


    Leaning forward, Mirage''s voice carried a note of sincerity, "Just this morning, on my way here, I had a chance encounter with an Oscorp engineer, Max Dillon. He is a great guy, passionate about his work. It''s people like him who embody the spirit of Oscorp, dedicated individuals striving to make a difference. So, here''s a shoutout to Max Dillon, I''ve got some VIP tickets reserved for you at House of M. And a note to the viewers, remember that behind these headlines are people, hard at work, pushing the boundaries of what''s possible."


    Max Dillon sat at his computer watching the live stream. Mirage''s message extended beyond the studio to reach the people of the city, like himself. A superhero had acknowledged his contributions live on television. Max thought that he was invisible, but he wasn''t. Mirage had seen him, and now people would know his name.


    <ol>


    <li> Jonah Jameson raised an eyebrow, the skepticism momentarily replaced by a flicker of surprise. Jameson leaned back in his chair, processing Mirage''s words. His tone, when he spoke was a mix of grudging respect and his characteristic confrontational style. "Well, Mirage, that''s quite the civic duty checklist you''ve got there. Helping out at the Stark Expo, Dr. Octavius''s presentation, and the Hammer Industries debacle? It sounds like you were quite the busy bee. And that wasn''t all. You stopped a monster rampaging in Harlem as well. We saw the footage, It was about to crush those soldiers when you intervened."</li>


    </ol>


    Mirage nodded in acknowledgment. "The situation in Harlem was dire, with the creature causing chaos and endangering lives," he said. "I have certain... advantages that most don''t, but seeing those soldiers stand their ground against such overwhelming odds was truly inspiring. They''re the real heroes, putting their lives on the line without hesitation. I was fortunate enough to be there in time to assist, and ensure their bravery wasn''t in vain." Mirage paused, reflecting, before turning to address J. Jonah Jameson. "Working alongside law enforcement and federal agencies when the situation calls for it is something I take seriously. Cooperation can make all the difference in ensuring public safety and resolving crises efficiently."


    Jameson pointed out, "This isn''t the first time you''ve worked with the federal government. That''s one of the reasons I invited you to the show. You''re more than just a vigilante." He used the opening to segue into talking about Spider-Man. "You''ve been seen working with Spider-Man in the past, what do you have to say about the accusations that he was responsible for the death of NYPD Captain George Stacy?" Jameson continued.


    Tyson''s expression turned thoughtful as Jameson mentioned Spider-Man, and he considered his words carefully before responding. "Mr. Jameson, I''m glad you asked that question. I know you''ve been critical of how Spider-Man operates outside the law. But I know Spider-Man better than anyone. I''ve fought alongside him and shared meals with the guy. We even played basketball once. I can say without any doubt or hesitation that Spider-Man is good. He''s only trying to help the people of New York. I saw him take down the Lizard, who stood over eight feet tall and could throw cars off the road. But I''ve also seen him stop to help a bullied kid repair his broken science project, and help elderly ladies cross the street. These aren''t publicity stunts. Spider-Man is just that good of a guy."


    Mirage took a deep breath before continuing. "Regarding the incident with Captain Stacy, it''s a complex situation. The dynamics in cases like these are never black-and-white, and it''s important to consider the full context. Accusations are easy to make, but loss of life is always tragic, and my heart goes out to the Captain''s family." Fixing his gaze on the camera, Mirage said, "I want everyone in New York to hear this. I spoke with Spider-Man after Captain Stacy died, as well as the member of the Stacy family who was present during the incident, and I''m certain he wasn''t involved in harming the officer. But I understand why some assumed he was. There''s an imposter posing as Spider-Man out there. It was this imposter who killed Captain Stacy."


    <ol>


    <li> Jonah Jameson''s brow furrowed as he scrutinized Mirage from across his large mahogany desk. "You expect us to believe there''s an imposter, going around dressed as Spider-Man committing crimes? Instead of the simpler answer that it''s just Spider-Man doing these things?"</li>


    </ol>


    Mirage met Jameson''s skeptical gaze steadily, his voice firm. "You''re a seasoned journalist, Mr. Jameson. You know the value of examining the facts. Spider-Man has been a fixture in this city since late last year. In all that time, his actions have consistently defended the city''s people against criminal activities. There''s not one verified instance of him crossing the line into brutality. Now, suddenly, we''re seeing a shift in that pattern. It''s not just unlikely. It''s out of character." He paused, allowing the weight of his argument to sink in before addressing Jameson''s skepticism. "I understand skepticism; it''s healthy, especially in your profession. Consider their behavior when distinguishing between the real Spider-Man and an imposter. Spider-Man is known for his light-hearted banter, his willingness to go out of his way to help, and his restraint. This imposter displays more aggressive behavior." Leaning forward in his chair, Mirage spoke directly to the camera and audience beyond. "To the people of New York, if you encounter Spider-Man and he''s unnecessarily aggressive or brutal, exercise caution. The best course of action is to stay safe and report the sighting. I''ve set up a line at the House of M for any information on this imposter. We''re doing our best, but community vigilance can make a significant difference. Let''s work together to ensure the safety of our streets."


    "Let''s talk about you then," Jameson said, his voice dripping with anticipation. He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes locked on Mirage. "What about the rumors of a budding romance between you and the so-called imposter Spider-Man?"


    Mirage''s mismatched eyes widened slightly behind his mask, a flicker of confusion passing across his face. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard by the unexpected question.


    "Not sure what kind of fanfiction your audience is reporting," Mirage replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "While I consider myself an ally of the LGBT+ community. I''m not gay."


    Jameson''s grin widened, and he reached for something on his desk. With a flourish, he held up a photograph, angling it so Mirage and the camera could see it.


    "Oh," Mirage said, genuine surprise evident in his voice. The photograph showed a clear image of a female Spider-Man, her suit unmistakably similar to the original but with subtle differences that highlighted a feminine form. "Well, that''s new."


    Mirage leaned forward, studying the image more closely. This was not the imposter he''d seen in Peter''s memories. Could it be Cindy Moon? The hair was close to the right length, but it was brown, not Cindy''s black. From the picture''s angle, it was hard to determine if she was Asian, but it was possible.


    "Photoshopped maybe?" he mused aloud. "When I spoke with Spider-Man, he was certain the imposter was a man, not a woman." He paused, considering his words carefully. "If this picture is real, it''s the first I''m seeing of her. But I can''t speak to its validity."


    Jameson set the photograph down on his desk, his eyes narrowing. "One of my newest independent photographers provided this. I can confirm it''s real. And yet, you expect us to believe that you, with all your supposed insider knowledge, had no idea about this female Spider-Man?"


    Mirage leaned back in his chair. "If I knew about this female Spider-Man, I would say so. The fact is, I don''t."


    Jameson scoffed, clearly not entirely convinced. "And what about the romance rumors? You didn''t exactly deny them."


    Mirage chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Mr. Jameson, we both know that rumors are just that. Rumors. I can assure you that I''ve yet to meet a female Spider-Man. Spider-Woman. Spider-Girl, or whatever name she decides to go by." He paused, his tone becoming more serious. "What''s important here isn''t gossip or speculation. It''s the safety of New York''s citizens. We have confirmed reports of one Spider-Man imposter who has committed violent acts. Now we potentially have another individual in a Spider-Man costume," then his tone softened, "To this Spider¡­ Woman, if you''re willing, I''d like to meet you. I''m pretty easy to find. But to the people of New York, until we know more, I advise caution."


    "Fair enough." Jameson nodded grudgingly, recognizing the shift in tone. "Can we all take your evasions as confirmation that you''re single at least? You did just ask for Spider-Woman''s number on television."


    Tyson laughed, replying, "Despite my best efforts. I''ve been unable to hold down a girlfriend."


    "Tragic," Jameson said dryly. "Let''s shift gears a little. During the Senate hearing, you said you were a mutant. Most of us thought mutants were just a myth. Why are you pushing the mutant agenda on the rest of us?"


    Mirage met Jameson''s challenging gaze steadily, his voice calm and unwavering. "Mr. Jameson, I don''t know much about a mutant agenda. One thing that I do know is that I''ve learned in school that different groups that are labeled as ''others'' end up as disenfranchised at best, or enslaved or genocided at worst. This has happened throughout human history." He paused as if considering his next words carefully. "In this country alone, we can look at slavery, the decimation and relocation of Indigenous peoples, Jim Crow laws, Asian internment during World War Two, and even as recently as the issues with border control, immigration, and discrimination faced by Muslim Americans."


    Mirage''s voice grew somber as he continued, "I''ll leave the debate on whether mutants are a genetic abnormality, evolution, an act of God, or Lucifer to the scientists and theologians. But the social ramifications are clear. If people begin to look at mutants as the ''others'' or their enemies, then history says it''ll lead to misery for mutants everywhere. And I don''t want to see that happen."


    Jameson''s bushy brows drew together, his expression shifting as he considered Mirage''s words. "So, you''re saying that you''re coming forward as a mutant to prevent discrimination and violence against your kind?"


    "That''s part of it. But it''s also about dispelling the myths and misconceptions surrounding mutants. We''re not monsters or freaks. We''re just people, with different abilities. Some may look different, but we deserve the same rights and opportunities as everyone else."


    Jameson remained silent for a moment, his fingers drumming on the desktop. When he spoke again, his voice regained its aggressive edge. "But what about the dangers?" He jabbed a finger at Mirage. "What about the potential for mutants to misuse their powers? How can we be sure that you won''t turn against us?"


    Mirage''s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice hardening in response to the accusation. "Mr. Jameson, that''s exactly the kind of language we''re hoping to avoid. You versus Us. I understand your concerns. But let me assure you, not all mutants are villains. Most mutants are like everyone else and want to live their lives in peace." He leaned forward, his gaze locking with Jameson''s. "And as for the potential for misuse of powers. Any man can misuse his power, we see it regularly in this country. Someone grabs a gun and goes on a shooting spree."


    Mirage''s sincerity was evident, but Jameson remained unconvinced. The old newsman grunted, distrustful of the young mutant''s words despite their earnest delivery.


    Jameson latched onto something Mirage had said earlier, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest. "Let''s rewind. During the Senate hearing you claimed you were only seventeen years old," he stated, his voice taking on an accusatory tone. "Earlier this year, we reported when The Lizard attacked Midtown High. You were seen by students there fighting the creature, arriving even before police and other emergency responders. Can we assume you''re a student there?"


    Mirage''s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips tightening into a thin line. "I appreciate investigative journalism, Mr. Jameson, but announcing I''m a student at a local high school paints a target on that school and puts its students at risk. You won''t put innocent kids in danger for a story."


    Jameson rolled his eyes dismissively. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. "Tell us about the Lizard then. What happened to it?"


    Mirage''s expression softened, the tension easing from his shoulders. He saw an opportunity to reassure the city. "I''m sure you and the city have noticed the Lizard hasn''t been seen since the incident at Midtown High," he began, his voice steady and calming. "Rest easy, New York. The Lizard won''t be making another appearance."


    Jameson''s skepticism was evident as his eyebrows shot up. "Did you kill it?" he demanded, accusation lacing his tone.


    Mirage merely smiled, a slight, enigmatic curve of his lips. "No, nothing like that," he replied lightly, dismissively. "I just gave it a stern talking to."


    Jameson''s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in disbelief. "A stern talking to?" he echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That''s it? You just chatted with a giant, rampaging reptile and it decided to turn over a new leaf?"


    Mirage''s smile widened, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Let''s just say I made it clear its days of terrorizing the city were over."


    Jameson shook his head, still unconvinced. "I don''t believe you," he scoffed. "There''s no way you could''ve stopped the Lizard without a fight."


    Mirage shrugged nonchalantly. "I have my ways," he said. "I have a unique way of explaining things in ways others can''t." His voice was firm. "Trust me, Mr. Jameson, the Lizard is no longer a threat to this city."


    Jameson''s lips tightened into a thin line. He knew when he was being stonewalled and he didn''t like it. With a resigned sigh, he leaned back in his chair. "Fine," he muttered, his voice resigned. "We''ll leave it at that. But I''ll be keeping an eye on you, Mirage."


    Mirage merely smiled, his expression enigmatic. "I''m sure you will, Mr. Jameson," he replied, amusement lacing his tone. "I''m sure you will."

 Arc 6 - Ch 5: Graduation

    Chapter 72


    Arc 6 - Ch 5: Graduation


    Date: Friday, June 24, 2011.


    Location: Forest Hills, Queens, New York


    Peter packed his backpack, including a nice set of clothes and his graduation gown. Hoisting it onto his back, he went down to the kitchen where the mouth-watering aroma of sizzling eggs greeted him. His aunt May stood at the stove, watching as her nephew entered.


    "Good morning, honey," she said, her voice layered with years of affection. "I see you''re up early. Happy graduation day."


    Peter crossed the kitchen and kissed his Aunt May on the cheek before grabbing a plate from the cabinet. He scooped a generous portion of eggs onto two slices of crisp toast, assembling a breakfast sandwich. As he sat across from his aunt, May couldn''t resist a glance at the overstuffed backpack leaning against his chair. It bulged at the seams, barely contained. She observed, "My, that seems quite a load for your big day, Peter."


    A flicker of guilt passed through Peter''s eyes, but he covered it with a casual shrug as he bit into the sandwich. "Oh, you know, Aunt May, just a few extra things I might need for graduation."


    Peter''s aunt studied him with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow as he sat across from her at the table. "Oh? I find that hard to believe, Peter. You''ve been going out a lot lately, and I can''t help but worry. Are you sure everything is okay?"


    Though her tone was gentle, Peter could detect the concern in his aunt''s voice. He knew she only asked because she cared so deeply for him, and he hated to cause her any distress. With sincerity, he met her gaze. "Everything is fine, Aunt May. I promise."


    May searched Peter''s face, looking for any hint of deception. With a soft sigh, she nodded. Pushing for more information would be fruitless if he wasn''t ready to confide in her. "Alright, Peter. I''ll take your word for it. But please, don''t be late for your graduation. It''s an important day, and I wouldn''t miss it for the world."


    "I won''t, Aunt May," Peter vowed, "I''ll be there."


    He stood, quickly finishing the last bites of his breakfast sandwich. Slinging the overstuffed backpack over his shoulder, he started for the door. But he paused and turned back to face his aunt, who watched him leave with a complex blend of love and uncertainty in her eyes.


    "I love you, Aunt May," Peter said. At those words, he saw the doubts in May''s expression melt into a warm glow of pride.


    "I know, Peter," she replied thickly. "And I love you too."


    With a gentle nod and a last lingering glance, Peter left. He strode down the alley a few blocks from his home. Shucking his street clothes revealed the red and blue of his Spider-Man costume underneath. The fabric clung to him like a second skin as he secured his bulging backpack to his back. With a flick of his wrist, webbing shot out and adhered to a nearby building. Peter launched himself upwards, webslinging across the city toward Manhattan. His destination was a small park on the island''s southern end where his high school graduation would be later that morning. He planned on confining his patrol to the lower half of Manhattan so he could stay close.


    As he swung between buildings, his mind drifted back to that night. He could still see Gwen''s anguished face as she knelt over her father''s lifeless body, and could still feel the bruising impacts of the imposter''s blows. The memories ignited a simmering anger within him. Making matters worse, reports continued to stream in of a more violent Spider-Man matching the imposter''s description. Peter had to be ready to confront him again, though protecting the city seemed more daunting than ever with a ruthless doppelganger on the loose. And there was Gwen to consider, still vulnerable should the fake decide to target her. The memory of Captain Stacy''s funeral stung Peter. He could still see the faces of Gwen''s family so clearly, and Gwen''s most of all. For a moment, her eyes had held accusation, blaming him for her loss. Later she had denied feeling that way, but the guilt still clawed at Peter''s heart. He had failed to stop the imposter and her family had paid the price.


    Perched high on a rooftop, Peter was lost in a tangled knot of guilt and confusion. Could he still call himself a hero when those he cared for still got hurt? And if this false Spider-Man was set on harming others while disguised as himself, how could Peter be the hero he wanted to be?


    With a flick of his wrist, Peter secured his overstuffed bag to the side of a skyscraper. Then he leapt from his perch, web lines catching and launching him forward into the city. However heavy his thoughts, Spider-Man had to be there when needed. The people of this city counted on him.


    The wind lashed Peter Parker fiercely as he crouched atop the pinnacle of the Empire State Building. Restless thoughts swirled within his mind as turbulent as the gusts buffeting his body. His gaze fixed northward upon the sharp angles of Oscorp Tower, its jagged peaks knifing the skyline like an angular crown. To his right loomed the softer lines of the MetLife Building, its upper floors shrouded under construction tarps as the edifice transitioned into the newly christened Stark Tower. Though the sounds of the city rose from below, Peter''s spider-sense remained silent. The city, it seemed, was more occupied with its daily commute than committing crimes.


    Peter considered starting the swing south toward his graduation ceremony. His phone was vibrating in his pocket. Probably Gwen or Aunt May calling. But then a flash of crimson at the edge of his vision seized his attention. Something moved between the buildings on the west side with eerie familiarity.


    "It can''t be," Peter mumbled to himself. But as he focused intently in the direction of the Hudson River, he glimpsed the figure arcing gracefully between structures. Peter''s pulse quickened. It was the imposter.


    His grip on the skyscraper''s ledge tightened fiercely. He could not allow the impersonator to terrorize the city any longer. Launching himself off the Empire State Building into the open air, the cityscape blurred into streaks of color as he rocketed westward, propelling himself toward the fake web-slinger.


    Peter''s gaze followed the figure as it swung and leaped over the rooftops. It was heading in his general direction, not having noticed him yet. But then he realized the doppelganger was following a black figure. A motorcycle sped eastward below, the rider leaning low against the wind. Though the distance made identification difficult, Peter knew in his gut who it was.


    Mirage.


    His earlier resolve wavered at the thought that the imposter could be following Tyson. Was Tyson their next target? Would they ambush his friend as they had his girlfriend?


    Peter closed in on the imposter, and he saw the costume was different from the red and blue of his own. The imposter finally noticed Peter''s approach and changed directions, breaking off from following Mirage to swing northward.


    Peter cursed under his breath but did not hesitate to pursue.


    The imposter took long, sweeping arcs between the buildings. Peter had to push himself to keep up. He tried to anticipate the imposter''s movements, but they were too erratic, too unpredictable.


    Peter swung even faster, narrowing the gap between them. He finally caught up to them in East Harlem, far north of where the chase began. The imposter flipped and spun midswing to fire another webline, this one aimed directly at Peter. Peter dodged it but had to wrap his webline around a nearby lamppost. It yanked him off course making him fall behind. Peter cursed as the imposter took advantage of his distraction to swing even further ahead.


    Peter couldn''t let the imposter escape. He had to stop them, no matter what.


    He swung faster and faster until he was almost level with the imposter. Reaching out, he fired a webline, hoping to catch the figure off guard.


    But the imposter was ready. They twisted in midair, avoiding Peter''s web and firing one of their own.


    He couldn''t dodge in time. The webline wrapped around Peter''s chest, pulling him back, and knocking him off course. He tumbled through the air, barely able to control his descent. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his bones. He lay there for a moment, stunned and disoriented.


    The imposter landed next to him. Peter quickly rose to his feet, remembering how the imposter had beaten him while he was down in their last confrontation. But this time the imposter didn''t attack him with unrestrained aggression.


    Peter blinked in shock as he took in the figure before him. This imposter was not the same one he had grappled with previously. The costume was all crimson, save for a small golden triangle on the chest. That chest left him stunned.


    This Spider-Man was no man at all, but a woman.


    Her ample bosom and shapely hips made that plain enough, though the narrow waist cinched between them left no doubt. She had cropped brown hair and didn''t wear a full mask. Only a delicate domino mask barely concealed her identity.


    She tilted her head, studying him as he stood wary and defensive. "Why are you coming after me?" she asked.


    Peter did not lower his guard. "I thought you were the one who attacked me. But you''re a woman¡­ It wasn''t you, was it?"


    "No," she replied.


    Peter pressed on, unrelenting. "Why were you tailing Mirage?"


    The Spider-Woman grew defensive, her full lips pressing into a line. "I was going to introduce myself. Mind your own business, Spider-Man."


    Peter fired back accusing, "My business is Spider-Man, and you''re the second faker I''ve run across. Who are you and why are you copying me?"


    She drew herself up, her eyes flashed with anger. "I''m not a copy of you. I''m me."


    Peter had an unfortunate tendency to let his mouth run away with him, and his latest quip seemed to have struck a sensitive nerve with the female imposter before him. Sensing an advantage, he pressed further, taunting her.


    "What''s wrong, girl?" he jeered. "You''re sending me some mixed messages here. I can''t quite figure you out. You''ve got a costume just like mine. You were following my friend back there. So what''s your deal?"


    The imposter shifted, her posture radiated danger, hands clenching into fists at her sides as she glared venomously at Peter. When she spoke, her voice was a low growl promising violence.


    "Call me ''girl'' One. More. Time. And so help me..."


    Despite the threat, Peter interrupted the imposter''s tirade. "You aren''t a girl?" he asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his tone. He held his hands mockingly up against his chest as if he were holding up a pair of non-existent breasts.


    When Peter curled his fingers in a squeezing gesture, the imposter launched herself at him with sudden, startling speed, one fist already cocked back and aimed squarely at his face. Only Peter''s enhanced reflexes saved him, allowing him to dodge the blow at the very last second. The imposter landed gracefully, poised on the balls of her feet, eyes blazing with unrestrained fury as she glared at the costumed hero. With another burst of speed, she hurled herself at Peter again. He called upon every ounce of his agility to stay a half-step ahead of her relentless assault, dodging and weaving desperately to avoid her strikes.


    In a brief opening, Peter lashed out with a punch, only to have the imposter dodge it, showcasing reflexes that matched his own. With each passing moment, Peter realized this fight was unlike any he had faced before, except when fighting the other imposter. She was his equal in speed, agility, and fighting skills. Still, Peter knew he could not keep dodging forever without the assistance of his spider-sense which had again failed him.


    Peter let loose a powerful kick, aiming for the Spider-Woman''s midsection. But to his astonishment, she effortlessly caught his leg in midair, spinning, she swept his leg. Peter landed hard on his back, the impact jarring his senses. He rolled to his feet, his body humming with adrenaline as he prepared for the next assault. But it never came.


    Peter scanned his surroundings as he tried to locate his elusive opponent. Checking every shadow, every rooftop, every window, he failed to spot her. He strained his ears, listening for the slightest sound that would give away her position. But he was interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. The Spider-Woman had fled.


    Peter tried to make sense of what had just happened. Who was this Spider-Woman, and why was she so interested in Tyson?


    With Spider-Woman having vanished, Peter fired a webline and began swinging south. As he flew between the buildings, the vibrations of his phone against the skintight fabric of his suit alerted him to another incoming call. Swinging to a brief halt on a secluded rooftop, he answered the phone, immediately recognizing the urgent tone in his friend Tyson''s voice.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    After wrapping up the interview with J. Jonah Jameson, Mirage exited the Daily Bugle building. He mounted his motorcycle, revved the engine, and set off toward the southern tip of Manhattan.


    As Mirage maneuvered his motorcycle through the streets, the vibrancy of Midtown gave way as he reached the East Side. He pulled into an alley and threw his clothes over his costume. Remounting his bike, he got on the FDR Drive South. His destination was the East River Park Amphitheater, a scenic venue on the lower eastern edge of Manhattan. Its open-air setting, with the East River flowing quietly by and the Brooklyn skyline across the waters, offered a picturesque backdrop for the day''s festivities.


    He found a place to park his motorcycle and approached the amphitheater on foot. The distant sound of a crowd of soon-to-be graduated seniors gathering began to mingle with the river''s gentle lapping.


    Tyson weaved through the crowd of graduates toward a familiar platinum-blonde head. Felicia Hardy stood near the edge of the makeshift stage, looking radiant in a form-fitting black dress. She held her graduation gown draped over her arm. Tyson could not prevent the smile that tugged at his lips. Reaching her, he circled his arms around her waist, carefully avoiding skin-to-skin contact. Felicia placed her hands over his arms, mimicking his embrace. Tyson laughed softly and leaned in, his lips hovering above her ear.


    "You look beautiful," he murmured.


    Felicia chuckled, shaking her head slightly. "You''re just buttering me up because of all the work you''ve got me doing."


    Tyson mock pouted and released her. "It''s not all work, you know." His voice dropped even lower. "What about the special project we''ve been planning?"


    Felicia''s emerald eyes glimmered mischievously as she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You''re right, just enough fun and games to keep me entertained." She narrowed her gaze though her full lips curved upward. "Tonight, while you''re out dancing the night away on your date, I''ll be slipping through the shadows, retrieving what you want."


    She sighed exaggeratedly, leaning forward ever so slightly and arching her back to accentuate her cleavage. "It didn''t use to be like this between us, you know," she added, a hint of wistfulness in her tone as she peered up at him through long lashes.


    Tyson couldn''t help but roll his eyes, though his gaze lingered for a moment on her cleavage. "Oh please, don''t act like you don''t enjoy a good heist."


    "It''s true," she admitted with a laugh, "I love the thrill of it all. The danger, the planning, executing everything flawlessly..." Her voice trailed off, nostalgia washing over her striking features. She lived for the intoxicating adrenaline rush that came with every successful score.


    Tyson studied her thoughtfully for a moment, taking in the anticipation evident in her body language. As much as she pretended otherwise, he knew this was more than just a job for her. It was a chance to challenge herself, to revel in putting her skills to the test. And despite her flirtatious act, he knew that when it came to heists, Black Cat was all cunning, every bit as professional as she was daring.


    "Just try not to have too much fun without me," he said.


    Then a sudden, familiar scent caught his attention. The mix of sparklers and bubblegum that he''d come to associate with only one person.


    He said to Felicia, "I''ll be back."


    He walked away from the crowd of graduates to where the families were entering the park. He reached the edge of the seating area just in time to catch a vibrant yellow blur that launched into his arms. Laughter escaped him as he spun the smaller figure before setting her down gently.


    "Hey Jubes. Thanks for coming," he said, his voice tinged with genuine warmth.


    Before him stood Jubilation Lee, better known as Jubilee. Her presence was as dynamic as her personality. She was a stark contrast to the more muted tones of the graduation crowd, her bright yellow coat, undoubtedly her trademark, hung loosely over a simple, yet chic ensemble. Her hair was cut in a stylish, choppy bob that framed her youthful face. Her eyes, alight with joy, scanned Tyson with an amused glint. Jubilee''s energy was palpable, a vibrant force that seemed to dance around her, mirroring her ability to conjure dazzling plasmoids.


    Jubilee was not the only one to arrive for his graduation. Trailing behind her was an assembly of some of the most formidable mutants from Xavier''s Institute.


    Jean Grey approached with Logan and Ororo Munroe behind her. The skies seemed to calm deferentially at her entrance becoming a picturesque blue with scattered fluffy clouds.


    "Well, don''t you look all grown up," Logan rumbled, clapping a heavy hand on Tyson''s shoulder. His grin was fierce yet proud under his stubble and wild hair.


    Jean''s smile lit up her face. "We''re so happy for you, Tyson." Her voice was warm and rich with sincerity.


    Yet it was the arrival of Professor Charles Xavier himself that underscored the day''s true significance. The professor sat in his distinctive yellow motorized wheelchair as he joined the assembly. Tyson had avoided speaking to Xavier since the fateful events at Alkali Lake nearly a year prior. He harbored no regrets for his actions that day, having killed Jason and gained the unstable mutant''s powers of illusion for himself. But he remained troubled that he had to manipulate the professor to accomplish his ends. Believing it necessary at the time, however, the shame of using Xavier still lingered.


    The greeting Tyson offered Ororo was marked by deep respect. With Logan, his manner was more relaxed.


    But when Jean met Tyson''s gaze, she felt his power attempting to take hold.


    She relaxed her mind, trusting him enough to let him in.


    And suddenly there was silence.


    Jean Grey often struggled beneath the ceaseless cacophony of thoughts and feelings bombarding her mind through her telepathy. Regardless of how hard she concentrated, the sounds of others'' thoughts remained whispers in her head. But in Tyson''s presence, she found peace. His illusions allowed him to mute the tumult of nearby minds that was her constant companion. The relief was significant. This gift elevated Jean''s opinion of him, making him one of her favorite friends.


    Tyson approached Xavier, "Professor," he said, "thank you for coming."


    Xavier''s eyes crinkled with warmth as he looked up at the young man. "Congratulations, Tyson," he said, "Many young mutants have difficulty completing secondary school among non-mutant peers. By all accounts, you''ve done very well."


    Xavier studied Tyson, his wise blue eyes missing nothing. Though left unspoken, the decision Tyson had made at Alkali Lake still hung between them. The Professor''s presence now subtly conveyed his acceptance of Tyson''s chosen path. He had always championed peaceful coexistence between mutants and humans. Perhaps he saw in Tyson''s actions a reflection of his ideals, though realized through unconventional means.


    Tyson appreciated the unexpected turnout of his friends. "I didn''t expect all of you to come, but I''m happy to see you all," he admitted. "It''s not that big of a deal though. It''s just high school. Pretty much everyone graduates high school."


    Logan snorted but spoke with a hint of amusement in his gruff voice. "It''s not just that, bud. We''ve seen what you''ve done here. Stopping the Green Goblin, helping out with the Stark Expo, and whatever that thing was in Harlem."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Ororo chimed in, "And you''re representing mutants well. We listened to your interview this morning on our way over. You''ve become the face of mutant representation."


    Tyson looked between them, taking in their earnest expressions. He had not considered himself to be a symbol. Nearly all of his decisions beyond the one at Alkali Lake had been made with the consideration of his own drives, or perhaps the overall picture, not necessarily considering what was best for mutants.


    Professor X''s knowing eyes met Tyson''s. "Intention or not, that''s the way things have worked out," he stated.


    Tyson mulled over the professor''s words. He hadn''t intentionally sought the spotlight, but he recognized the weight of responsibility that came with being a visible representative of mutant-kind.


    "With all the deeds you''ve done here, none of us can complain about you being the first name that people think of when it comes to mutants," Storm added.


    Her words struck a chord within him, reminding him of the broader implications of his actions and the far-reaching consequences of his choices.


    Logan''s voice was laced with pride as he said, "We''re proud of you, kid."


    "Thank you," he replied.


    Jubilee added, "And after this ceremony, we''ll party!"


    Tyson asked, "Everyone?"


    Jubilee''s infectious laugh cut through the emotions stirred by their discussion. "No. Maybe a late lunch with everyone. But the old folks probably wouldn''t enjoy the rave."


    Tyson looked at Jean, but she shook her head causing her red hair to swing gently, "Jubilee has been pining over this date with you for months. I couldn''t come along as third wheel."


    Jubilee yelled, "Jean" in mock outrage. She blushed but straightened up meeting Tyson''s gaze unabashedly.


    Tyson said, "I have promised this for months. It''ll be just us. We''ll have a great time."


    The authoritative voice of a teacher called out for the graduates to gather.


    Tyson glanced at the assembled mutants and said, "That''s my cue. I''ll see you all afterward."


    The ceremony was nothing more than a formality to him, but what came after was more exciting. Tonight, he and Jubilee would head out to that underground club, and Felicia was set to embark on a heist.


    Tyson reached his assigned spot in line amongst his fellow graduates, absently smoothing the front of his robe. As he settled into place, the blonde behind him tapped his shoulder. It was his lab partner, and friend, Gwen Stacy, her face was drawn with worry. Physically, she''d healed quickly after her ordeal with the imposter Spider-Man. Though she bore no visible scars, shadows lingered in her eyes. The death of her father had struck their family a grievous blow, not to mention, that their home was left in ruins. However, it appeared her current distress wasn''t related to that.


    "Have you seen Peter?" she asked without preamble.


    Tyson glanced around the sea of mortarboard caps surrounding them, taking advantage of his height. He inhaled deeply, checking for Peter''s scent, but it wasn''t present. Shaking his head, he answered, "He''s not here."


    Gwen mirrored the motion. "No. Aunt May hasn''t seen him, and he won''t answer my calls."


    Concern rising, Tyson pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Peter''s number, listening to it ring once, twice, three times before a distracted voice answered on the fourth. "Pete? It''s Tyson. Where are you, man? Graduation is starting any minute now." Tyson said anxiously. He could hear the wind rushing past through their connection. He assumed Peter was on a rooftop or swinging through the city somewhere as Spider-Man.


    "Tyson, I found the imposter!" Peter exclaimed.


    "You found him? Where are you right now?" Tyson asked sharply. His voice became focused and his body readied for action. He''d forgo graduation to get his hands on the imposter.


    Peter hesitated, the shocking revelation still fresh and perplexing in his mind. "Not him, her. There''s another one. A girl," he clarified.


    The line went silent as the weight of this unexpected information settled over the conversation.


    Jameson had been right.


    A female Spider-Man was swinging around the city. Tyson quickly asked, "Was she Asian?"


    Peter said, "What? No? What does that have to do with anything?"


    After a moment, Tyson''s response came as a muted, incredulous mutter, "What the fuck is going on?" Regaining his composure, his tone shifted to concern. "Look, Pete, we''ll figure this out, but you need to get here, like ten minutes ago. Aunt May is worried, and Gwen is starting to freak out too. Just get here, double time, alright?"


    "Alright. On my way," Peter quickly assured before ending the call and launching himself from the rooftop, propelled by a renewed sense of urgency.


    Tyson tucked away his phone, his expression smoothing into a mask of reassurance as he turned to Gwen. "Pete''s fine," he told her, infusing confidence into the words. "Ran into some trouble, but he''s on his way."


    The familiar melody of "Pomp and Circumstance" began playing throughout the amphitheater. The teachers gathered everyone''s attention and graduation procession began to move, gowns swishing as the students stepped forward. Gwen''s disappointment was evident in the slump of her shoulders and the downturned corners of her mouth.


    "He''s going to miss my speech," she said softly, sadness tingeing her voice. The importance of this moment shone clearly in her downcast eyes.


    Tyson wrapped her in a hug, giving a comforting squeeze. "It''ll be okay," he assured her. "You''re going to do great. I for one can''t wait to hear it." He gave her a playful nudge. "Bonus points if you shout out your lab partner slash local superhero."


    Gwen let out a choked laugh, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Tyson gave her shoulders another encouraging squeeze. "Things are going to get better, Gwen," he said firmly. "You''ll see."


    As the procession began its march, Gwen took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. With her chin lifted, she joined her classmates.


    Tyson took his seat as some administrator or another began to speak, but his thoughts were far away. He felt a twinge of frustration, not at Peter, but at the situation itself. It was as if the very forces of the universe were conspiring to lead them all to this moment.


    The death of Gwen''s father had set into motion a cascade of events that seemed to ripple outward through Tyson''s meta-knowledge of how things should unfold.


    This morning''s chance encounter with Max Dillon.


    Gwen delivering her valedictorian speech.


    And Peter missing it.


    Tyson mentally connected the dots, forming a picture that only he could see. This was more than coincidence, the dominoes were beginning to fall into their predestined pattern.


    The events of The Amazing Spider-Man 2.


    As he looked at the girl sitting next to him, he knew that Gwen herself was the final piece. The last domino to topple. And when she fell¡­ it would mean her death.


    At that moment, Tyson made a silent vow to himself. He would not let Gwen die.


    Tyson''s thoughts lingered on the unfolding pattern, on how the imposter Spider-Man had already thrown off the course of events how the movie unfolded, and how the presence of Spider-Woman might affect things. Above all, his concern for Gwen''s safety was at the forefront of his mind. But as she stood to give her valedictorian speech, he forced himself back to the present moment.


    Gwen took a deep, steadying breath before beginning, her gaze sweeping across the sea of gathered faces. Her eyes held a solemn pride as she spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed faculty, proud parents, and most of all, my fellow graduates. Today marks not just the culmination of our high school journey, but the dawn of a new chapter in our lives." She paused, letting her words resonate through the auditorium.


    "As we stand on the precipice of the future, we cannot help but look back upon the path that has led us here. It was a path paved with challenges overcome, achievements earned, laughter shared, and tears shed." Gwen''s voice swelled with emotion. "We have been a part of something special here at Midtown High. Why, just this year we had a dinosaur attack the school, for heaven''s sake!"


    A wave of chuckles rippled through the crowd at the memory. Gwen smiled but quickly gathered herself to continue, her tone growing more serious. "But we also saw brave people rise to fight the threats in this strange new world we''re stepping into. First responders, soldiers, police officers..." Her voice caught for a moment before she pressed on. "All willing to sacrifice everything for our future."


    Gratitude colored her words as she went on. "There''s even a rumor that Spider-Man and Mirage go to Midtown. If you guys are here, thank you for saving our school from that dinosaur." At this, Gwen''s gaze met Tyson''s knowingly. The crowd erupted into loud cheers and applause.


    Her voice carried across the auditorium with renewed vigor. "But heroism isn''t limited to those with extraordinary abilities or those who look good in skintight costumes," she joked, her gaze sweeping across the sea of laughing faces before her. "Every one of us has the potential to be a hero in our own right. We all have strength hidden within us," Gwen continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. "It''s a strength that may lie dormant, waiting for the right moment to emerge. And when that moment comes, it can transform us in ways we never imagined possible." She paused, letting her words sink in. "As we leave Midtown High and step into the world beyond, we''ll face challenges we can''t imagine right now. There will be moments that test us, that push us to our limits. And in those moments, we''ll have a choice."


    Gwen''s voice softened, but her words carried no less impact. "We can choose to stand by and let things happen, or we can choose to act. To be the hero in our own story and the stories of those around us. So I challenge you, my fellow graduates," Gwen said, her voice rising with passion. "Don''t wait for someone else to save the day. Don''t assume that heroism is beyond your reach. Remember that you have that strength, waiting for its moment to shine."


    Tyson felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to Gwen''s words. He glanced around, seeing the impact her speech had on everyone present. Parents wiped away tears, students sat up straighter in their seats, and even the most jaded teachers looked moved.


    Gwen''s voice grew more introspective as she neared the conclusion of her speech, "I know that we all think we''re immortal. We''re supposed to feel that way, we''re graduating. The future is and should be bright, but, like our brief four years in high school, what makes life valuable is that it doesn''t last forever, what makes it precious is that it ends. I know that now more than ever. And I say it today, of all days, to remind us that time is luck." Her words resonated deeply with her current situation. "So don''t waste it living someone else''s life, make yours count for something. Fight for what matters to you, no matter what. Because even if you fall short, what better way is there to live?"


    Gwen''s gaze softened, "It''s easy to feel hopeful on a beautiful day like today, but there will be dark days ahead of us too. There will be days when you feel all alone, and that''s when hope is needed most. Keep it alive. No matter how buried it gets or lost you feel, you must promise me that you will hold on to hope and keep it alive." Her words grew more fervent, "We have to be greater than what we suffer. My wish for you is to become hope. People need that."


    Gwen''s conclusion was a poignant acknowledgment of both an ending and a beginning. "I know it feels like we''re saying goodbye, but we will carry a piece of each other into everything that we do next, to remind us of who we are, and of who we''re meant to be." She paused, before finishing, "I''ve had a great four years with you, and I''ll miss you all very much."


    The applause was deafening as Gwen stepped away from the podium. Tyson felt those words resonate within him even more deeply. Gwen''s acknowledgment of the dark days ahead echoed in his mind, but he clung to her wish for them to become hope. He thought of her assertion that they must be greater than what they suffer, and he felt a quiet resolve growing.


    As the applause finally died, Tyson reflected on Gwen''s words. He didn''t memorize the movie, but he was sure this speech differed from the one he recalled. Picturing Gwen''s poignant words, the part about carrying a piece of each other forward resonated with him deeply.


    Tyson carried the lives and memories of everyone he touched within him.


    She was right that this was just the next step. Tyson would do his best to honor her wish¡­


    To become hope and share it with others.


    And he would do his best to ensure that her goodbye speech wasn''t prophetic... That it wasn''t her last goodbye.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson and a few of the X-Men had just finished lunch at the restaurant inside the Four Seasons. Laughter and lively conversation flowed around the table as the group lingered over the exquisite dishes. As the meal ended, Tyson expressed his heartfelt gratitude to each member, ensuring they knew he had reserved VIP seating for them at his first showing of Logan''s story, House of M: Wolverine.


    "It''s the least I can do," he said sincerely, "for all the support and guidance you gave me."


    After more warm farewells and promises to reunite at the show, the X-Men took their leave. Tyson and Jubilee shared a knowing look between them; this night out was one they had been planning together for some time.


    They made their way to the elevator and up to the Empire Suite. His room had been destroyed weeks earlier by the Spider-Man imposter, but now it was fully restored. The only missing fixture was the terrarium that had once contained the spider that had granted Spider-Man his powers. Tyson knew that spider was now forever lost to him.


    It was an opportunity the doppelganger had stolen and one Tyson vowed he would pay for.


    Tyson strode into the bedroom. Though the suite had been meticulously restored, traces of destruction remained in his memory. He dressed quickly in a simple long-sleeved designer shirt and jeans. Fortunately, the imposter had not bothered with his wardrobe, and for that small mercy Tyson was grateful. He finished getting ready in just a few minutes.


    While Tyson waited, Jubilee took over the vacated bedroom to change. She emerged a short time later, her outfit a stylish blend of casual and vibrant, utterly Jubilee. The high-cut jean shorts showcased her long, athletic legs while the pink crop top drew the eye to her slim waist and bust. Over this, she wore her signature yellow jacket, but this one was different, cropped short. She styled her short dark hair making it look spontaneous yet put together. The outfit was undeniably fashionable, but more than that, it was a statement. Jubilee knew exactly who she was and expressed it unapologetically, from the cut of the shorts to the bold splashes of color she rocked.


    "You look great, Jubes. Ready for this night you''ve planned?"


    Jubilee hesitated, some of her usual vibrant energy dimming. "Not yet," she replied, her tone unexpectedly serious compared to her typically upbeat demeanor.


    Tyson looked puzzled, eyebrows drawing together in concern. "Oh?"


    "Girl code first," Jubilee stated firmly.


    "Uh, okay?" Tyson said uncertainly, not following her meaning.


    Jubilee took a moment to gather her thoughts before explaining the situation. "Illyana and I were never really friends back at the institute," she began. "But everything that happened with Azazel brought us closer together." Real concern threaded through Jubilee''s voice as she continued, "Illyana''s been holding something back lately. On the day we all went to the beach, something upsetting happened after you guys left the institute. She''s putting on a brave face and won''t tell me about it, but I can tell she''s hurting inside."


    Jubilee clarified further, "Everything seemed fine that day, right? But Illyana confessed that you two haven''t talked since then." Understanding dawned on Tyson''s face as he grasped Jubilee''s concern for her friend. "I don''t want to come between you two," she confessed, "I don''t want our date tonight to ruin any of our friendships."


    Tyson gestured for Jubilee to sit next to him on the couch. As she settled beside him, Tyson said solemnly, "This isn''t your fault, Jubes. It''s mine. Illyana and I..." Tyson hesitated, wondering how to phrase what he wanted to say. "Remember when the institute was attacked? I said I knew the attack was coming because I saw the future when I had Jean''s power..."


    He paused, a silent struggle playing across his face as he wrestled with how much to reveal. But Jubilee was one of his best friends and had supported him since the start. "I left out a lot about what I saw. There was more that I didn''t tell anyone. So much more." Jubilee''s attention was fixed unwaveringly on Tyson, her expression a mix of concern and intrigue as she waited for him to continue. The room seemed to shrink around them, the enormity of Tyson''s admission drawing them closer together in shared secrecy. "I saw events, some years into the future," Tyson admitted. "Illyana told me she went on a date, and I got so angry," he said, a note of shame entering his voice.


    "Umm, that explains some things¡­ But you''ve gone on dates too, with Felicia and Natasha. Illyana even encouraged you to go out with me tonight. I thought you guys had an understanding about that?" Jubilee said, pointing out the apparent contradiction, though her tone held no accusation, only confusion.


    With a small shake of his head, Tyson clarified, "It wasn''t that she was seeing someone. Sure I was a bit jealous, I mean who isn''t jealous a little when they hear their ex is with someone new? But more than that, it was about who she was seeing."


    He revealed, "That man was in my vision of the future. He''s dangerous, Jubes. Like Magneto level dangerous."


    Probing deeper, Jubilee asked gently, "You didn''t try to talk to her about any of this, did you?"


    Tyson''s frustration and regret were palpable as he insisted, "I didn''t get a chance to. She was so upset when she realized I wouldn''t join her for another year that she just stepped through the portal and left me there." He continued, "I was so angry about it, I even threatened the Sorcerer Supreme, the head sorcerer." With a tone of resignation, Tyson finished, "But like you said, I''ve been dating around too. I don''t have any right to say something about who she sees. And so much has been going on this past month, I''ve just been upset and avoiding talking to her about it."


    He sat silently with a faraway look after finishing his admission.


    Suddenly the silence was broken by a bubbling laughter.


    It was incongruous with the somber mood permeating the room. So much so that Tyson had a stupidly confused look on his face.


    As she calmed, her eyes sparkled with amusement as she regarded him. "You know, sometimes I forget just how oblivious you can be," she teased, though her tone held no malice. "I play you up in my head to be this big superhero celebrity now, but you can be so dense. It hasn''t changed since the institute. These clues are in front of your face and yet you miss them."


    Tyson just stared at her, bewildered by the sudden shift in her demeanor. He searched her face, trying to understand what he had missed. Sensing his confusion, Jubilee threw her hands up in mock exasperation, as if the answer should be obvious.


    "Tyson, Illyana isn''t dating that guy anymore," she explained gently. "They went on a few dates, but it didn''t work out. She told me he seemed more interested in her power than her. Had you just talked to her more, you would have realized that."


    Tyson stared at Jubilee, stunned into silence as her words sank in.


    Jubilee could tell he remained unconvinced. So she broke Tyson from his thoughts by saying, "Illyana isn''t straight, you know."


    "What?" Tyson whispered.


    He searched Jubilee''s face, trying to understand what she was saying. "Jubes, I promise you, she''s not gay. We..."


    Jubilee held up her hands to interrupt him, blushing slightly. "Yeah, I know, she told me all about it. No need for you to go into details too."


    She spoke slowly and clearly, spelling it out for him. "Trust me. Romantically she''s just not interested in most men. Probably from what she went through when she was younger. Think about how she acted toward you when you first arrived at the institute."


    Silence descended once again as Tyson absorbed this. He didn''t have access to Illyana''s memories, but there were flashes that he remembered from when they touched. He''d spent more time with her imprint than anyone else. He thought about Illyana''s abduction as a child, and her cold disinterest bordering on disdain when he arrived at the institute. The pieces clicked into place.


    "Goddammit, missed that one," Tyson admitted with a hint of chagrin.


    "So oblivious." Jubilee''s laughter rang out again, her amusement evident in the playful way she teased him. "If Illy was here, she''d probably try to kiss me before she tried to kiss you." She tilted her head. "How is it that you get all of someone''s memories but don''t realize they''re pan?"


    "Pan?" Tyson repeated in confusion.


    Jubilee patiently explained, "Illyana isn''t against men exactly, but because of what happened to her, she doesn''t usually pursue them. Something about you is different for her, something she loves. But she doesn''t consider gender when she looks at attractiveness."


    Tyson blinked looking side to side as he processed Jubilee''s words and understanding dawned. He tried to justify his oversight. "When I touch someone, I get the broad strokes of their life, but I need to focus on specifics to absorb things. In this case... Honestly, I''m not sure how I missed that. Maybe it''s because I didn''t actively recall any memories where she showed interest in any women. Or anyone besides me. Or maybe because I''m only interested in women I didn''t pick up on it?" He shrugged helplessly.


    Tyson let out a slow breath as the realization settled over him. He had misunderstood Illyana''s intentions and feelings. Now that he knew the truth, Tyson would need to call her to talk through this misunderstanding.


    "There''s no way around it. I owe her an apology for ignoring her. Things escalated quickly, I let my anger get the best of me." He grimaced as he recalled, "I threatened the Sorcerer Supreme too. That''s another conversation I''ll need to have."


    Jubilee''s response was simple. "Probably," she agreed, still smiling.


    Seeking to steer the conversation back to the present, Tyson asked Jubilee for reassurance. "But tonight was supposed to be for you." His brow furrowed with concern for her feelings, despite his earlier obliviousness. "So are we good now?"


    "I know it seems like we cleared the air, but I gotta ask. Where do things stand with Felicia and your hot teacher, Natalie?" Jubilee asked directly, searching his eyes with an earnest desire for honesty.


    Tyson nodded, wanting to be fully transparent with her. "Felicia is a great friend and business partner, but we don''t have a committed relationship. We hook up when we''re both available, but it''s casual, no strings attached. Mostly we collaborate on projects and House of M business, but it''s often over dinner," he explained, defining the loose boundaries of their association.


    His tone softened as he continued, "As for Nat... I care about her a lot, but we have an understanding too. We''re not officially dating or anything like that. She''s out of the country on assignment right now, and like Illyana, she''ll be gone for months."


    He paused, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully, before adding, "I even talked with Nat about you recently. She was supportive, and said I should be more open and honest moving forward." Tyson''s words conveyed the depth of fondness he held for Natalie, alongside an acceptance of their current long-distance circumstances. He was being as candid as he could, hoping to shed light on the true nature of these relationships.


    Jubilee took in his words with a thoughtful nod, her expression morphing into a playful smirk. "So... friends-with-benefits and yet another ex-girlfriend. Your little black book is kinda full." She gave him a gentle, teasing nudge. "But I think we''re good here. Girl code has been satisfied."


    Jubilee''s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer to Tyson. "If the hot teacher told you to be honest with me¡­ Then tell me something honest," she challenged, her tone playful yet expectant.


    "I''ve been looking forward to spending time with you," he admitted, his voice softening. "You''re pretty much my best friend. I love being around you, you''re fun and supportive, and I should have found more ways to hang out this year."


    "Not bad," she conceded, but she wasn''t quite finished. "Are you sure you want to go out with me when you have someone like Felicia as friends-with-benefits? Have you seen her? She''s hot enough that when she looks at me, even I''m questioning."


    Tyson let out a rich genuine laugh. "If I knew it was like that, I might have invited her," he joked, then quickly added, "Just kidding. Tonight is me and you¡­ And stop acting like you''re not gorgeous. Have you seen yourself? You easily give Felicia a run for her money."


    "Back when I came to the institute. Do you remember the Professor had you come in and give me the tour?" His expression grew thoughtful as he continued, "I was thinking about it¡­ And I don''t blame him. You never realized it. Look at my arrival from this way. Xavier retrieves a powerful mutant who his friend, slash, nemesis is hunting. He can''t make me stay at the institute, so he needs to give me a good reason to hang around. So what did he do? He brought you in and had me spend time with you. He must have thought that spending time with a girl like you might make a good enough impression to convince me to stay."


    Jubilee gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief. "The professor used me as a honey trap?" she asked incredulously. Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed at Tyson accusingly. "Are you messing with me?"


    "Didn''t I invite you into my room that day?" he asked.


    Jubilee shrugged, amusement and realization dawning on her face. "And now here we are. You''ve got me in your apartment. We''ve come full circle, like this was all part of your master plan."


    Tyson found himself drawn to the playful glint in Jubilee''s eyes, the way her smile lit up her entire face. She had always been attractive, but sitting here now, he was struck by her beauty. Jubilee, for her part, felt a flutter in her stomach as she looked at Tyson. She''d harbored a crush on him for so long but had always pushed it aside, convinced he saw her as just a friend. Now, with his honest words and eyes on her, she wondered if there could be more.


    Relieved and buoyed by Jubilee''s easy acceptance, Tyson seized the moment of understanding between them and revisited his earlier question, now with a hopeful undertone. "Ready for that date now?"


    "Oh, so a date it is then?" Her words echoed Tyson''s own in a playful challenge. She reached for his arm, enthusiastically saying, "Let''s go."


    They exited the Four Seasons lobby arm-in-arm. Stepping out into the evening, the city''s vibrant lights greeted them, matching the excited energy thrumming between the pair. They approached one of the black taxis idling along the curb, and Jubilee eagerly gave the driver the address for the underground rave.


    The taxi stopped in front of a dingy warehouse on the west side. Its peeling paint and grime-streaked windows didn''t hint at the supposed party within. But they could pick up the muffled sounds of music. Tyson paid the driver and exited, stepping onto the curb and scanning the dark street. Jubilee emerged from the taxi with a bounce in her step, clearly eager to continue their adventure into the night.


    "This way," she said, grabbing Tyson''s hand and pulling him down the narrow alley alongside the warehouse.

 Arc 6 - Ch 6: Celebration

    Chapter 73


    Arc 6 - Ch 6: Celebration


    Date: Friday, June 24, 2011.


    Location: Manhattan, New York


    At the far end of the warehouse loomed a solitary metal door, and beside it, an imposing figure. The man was thickly built, with a shaved head and a coiled wire running from his ear to disappear under his black t-shirt. His eyes tracked Tyson and Jubilee''s approach, flinty and assessing. Tyson met the guard''s eyes and sensed the potential for violence kept firmly in check. As they drew nearer, he detected an unusual scent clinging to the man; metallic, with an undertone of cedar.


    After a moment, the guard stepped aside and opened the door, granting them silent permission to enter. As soon as they crossed the threshold, throbbing bass and strobing lights enveloped them. Tyson blinked against the sudden sensory assault. The warehouse had been transformed into a thriving nightclub, packed with gyrating bodies and awash in vibrant colors. Industrial girders swept overhead while high-tech lighting rigs and speakers studded the walls.


    Jubilee turned to Tyson, her eyes sparkling with exhilaration. She squeezed his arm excitedly. "Let''s go check it out!" Allowing himself to get caught up in her enthusiasm, Tyson followed her into the pulsing crowds.


    With a subtle flexing of his illusion power, he lowered the perceived volume and pounding bass to a dull throb, allowing him and Jubilee to talk without shouting. Though he tried to hide it, his tense posture betrayed his discomfort in the club. She eagerly led him to the bar. Her enthusiasm faltered slightly when she noticed the tight set of his shoulders. "You look a little tense," she said, her voice tinged with concern and gentle encouragement. "Try to relax a bit."


    Tyson ordered a vodka-Coke for her, and a straight vodka for himself, though the alcohol''s effect would be short-lived on him. When he passed one of the glasses to Jubilee, she hesitantly admitted, "I''ve never drank before."


    He chuckled and advised in a soft tone. "Then take it slow."


    Jubilee sipped tentatively at first, her reaction one of mild surprise. "It''s not too bad," she admitted. Bolstered by her first taste, she drank more eagerly, feeling the alcohol loosen her inhibitions slightly.


    As they leaned against the bar, Jubilee placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "What''s got you so tense?"


    Tyson''s nose wrinkled at the scent that permeated the converted warehouse. "This place reeks of iron. It''s like it used to be a gym or something, but way worse," he remarked.


    She looked at him quizzically, taking an exaggerated sniff of the air. "I don''t smell anything like that," she responded with a puzzled shake of her head, causing her black hair to sway. "The rumor on the web was that they set up these raves in meat-packing factories. Maybe that''s what you''re picking up? Or maybe it''s just the idea of ''meat-packing'' that makes you uncomfortable?" Jubilee teased.


    Tyson raised an eyebrow at her innuendo. "Cute," he said dryly.


    Though Jubilee''s playful banter helped diffuse some of the tension in his shoulders, the persistent metallic scent still grated at his senses, keeping him on edge. He tried to push past it, focusing instead on Jubilee''s infectious enthusiasm in the pulsing atmosphere of the club. After finishing her drink, she grabbed Tyson''s hand, enthusiastically pulling him towards the dance floor. She was determined to fully immerse them both into the lively spirit of the club. Surrounded by the pulsing rhythm and movement of the energetic crowd, Tyson gradually felt the tension leave his body. His concerns faded into the background as he and Jubilee lost themselves in the moment.


    Tyson did not consider himself a dancer. However, his initial awkwardness on the dance floor was quickly eclipsed by the martial arts training ingrained in his muscles. It had gifted him an innate sense of rhythm and his enhanced senses granted him awareness. This combined with his superhuman agility lent an unexpected elegance to his motions, allowing him to flow with the music. As Jubilee swayed and dipped to the driving beats, Tyson easily synced himself to her rhythms. His ability to adapt so quickly made their motions seem almost choreographed.


    As song after song pulsed through the club, Jubilee slowly closed the distance between them. What had begun as two friends moving to the music subtly shifted into something more intimate. The space between them, once maintained by the casual distance of friends, diminished bit by bit. Jubilee''s hands traced the hard contours of Tyson''s chest and abdominals. Her touches were feather-light but deliberate. Tyson responded in kind, his motions becoming more attuned to Jubilee''s nearness, to the sensation of her fingers brushing his body. Their closeness acknowledged the connection that had been growing between them. The crowd and the throbbing beats and strobing lights dwindled into a background ambiance underscoring the personal moment they shared.


    Seeking more privacy, Jubilee retreated from the throbbing beats of the dance floor to an empty booth, dragging Tyson with her. She seated herself on Tyson''s lap rather than across from him. Her action was fueled partially by tipsiness.


    "Is this you?" she asked him point-blank. "Or just an illusion?"


    Tyson regarded Jubilee with a touch of humor. "Yup, this is me, no illusions," he said, glancing meaningfully at the leather of her jacket where it met his hands. "I''m being careful where I put my hands. The long sleeves help."


    Jubilee responded by grinding her hips deliberately into Tyson''s lap in clear invitation. The move was as surprising as it was enticing. She was testing the waters of their mutual attraction and feeling his growing hardness was all the answer she needed. Her gaze was direct, almost challenging as she asked, "What if I don''t want you to be so careful?"


    It was a bold dare.


    The lines between friendship and physical attraction blurred as they regarded each other. Jubilee wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as their faces hovered mere inches apart.


    "This is dangerous," Tyson breathed, though he made no move to withdraw from her tempting proximity.


    Jubilee was undeterred by his warning and grew even more forward with his lack of resistance. She leaned in closer, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered daringly, "Illyana told me what it was like to be with you." Her warm breath tickled his ear, and the pause that followed her murmured words was heavy with implication. When she continued, her question was as unexpected as it was forward. "If my first time is with illusions¡­ Does it still count as losing my virginity?"


    Tyson sat dumbfounded as Jubilee''s unexpected question hung between them. She had caught him completely off guard. He struggled to gather his scattered thoughts. "You''re drunk," he finally managed, "Are you messing with me?"


    Jubilee''s light, teasing laughter broke the tense silence between them. Amusement danced in her eyes. "The drinks are just helping me say what I''ve been thinking," she admitted with a nonchalant shrug. Her cheeks were flushed, whether it was from the alcohol or her confession, Tyson couldn''t tell. "That day you fought Azazel, we touched. You know me, you know how I feel." Her words held an undeniable ring of truth, the alcohol loosening her tongue to give voice to emotions she''d normally keep private.


    Tyson rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw, considering her words carefully. "I didn''t expect you to be so forward," he conceded.


    "I don''t know why you think I''m so shy and innocent," she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "I''m not Jean." Then her tone shifted, taking on an unmistakable suggestiveness. Jubilee leaned in. "Thanks for taking me dancing tonight," she purred. "I think I''m ready to head out now. Dessert sounds good."


    Her words were simple but the look in her eyes and the curve of her smile implied she was ready for more intimate activities. Tyson understood her meaning clearly. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, and he was willing to follow wherever it led.


    But then Tyson froze.


    The hauntingly familiar tune of the next track the DJ played sent a spike of recognition through him.


    The pounding bass reverberated through the club as he struggled to place where he had heard it before. Jubilee''s sultry smile shifted into confusion and concern. "What''s wrong?" She asked, worry tingeing her voice.


    Tyson''s eyes were drawn to a dark spot on Jubilee''s cheek.


    At first, he dismissed it as smudged makeup, but when he grabbed a napkin to wipe it away, he realized¡­


    It was blood.


    Why was blood on her face? She wasn''t hurt and their private booth was away from anyone else.


    The clubgoers who had been dancing in a chaotic crowd raised their hands to the beat in eerie unison. Their synchronized movement was almost cultish and instantly drew Jubilee and Tyson''s attention.


    The iron scent that lingered in his senses since they arrived suddenly intensified sharply. Its source became horrifyingly clear as the sprinkler system activated, unleashing not the expected rush of water, but a deluge of blood that rained down upon the club.


    Around them, clubgoers were either horrified or basking in the blood rain with an almost euphoric exuberance.


    The sight set off a red alert in Tyson''s mind.


    With no time to dwell on the unfolding scene, he wrapped illusory invisibility and silence around himself and Jubilee. Crafting an illusion visible only to her, he projected an image of his heroic identity, Mirage.


    The illusion spoke urgently, commanding Jubilee''s attention and trying to prevent her from panicking. "We''re in immense danger."


    All the while, Tyson never took his eyes off the crowd.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened as she took in the blood coating her body. Though she tried to suppress it, Tyson sensed the rising fear within her. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid.


    Mirage pressed on, his tone urgent yet composed. "Jubilee, please, trust me now, and breathe. Yes, you are covered in blood. This club is filled with vampires, the supernatural kind, not the romanticized fiction. They are real and very dangerous."


    Despite the bizarre revelation, the earnestness in Mirage''s voice forced Jubilee to process it all.


    "Your mutant powers should be effective against them in a fight. But do not let them bite you under any circumstances. I am unsure if my illusions will work, but I''m trying to conceal us."


    The crowd of vampires began turning their attention toward the pair.


    "Correction. It seems my illusions don''t work on them. Alright, plan B then. Keep your back to the wall, do not let them surround you. I will do everything in my power to hold them off. Remember, while they might look human, these vampires possess supernatural speed and strength." In a reassuring gesture, Mirage then removed his mask, revealing Tyson''s familiar face to Jubilee. "We are going to get through this, Jubes. Have faith in us. We make a great team, you and I.


    The real Tyson risked looking over his shoulder at her and said, "This was not how I envisioned our night going. But I won''t let a pack of vampires stop me from getting some. Will you?"


    Despite the harrowing circumstances, the playful challenge in his final question was Tyson''s way of affirming his commitment to Jubilee, their relationship, and protecting her no matter the cost.


    Before she could respond, his tone shifted to more playful despite their dire circumstances. "Hey Jubes, it''s been too long since we gamed together. Want to go a round?"


    A heads-up display materialized before Jubilee''s eyes. The familiar gaming interface appeared, complete with a party window listing Tyson''s name and health bar. The vampires, who moments earlier had inspired a primal dread in her, now bore floating names like ''a rave vampire'' and ''a blood-soaked vampire''. Health bars appeared above each foe.


    Their grim reality now seemed transformed into a challenge they could tackle side-by-side. Her spirit lifted as Tyson turned their situation into a game.


    "Now this is what I call fore-play," Jubilee joked in a whisper.


    The first vampire charged with supernatural speed. Tyson''s response was swift and lethal. Adamantium claws slid from his fingernails with a soft snikt. Grasping the vampire''s arm in an iron grip, Tyson unleashed a devastating straight-finger jab. The adamantium claws sliced cleanly through the creature''s neck causing the vampire''s body to disintegrate into glowing ash.


    His swift dispatching of the first vampire shook the predatory confidence of the remaining creatures. They hesitated.


    But then another vampire emerged from the crowd, her appearance was striking despite the macabre context. Blood soaked through the thin white shirt she wore, rendering the material nearly transparent as it clung to her. It was obvious she wore no bra, as her nipples were visible, poking excitedly against the wet fabric.


    Jubilee took in the scene with a hint of disdain, muttering, "Ugh, it''s one of those kinds of games," as she recognized the overly sexualized tropes often used to appeal to male fantasies.


    The vampire woman inhaled deeply, her senses honing in on the scent of the humans before her. She looked directly at Tyson. "You smell so fucking good," she purred, her voice a disturbing mix of wonder and hunger. "Why does your blood smell so delicious?"


    Jubilee rolled her eyes and sighed, resignation and annoyance evident in her tone. She mumbled, "Definitely one of those kinds of games... If she doesn''t have good boob physics, I''m going to be disappointed."


    The female vampire launched toward Tyson, her arms outstretched and fangs bared. Tyson responded with the composure of a seasoned fighter. Shifting his weight onto his back leg, he braced for impact.


    The vampire''s supernatural leap became her downfall. Already committed, she could not adjust her course. Suspended helplessly in mid-air, she made an easy target. With a powerful thrust of his front leg, Tyson launched a massive kick to her chest. His foot connected solidly, stopping her momentum and reversing it entirely. The vampire woman flew backward, slamming full force into the crowd. They went down in a heap, her body bowling them over like pins.


    Tyson watched dispassionately as the creatures untangled themselves, hissing and snarling in rage. The rain from the sprinklers had tapered off, but the tension within the club remained. Tyson, Jubilee, and the vampires were locked in a standoff, though it was clear the vamps hesitated to re-engage after witnessing Tyson''s display of power.


    The break in the fight was shattered when a shout rose from elsewhere in the club.


    "It''s the Daywalker!"


    The exclamation originated from another part of the warehouse, rippling through the crowd, carrying equal parts fear and awe. The term bore grave meaning to the vampiric horde but brought a smile to Tyson''s face.


    They weren''t alone here.


    Unexpected reinforcements had arrived.


    Despite this distraction, the female vampire Tyson had sent flying through the air remained fixated upon him and Jubilee. She extricated herself from the tangle of allies, hissing commands to rally them. Her once-alluring appearance was now marred by violence as she shrieked, "What are you waiting for? Get them!"


    The horde surged forward at her command in a wave of hunger. A large portion broke off in pursuit of the proclaimed Daywalker, but the rest descended upon Tyson and Jubilee. Tyson planted himself before the onrushing tide. He struck out, claws flashing as he sought to keep the predators at bay. But despite his formidable martial prowess, the vampires'' unnatural speed and strength allowed them to dart and weave through his defenses with alarming agility. Their attacks came in a blur that tested Tyson''s reflexes. Though his powerful blows staggered the bloodsuckers briefly, they failed to do lasting harm. Only when he unleashed his adamantium claws, severing heads, did he achieve definitive results. Each beheading was followed by the vampire''s body disintegrating into motes of glowing ash.


    The gashes and bruises that marred Tyson''s body went ignored as he focused his efforts on protecting Jubilee. Though the wounds stitched themselves closed as quickly as they were inflicted, by his mutant healing factor.


    Jubilee tapped into the explosive powers that were her unique mutant gift. The air crackled with gathering energy as she conjured her signature plasmoids into existence. Spheres of destructive force, glowing hot and angry, were hurled with unerring aim into the thickest concentration of vampires. The plasmoids detonated upon impact, tearing through the bloodsucker ranks with each blast. Direct hits to undead chests resulted in the vampires violently bursting apart in swirling ash.


    Emboldened by her display of power, Tyson fought the vampiric horde with reckless abandon, his adamantium claws shredding any bloodsucker unfortunate enough to come within reach. Abandoning his defenses, he was a whirlwind of lethality, intent on inflicting maximum harm to the relentless tide of fanged fury. Jubilee provided cover fire for the berserker mutant, her plasmoids coming one after another in a relentless barrage. She targeted any vampire that slipped past Tyson''s whirling guard, then cleared those attempting to surround and flank them.


    In the chaos, two opportunistic vampires spied an opening and launched a coordinated attack on the preoccupied Tyson. As his claws sank satisfyingly deep into the chest of another bloodsucker, one grabbed his arm. Sensing opportunity, a second vampire seized Tyson''s other arm as he reflexively stabbed forward, stretching his arms wide and neutralizing his strength. The female vampire who rallied the horde earlier saw his momentary vulnerability. Before he could summon the strength to break free of the vampires'' grasp, she sank her fangs triumphantly into his flesh.


    Tyson struggled against the vampires holding his arms. His muscles strained and bulged, but with each restraining one arm, they kept him at bay, if only just. The blonde female vampire threw her head back, her eyes rolling in ecstasy as she savored the taste of his blood.


    "Oh god, you taste so good," she moaned, her voice thick with pleasure and hunger. Her lips were stained crimson with Tyson''s blood. She licked them with relish. "I''m going to take you as my familiar." Her eyes locked with his, and he felt a strange pull as if she were trying to reach into his soul. "You''re special," she purred, her words dripping with dark promise. "When fed on, you''ll feel the pleasure that I feel." The sounds of the battle around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the pounding of his heart and the wet sounds of the vampire feeding.


    Jubilee''s voice cut through the fog in Tyson''s mind. "Tyson!" she screamed, her voice laced with panic.


    Witnessing his peril, Jubilee hurled plasmoids at the vampire holding his right arm, the bursts of incandescent light reduced it to disintegrating ash but also badly burned Tyson''s arm, exposing the metallic skeleton beneath. It was a brutal attack.


    But Jubilee knew Tyson would heal, the vampire wouldn''t.


    Plus it freed his arm.


    Any sense of triumph faded as the horde seized the opportunity and streamed past Tyson, breaking through the protective line he had fought so fiercely to maintain in front of Jubilee. She responded with a sweeping barrage of plasmoids, the incandescent energy incinerating many and halting the rest. It was an impressive display of her abilities, a fiery barrier holding back the tide.


    But one vampire vaulted over the blast, its predatory focus intent on Jubilee. She pivoted and raised her hand to unleash a targeted burst. Too late. With supernatural quickness the vampire seized her arm, halting her counterattack. Fangs sank into her wrist before she could react.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Defiance flashed in Jubilee''s eyes. Her free hand erupted with plasmic fury, reducing her attacker to ash. But the brief victory faded as two more vampires emerged from the crowd. Ravenous hunger burned in their gaze. Jubilee raised her hands and annihilated the vampires attacking her. Meanwhile, Tyson reasserted his presence in the fight. The female vampire retreated as he separated another attacker''s head from its body.


    For a brief moment, the chaos and fury of battle subsided. Tyson stood, clothes ripped, the vampires giving him a wide berth. Jubilee had a chance to catch her breath and regroup. She pulled her sleeve down and tightened it, hiding her bite mark.


    The fleeting respite shattered with the sudden, jarring staccato of automatic gunfire. The bullets efficiently mowed down several vampires in rapid succession, their forms disintegrating into dust as the rounds found their marks. One impacted Tyson''s head with a loud, metallic ping, briefly staggering him before the bullet fell flattened to the ground.


    As the echo of the final gunshot faded, the source of the gunfire stepped into view. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a distinctive flat-top haircut. Dressed in black leather and tactical gear, he carried a firearm but also a silver sword. This unexpected ally''s dramatic entrance shifted the tide of battle.


    The remaining vampires scattered in a desperate bid to escape the threat posed by the newcomer. All except for that blonde female vampire. Whether fueled by rage, stubborn pride, or a blood frenzy brought on by drinking from Tyson, she charged headlong toward the man heedless of the danger.


    The man met her reckless attack with calm readiness. With an underhanded flick, he hurled the empty firearm at the onrushing vampire. She ducked reflexively to avoid it, falling perfectly into his trap. In that brief instant when her vision was obscured, the man exploded into motion. His sword thrust forward, finding its mark deep in the vampire''s chest. The female vampire''s body crumbled into fine ash that drifted away into the air as the last remnants of her essence scattered to nothingness.


    Tyson knew this man, thanks to his meta-knowledge.


    Blade.


    A vampire hunter, who was a dhampir himself, a half-vampire.


    Blade turned, shifting his focus and his sword toward Tyson. The tension that permeated the warehouse was almost a tangible thing.


    "Thanks for the assist," Tyson said, but his gratitude died on his lips.


    Blade''s sword remained poised, ready to strike. His cold eyes held no hint of warmth or trust. "Nice try," he bit out. "You blend in well. I almost thought you were human for a second."


    Tyson blinked, confusion furrowing his brow.


    "You seemed convincingly protective of your familiar there." Blade barked a harsh laugh. "But you, suck-head, you''re not going anywhere. While you fought, your fangs and claws were clear as day." Comprehension dawned on Tyson a beat too late. The dhampir had mistaken him for a vampire. Before he could utter a denial, the man continued, his tone edged with steel. "Since you cared so much about your ''familiar,'' I''ll make you a deal. Tell me where I can find Frost, and I''ll let her leave..." His eyes narrowed, cold and calculating. "If she wasn''t bitten."


    The implacable determination on Blade''s face suggested that he wouldn''t accept Tyson''s explanations. He watched the vampire hunter warily, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. And now, Blade''s cold gaze was fixed on Jubilee with lethal intent.


    Tyson cleared his throat, hoping to draw Blade''s attention. "Alright, I''ll tell you where Frost is. Let her go."


    Blade''s eyes narrowed, "That wasn''t the deal," he said, his voice sharp as the sword in his hands.


    Jubilee shrank back against the wall, her yellow jacket scuffed and torn from their earlier skirmish. Tyson''s protective instincts surged. He couldn''t let Blade near her.


    Tyson exploded into motion. His claws erupted from his fingertips as he launched himself at Blade. The vampire hunter spun away with supernatural speed, Tyson''s swipe cutting only air. In the same motion, Blade drew his silver sword and slashed at Tyson''s arm. The blade cut through Tyson''s skin and muscle but skittered off Tyson''s adamantium-laced bones.


    As he exchanged blows with Blade, Tyson summoned his powers. An illusion of himself appeared beside Jubilee.


    "Time to go, Jubes," the Mirage urged.


    Jubilee hesitated, her eyes darting between the real Tyson and the illusion.


    The Mirage gave her a gentle push toward the exit. "Don''t worry about me. I can handle this guy."


    Tyson landed a bruising kick on Blade''s torso, demonstrating his point and buying them a few precious seconds.


    "His sword can''t kill me. But it''s time for you to get to safety."


    Jubilee still wavered, torn between fleeing and staying to help.


    The Mirage placed its hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes earnestly. "I promise it''ll be okay. Watch out for vamps as you go. I''ll keep him distracted long enough for you to get away."


    At last, Jubilee nodded and slipped away, the sounds of combat fading behind her. He had bought Jubilee''s escape. Now he just had to survive Blade, disengage, and escape to reunite with Jubilee.


    Blade spun and dodged, seeking an opening to drive home a killing blow. For his part, Tyson relied on his mutant abilities and adamantium-laced skeleton to withstand the assault. Blade was fast, but Tyson was durable. The vampire hunter dropped low and thrust his sword toward Tyson''s chest with viper-like quickness. Despite the precision of the strike, the silvered steel blade was turned aside by the indestructible metal beneath Tyson''s skin. Recognizing the futility of continuing his attack, Blade disengaged, rolling away to gain distance as he reassessed this unexpected opponent.


    "What are you?" Blade demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and curiosity.


    "Not a vamp. A mutant," Tyson replied.


    Blade''s eyes narrowed, flicking between Tyson and the doorway Jubilee had just slipped through. Blade needed to end this, now, before the girl got away. The vampire hunter snatched a silver dagger from his belt and whipped it towards Tyson''s chest, aiming for his heart.


    Tyson''s hand snapped up. His fingers closed around the spinning knife mere inches from his chest, the blade biting into his palm. Blood welled around the embedded weapon, but to Blade''s astonishment, instead of dripping to the floor, the crimson liquid solidified and reshaped into a butterfly that took wing, fluttering away.


    The wound sealed shut, leaving unmarred skin behind. He met Blade''s gaze steadily. "I already told you, I''m not like the bloodsuckers you hunt," he said with a note of weary patience.


    Blade''s eyes narrowed, uncertainty flickering across his stony expression for the first time.


    This was no vampire.


    In the distance, sirens wailed. The authorities were responding. Blade tensed, his enhanced hearing picking up the sounds of squealing tires and doors slamming. He had mere moments before the police swarmed this place.


    With a scowl, the vampire hunter turned and vanished, supernatural speed carrying him away. Tyson watched him go, shoulders slumping in relief. Now he just had to get out and find Jubes. The cops would have questions he didn''t intend to answer. Pocketing the silver knife, he ran out of the warehouse and into the night to find her, intent on reuniting with his friend.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Felicia Hardy slipped quietly into the loading bay of House of M, her eyes scanning the space until they settled on an old, beat-up cargo van tucked away in the back corner. She had used Tyson''s money to purchase the van for eight thousand dollars cash from a retiring plumber, ensuring the transaction remained off the books and untraceable. Felicia slid into the driver''s seat of the unassuming vehicle, its engine rumbled to life with a raspy growl that stood in contrast to the luxury cars she had grown accustomed to since starting at House of M. For her current needs, reliability mattered more than luxury.


    Guiding the van through the bustling streets of Manhattan, Felicia wove a winding path downtown towards the island''s west side. The van carried her through the Holland Tunnel and off the island, blending seamlessly into the traffic on Interstate 78 before switching over to Interstate 95 South. The nondescript van was the perfect inconspicuous getaway car to take her far from the city. After about an hour''s drive, Felicia arrived in Wharton, New Jersey. But before reaching her final destination, she pulled onto a deserted stretch of road and stopped. Quickly swapping the van''s license plates for a fake "I Heart NY" novelty plate they had acquired just for this purpose, Felicia took one last precaution to cover her tracks.


    Climbing into the rear, she was greeted by the sight of an exosuit waiting for her. Methodically, Felicia began donning the high-tech suit, preparing for the mission ahead.


    For weeks Ivan Vanko had immersed himself in this latest project, one personally commissioned by Tyson. Vanko was charged with constructing a suit for the lithe Felicia. Inspiration for her suit came from the armored exoskeleton he had worn during the confrontation with Tony Stark on the Monaco racetrack. This new creation would not encapsulate its wearer in a full-body Iron Man-style shell. Instead, Vanko streamlined the design to a minimalist framework centered on key reinforced joints and strategic protection pads. The inclusion of a compact Arc reactor as the power source granted Felicia immense strength, allowing her to lift weights hundreds of pounds beyond her natural capacity. Assembling such an exosuit would ordinarily have been simple for Vanko. However, the true challenge lay not in the construction itself, but in the required refinements.


    Tyson''s specifications had been explicit. The suit needed to blend seamlessly into Felicia''s attire, avoiding detection at a cursory glance by any unaware observer. Meeting these design requirements forced Vanko to concentrate intensely on streamlining each component and mechanism while retaining full functionality. He''d mandated that the suit could not impede Felicia''s movements. Tyson even mandated Vanko to prioritize Felicia''s suit over his own underscoring the critical importance of her impending task.


    The final preparation for Felicia''s mission was a gift from Natalie, Natasha the SHIELD agent who''d posed as their teacher to investigate Tyson. It was a sophisticated piece of espionage technology known as a photostatic veil. This ingenious device, an innovation from SHIELD''s engineers, could flawlessly disguise its wearer. For this operation, Felicia had programmed the veil to display the image of a generic woman, completely masking her true identity.


    For this operation, Felicia forewent her signature skintight catsuit, opting for a snug grey outfit per Tyson''s instructions to eliminate any potential connections between themselves and the impending heist. As she finished suiting up, Felicia couldn''t help but reflect on the immense trust placed in her, as evidenced by the cutting-edge resources provided. The exosuit and the photostatic veil combined to form an outfit worth tens of millions on the black market.


    Meanwhile, Tyson was occupied for the evening, accompanying Jubilee on a dinner date. Felicia contemplated how she might properly express her gratitude to Tyson later. Perhaps she would surprise him with new lingerie if his date with Jubilee didn''t go well. Felicia mused, that maybe Natasha would enjoy the lingerie too. Felicia wasn''t certain when she might see the agent again or if Natasha was attracted to women, but she remained open to finding out someday.


    The van''s engine rumbled as Felicia guided the vehicle down the lonely road. She could hardly feel the exoskeleton conforming to her frame, its technology so advanced as to be nearly unnoticeable. With a destination in mind, she continued onward through the night. Before long, her destination emerged from the darkness.


    Camp Lehigh.


    Once a thriving Army training ground, Camp Lehigh now sat decaying, abandoned to time. It was here, within these grounds, that the super soldier program first took root. From its facilities came Captain America, the nation''s first superhuman and beacon of hope.


    While Camp Lehigh''s contributions could never be forgotten, newer, more advanced bases eventually rendered it obsolete. As modern warfare evolved, the camp was slowly stripped of its purpose, left to languish as a relic of a past era. Nature had begun to reclaim the base. Wild vines and vegetation cracked through the pavement, crawling up the weathered walls of barracks once filled with soldiers. The fences surrounding the camp had rusted away, no longer electrified or even a minor deterrent. The front gate creaked on aging hinges, its insignia barely legible. Camp Lehigh had become a ghost, its past glory haunting its present decay.


    As the van approached, its headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the pathetic gate that stood as the last barrier protecting Camp Lehigh''s secrets. The corroded lock remained fastened, providing scant security. To Felicia, the gate was a minor obstacle.


    With an expert''s eye, Felicia studied the gate. Retrieving her kit, she selected the proper tension wrench and pick. The lock only posed a challenge because of its corrosion. Felicia precisely used the pick and wrench in tandem to manipulate the lock''s inner mechanisms. Moments later, a soft click announced her success. Stowing her tools, Felicia pushed open the creaking gate before slipping back behind the wheel and easing the van through the narrow opening.


    The training grounds where soldiers once honed deadly skills now surrendered to the patient siege of weeds and brambles. Ranges stood silent, their targets in tatters, obstacle courses were lost beneath tangles of undergrowth. Smashed windows gaped in the barracks, doors hung from rust-pitted hinges, the elements reclaiming all. Despite its derelict state, an air of solemnity hung over the abandoned camp. To those who knew its legacy, this place remained hallowed ground.


    Felicia recalled Tyson''s instructions.


    Search for a munitions depot. It should be visible from the central flag pole, near the barracks.


    She wondered how Tyson could know the details of a place he had never visited. However, as Felicia Hardy now stood before the munitions depot he had described, she realized his instructions were unnecessary. A fresh trail of tire tracks led directly to her objective, proving she was not the first to visit this ''abandoned'' relic.


    Confronted by the depot''s heavy metal doors, Felicia once again relied on her expertise as a lockpick. The padlock offered little challenge to her deft manipulations and soon yielded. However, the true test lay in breaching the solid, imposing doors.


    Now Felicia understood Tyson''s insistence that she be the first to receive an exosuit. It was not merely a matter of preference but a strategic decision critical to her mission''s success. Without the enhanced strength the exosuit granted, she would never have been able to move such heavy doors. As she positioned herself to open them, the exosuit''s servos hummed. With surprising ease, the heavy metal doors swung open under the force amplified by the suit''s capabilities. They moved as if they were made of plywood rather than reinforced steel, leaving Felicia in silent awe of the technology that encased her. The exosuit was an engineering marvel, granting Felicia superhuman strength while still allowing the delicate precision required for tasks like lockpicking.


    Felicia proceeded cautiously into the next area, unsure of what to expect. Tyson had given her little guidance for this part of the mission, only a cryptic warning that set her nerves on edge.


    Do not move any bookshelves or storage racks under any circumstances.


    She puzzled over his insistence on this strange directive. What could prompt such a peculiar limitation? She had questioned Tyson further, but he remained adamant, instructing her to avoid any locked doors or elevators hidden behind shelving, and even abort the entire mission if she encountered such a thing.


    Tyson''s ominous caution unsettled Felicia, though his concern for her safety was evident. He had made it clear that while he offered her this heist, knowing her fondness for such things, her well-being was his top priority. She had explicit orders to abort the operation and retreat immediately if anything seemed amiss. Wondering what could be behind the bookshelves, or lower, deeper in the base that had him so unnerved, Felicia pressed onward, following the trail of muddy bootprints left by the soldiers who had recently visited. They led her ever deeper into the shadowy recesses of the building.


    The trail of bootprints ended abruptly at an imposing steel vault door embedded into the depot''s concrete wall. The vault was a minor test that would have halted most intruders'' progress, but not Felicia Hardy. Vaults, after all, were her specialty.


    With the self-assurance of a seasoned professional, Felicia approached the vault and scanned its intricate locking mechanism, noting the older model yet timeless design. She sank to one knee, the exosuit adjusting fluidly to support her movements. She retrieved a compact set of locksmith''s tools from her utility belt. Felicia pressed her ear to the cold steel surface, using a stethoscope to amplify the soft clicks and whirs of the lock''s inner workings. With a delicate touch honed by years of experience, she began manipulating the dial, her fingers guided by an innate understanding of the device''s mechanical language. Each faint sound and every subtle movement of the tumblers provided clues guiding her closer to unraveling the combination. Her focus narrowed, dedicated solely to the puzzle. After several careful adjustments and precise movements, Felicia felt the internal mechanism yield with a soft click.


    She bested the vault lock.


    With a gentle push, the heavy door swung inward, granting access to its secrets. Felicia''s breath caught in her throat as her gaze fell upon the discovery within the vault.


    A collection of six tall metal canisters labeled "Erskine" followed by a batch number.


    Each had the potential to reshape history. The unassuming cylinders contained Dr. Abraham Erskine''s preliminary formulations of the super soldier serum, the groundwork for the project that had birthed Captain America.


    Felicia''s pulse quickened as the magnitude of her find sank in. Throughout her career as a thief, she had stolen countless treasures, yet none could compare to the significance of these canisters and their contents. The realization that she now held an item of truly immeasurable worth both exhilarated and overwhelmed her. On the black market, the serum could command any price; a fact not lost on the cunning thief. Organizations and nations across the globe, allies and enemies alike would move heaven and earth to obtain even a single canister. The possibilities branching before her were endless.


    Yet, as Felicia stood alone in the dim vault, her thoughts turned not to the wealth the serum could bring, but to Tyson and the task he had entrusted her with. Reflecting upon her journey, she acknowledged the transformation in her life; from a solitary thief to a vital player in House of M''s operations. Tyson had given her freedom from Kingpin and offered her purpose in his employ. The wealth accumulated through her art galleries, and the occasional mission like this exceeded her wildest dreams. Just hours after high school graduation, she was a multimillionaire.


    And Felicia knew Tyson was just getting started.


    Moreover, she grasped the serum''s inherent danger. It was a Pandora''s box, powerful yet unfinished. The Green Goblin was an example of the hazards of incomplete Super Soldier Serums. Possessing Erskine''s formulas would make her a target, drawing dangerous enemies she, and even Tyson, might not be ready for. That potential threat led them to take so many precautions to avoid detection.


    At that moment, Felicia made her choice.


    She would not be tempted by short-term wealth or power. She committed herself to Tyson and what he was building with House of M, and soon with Trask. She would return the early super soldier serums to him, affirming her loyalty and belief in their shared path. She began carefully securing the canisters. Her mission wasn¡¯t over, but as she prepared to leave the vault, she did so knowing she played a vital part in something great.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Peter Parker arrived at the glass doors of the Nom Wah Tea Parlor on Doyers Street in Chinatown, just as the clock tower down the block chimed eight times to mark the hour. Punctuality had become a rarity for Peter these days, consumed as he was by the relentless pursuit of the doppelganger who sowed chaos and destruction through the city while wearing Peter''s guise as Spider-Man. The loss of Gwen Stacy''s father at the hands of the fraud magnified Peter''s guilt tenfold. It hounded him, coloring his every interaction with Gwen and her family.


    Peering through the restaurant''s front window, Peter saw Gwen seated at a round table near the back with her mother and two brothers, gathered together to celebrate their graduation. The sight evoked a swell of emotion in Peter''s chest.


    For a fleeting moment, the bitter taste of guilt took shape.


    A vivid hallucination of Gwen''s father stood disapprovingly over his family, his piercing gaze set on Peter, cutting through his soul.


    Peter shook his head sharply, dispelling the haunting vision, but its shadow lingered. The judgment Peter felt radiating from Gwen''s late father, imagined or not, was a manifestation of the conflict that defined his existence. The impossible struggle to balance his responsibilities as Spider-Man with his desires for connection, forgiveness, and some semblance of a normal life.


    Gwen''s eyes drifted toward the front of the restaurant as she awaited Peter''s arrival. Through the glass she caught sight of him, his shoulders hunched and tense as he hovered uncertainly outside. With a murmured excuse to her family, she rose from the table and threaded her way between the other patrons to the entrance. Pushing through the door, she stepped out into the cool evening air to join Peter where he lingered under the awning. His eyes flickered to her face briefly before skittering away, his discomfort with the situation evident in every line of his body. Concern creased her brow as she took in Peter''s obvious distress.


    "Peter," she said softly. Though a simple greeting, her voice carried the weight of shared sorrow and unspoken understanding. "Hey, what''s wrong? Are you alright?"


    He struggled to meet her eyes, shifting uneasily beneath her caring scrutiny. "I don''t know what I''m doing," he confessed finally the doubt and uncertainty clear in his voice.


    Gwen''s eyes softened with sympathy. Her next question cut straight to the heart of his inner turmoil. "It''s my father, isn''t it?"


    Peter ran a weary hand through his tousled hair, his hunched shoulders betraying the burden he carried. "Yeah," he admitted heavily. "I see him everywhere I go. I can''t... I don''t know what to do. And I can''t get him out of my head."


    "Yeah, but we''ve talked about this," Gwen reminded gently. They had held long talks attempting to navigate the complex tangle of grief and guilt that clung to them both. But she could see pain and regret still lingered behind Peter''s eyes.


    Her tone grew firm, her next words a reminder and a reprimand. "It''s not his choice, Peter."


    Gwen knew Peter still struggled under the perceived judgment of her departed father. But the path they walked now, the choices ahead, did not belong to the dead. Those decisions were theirs to make.


    Peter''s tone was heavy with self-reproach, "You promised him that you would stay away from me. And now I''m gonna come and eat dinner with your family. How can I do this? What does this make me?" he asked, questioning his actions.


    Gwen met his turmoil with steadfast compassion, "I don''t know, what does that make you?" she asked, hoping to prompt Peter to articulate the true source of his guilt.


    "It makes me unable to live with myself," he confessed.


    But Gwen refused to let Peter spiral into despair. "He made me promise to stay away from Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. I thought you were supporting me. That being here meant you loved me." Gwen asserted. "Why isn''t that enough?"


    "I do love you. I love you," Peter declared fervently, "What if something happens to you just like it happened to him because of me?"


    Gwen met his fear with understanding. "Listen to me. You''re Spider-Man... and I love that. But I love Peter Parker more. That''s worth it to me," she affirmed, reminding Peter that she had made her choice with full knowledge of the risks.


    Peter''s mumbled words revealed the heart of his dilemma, "I can''t lose you too."


    Gwen challenged him to consider the implications of his choices, "If because you can''t lose me, we can''t be together, who does that work out for, Peter? Besides, who am I safer with than you? Who can protect me from him better than you?"


    Peter turned away, the weight of his next words evident in his pained expression and leaden tone. "I can''t. I''m sorry, Gwen. That imposter is still out there, he could come for you, and it would be my fault. I shouldn''t be near you."


    Gwen reeled as the impact of Peter''s words sank in. Her voice was thick with emotion when she responded, "Wow. I''m strong too, you know? But you can''t see it, all you can see is the ghost of my dead father. You missed my graduation speech, and don''t know what I said about everything we''ve been through. I can''t even talk to you anymore. I''m trying to tell you and you aren''t listening. But if you can¡¯t stand being around me and my family¡­ Then I¡¯m breaking up with you." Peter stood paralyzed, wanting to speak but unable to find the words.


    His silence only affirmed Gwen''s resolve. With a clarity born of heartache, she left no room for doubt.


    "I. Break up. With you." The finality of her statement rang with her conviction.


    Gwen turned and walked away, her hurried steps carrying her back to the warmth and light of the restaurant, back to her family, leaving Peter alone.


    Through the restaurant''s front windows, Peter watched Gwen rejoin her family at their table, their lives continuing normally while his crumbled around him. Their eyes met one last time through the glass, a silent exchange freighted with meaning.


    In Gwen''s watery gaze, Peter saw hurt, a reflection of the pain his actions, or inaction, had caused.


    In Peter''s eyes, Gwen saw profound sadness and regret for all that had been lost, for the love he had sacrificed because of his fears.


    Unable to bear the sorrow in that final shared glance, Peter turned and walked away down the street, each step taking him further from Gwen. He moved faster, walking becoming a jog and jogging becoming a run. Almost as if he could outrun the pain and guilt that clung to him now like a second skin. He was running away from Gwen and the possibilities of love, and running toward the only identity he had left.

 Arc 6 - Ch 7: Bonus Level

    Chapter 74


    Arc 6 - Ch 7: Bonus Level


    Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.


    Location: Manhattan, New York


    Tyson followed the unique scent of sparklers and adrenaline that lingered in Jubilee''s wake. He had given her the opening she needed to escape the warehouse, and now he was determined to ensure she was safe.


    He found her a block away. She stood beneath the dim glow of a streetlight, her figure slumped against the brick wall as her breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Relief washed over Tyson at the sight of her alive and relatively unharmed.


    "Jubilee," he called softly, not wanting to startle her into shooting plasmoids at his face.


    She turned at the sound of his voice. Relief flooded her eyes when she saw him. "Tyson," she breathed, a weary smile breaking through. "You made it."


    "Of course I did," Tyson replied, closing the distance between them. His gaze swept over her, checking for injuries. "I told you some vampires wouldn''t keep me from you."


    Jubilee managed a weak chuckle as she pushed off from the wall to stand properly. "Yeah, well you had me worried for a moment there," she admitted, wiping at the blood streaking her face. "Are you going to be okay? I know you got bit a few times."


    "I''ll be fine. My healing should prevent me from being affected," Tyson said, "But we need to keep moving. That vampire hunter and those bloodsuckers might not be far behind."


    Their footsteps echoed softly on the pavement as Jubilee and Tyson jogged down the deserted street. Jubilee''s voice cut through the tension, a hint of playfulness coloring her words. "Hey, did I win?"


    Tyson slowed to a walk, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the grimness of their situation. He let out a sigh of mock defeat and nodded. "Yeah, you did." With a flick of his wrist, the illusion that had faded when Jubilee retreated reappeared before her eyes. The heads-up display showed their scores.


    Jubilee - 38, Tyson - 17.


    Jubilee jumped in triumph, momentarily forgetting her fatigue. "Yes!" she exclaimed, reveling in her victory.


    Tyson chuckled, amusement lacing his voice. "Congratulations." Pride was evident in his tone. "What would you like for your prize?"


    Jubilee''s excitement simmered into a sheepish grin as she considered her options. After a moment''s hesitation, her eyes lit up. "Can you do Naruto again?" she asked.


    In a puff of smoke, he transformed. Before Jubilee stood not Tyson, but a perfect illusion of Tyson dressed as Naruto Uzumaki, complete with the iconic orange jumpsuit and blonde hair. Jubilee''s laughter filled the night. For a moment, they were no longer survivors of a vampire attack; they were friends sharing a lighthearted moment.


    "Believe it! Dattebayo!" he struck a pose in his Naruto guise, mimicking the character''s signature move.


    Jubilee crossed her arms over her chest, a teasing yet pointed tone in her voice as she declared, "But you''re not Naruto. You''re more broody and emo than you are energetic. You use illusions. You''re Sasuke."


    Tyson wanted to argue that he was nothing like Sasuke Uchiha, the brooding, solitary figure with darker inclinations. Yet as he considered her words, he couldn''t deny the kernel of truth in the comparison. He shrugged, conceding her point. "And I did run away from you guys."


    Perhaps he did share more in common with Sasuke than he cared to admit. As Tyson began removing his bloodstained clothes, Jubilee watched the illusion of his Naruto guise peel away.


    Beneath the disappearing guise, the visage of Sasuke emerged, down to the last detail of his costume and his unmistakable Sharingan eyes.


    Caught up in the moment, Jubilee didn''t immediately notice her change. It was only when she glanced down that she realized her clothes had been transformed, adopting the style and colors of another character entirely. Intrigued, she inspected her new outfit, her expression shifting from curiosity to mock outrage as realization dawned. Reaching up, Jubilee grabbed strands of her now-pink hair and pulled them into view, her eyes widening in disbelief.


    "You made me Sakura! I''m not Sakura!" she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Tyson. Sakura Haruno was not who Jubilee had envisioned herself as in their playful game.


    Tyson couldn''t help but laugh at her reaction. "Come on, Jubes. Sakura''s strong," he claimed, trying to hide his amusement.


    Jubilee, however, refused to be placated. "Not until late in the story! Before that she''s all about Sasuke!" she protested, though the corners of her mouth twitched. Then she exclaimed, "You did this because you''re Sasuke!"


    Tyson''s shrug only spurred Jubilee on, "I want to be Hinata," she declared, envisioning herself as the gentle yet powerful kunoichi from the Hidden Leaf Village.


    Tyson couldn''t help but laugh at the suggestion. "You? Hinata?" He shook his head, amusement clear in his tone. "No, you''re not Hinata. Jean is Hinata," he countered, picturing the quiet strength and empathetic nature of Jean Grey as a perfect match for Naruto''s beloved.


    Jubilee nodded in agreement. "Fine, Jean is Hinata," she conceded, the image of Jean embodying Hinata''s characteristics too fitting to dispute. "But who can I be then?" she asked.


    Tyson''s face lit up as inspiration struck. He snapped his fingers, and Jubilee''s outfit transformed before her eyes.


    Her clothing dissolved, replaced by an ominous black cloak patterned with red clouds, the signature attire of the Akatsuki.


    Jubilee''s initial reaction was mock outrage as she glared at Tyson. "If you made me Tobi, you''re gonna pay," she threatened, fists clenched at her sides.


    However, comprehension dawned as her gaze drifted to the distinctive mouths etched into her palms.


    "Explosion guy?" she asked, surprise coloring her tone as she recognized he''d made her Deidara.


    She considered the comparison briefly, then a smile tugged at her lips. "Yeah, okay, that works," she conceded, satisfaction settling over her. Though unexpected, the choice was fitting. Deidara''s artistic passion, flamboyant personality, and explosive powers mirrored Jubilee''s dynamic nature and spectacular, firework-like abilities in an unexpected yet suitable way.


    Jubilee and Tyson, now embodying the guises of Deidara and Sasuke respectively, noted the approach of a figure. The streets were sparsely populated at the late hour. A group of vampires emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley. The creatures'' eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, their fangs bared as they circled the pair menacingly.


    "Looks like the party followed us," Tyson quipped, his Sharingan eyes narrowing as he tracked the vampires'' movements.


    Jubilee''s hands clenched, the mouths etched into her palms grinned in anticipation. "Then let''s give them a show, yeah?" she retorted.


    The first vampire lunged in a blur of speed and fury. Tyson met the attack head-on; his kick sent the creature flying, crashing into a dumpster with a satisfying crunch.


    Jubilee seized the moment, thrusting her hands forward. Illusions transformed her plasmoids into explosions of white clay, the crackling energy engulfing the second vampire. It let out a shriek as the blast reduced it to a smoking husk.


    "Art is an explosion!" Jubilee crowed, her grin fierce and triumphant.


    The third vampire, warier now, circled at a distance. It feinted left, then right, seeking an opening. Tyson tracked the creature as it sprang forward. He shifted to the side, dodging its overbalanced punch, and forcing it to sail past him.


    "Too slow," he taunted, delivering a punishing elbow strike that sent the vampire sprawling.


    Jubilee followed up, her hands weaving signs as she summoned another explosive burst. The vampire had barely stumbled to its feet before the detonation engulfed it, leaving nothing but drifting ash.


    With the immediate threat dispatched, Tyson and Jubilee turned to face each other. Despite the situation''s gravity, Jubilee couldn''t contain a laugh. "Okay, that was pretty awesome," she admitted, "We make a good team, Sasuke."


    "Hn. Not bad yourself." The gentle teasing in Tyson''s tone eased away the last of the battle''s tension.


    Tyson and Jubilee darted through the empty streets, their arms trailing behind them in the iconic ninja run. Jubilee felt the wind whipping through her hair. It was exhilarating, almost like she was flying.


    "This is incredible," Jubilee laughed, her voice breathless with wonder. "We''re seriously ninja-running right now?"


    "Wait, hold up," she called out, confusion coloring her tone. "How are we doing this?"


    Tyson slowed their pace, the illusion of their ninja run fading to reveal the truth. He was carrying Jubilee bridal-style, cradling her close to his chest. Jubilee''s eyes widened as she took in their true situation.


    "I''m carrying you," Tyson explained, "And I''m overriding your senses to make it seem like you''re running alongside me.


    Jubilee blinked, taking a moment to process this revelation. She focused inward, marveling at the seamless melding of reality and illusion. Tyson''s ability to manipulate her perceptions was as thrilling as unnerving.


    "Okay, that''s seriously impressive," she acknowledged, a note of awe coloring her tone. "And maybe a little scary. You''re like, Mangekyou-level with these mind games."


    Tyson hummed in agreement, the sound a gentle vibration against Jubilee''s cheek. "I suppose I am," he mused. "But even I have my limits. Demons, psychics, magic users, and now¡­ vampires have all seen through my illusions. "


    The mention of vampires sent a flicker of unease through Jubilee, her thoughts turning briefly to the dull ache in her arm where fangs had pierced the skin. But she pushed the worry aside, determined not to let it mar the giddy rush of the moment. Instead, she focused on the press of Tyson''s body against hers, and how his arms cradled her with effortless strength.


    As they approached the Four Seasons, Jubilee felt a flutter of anticipation in her belly. The night''s dangers seemed to fade, replaced by a simmering undercurrent of excitement. She saw the heat in his eyes that mirrored her rising desire.


    "That was..." Jubilee trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "Intense. In a good way."


    Tyson''s smile was knowing, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers racing down Jubilee''s spine. "The night''s not over yet," he murmured.


    They entered his luxurious suite at the Four Seasons. Tyson made his way to the well-stocked bar, pouring them each a glass of fine wine. Jubilee accepted hers with a grateful smile and wandered onto the spacious balcony.


    She stood by the railing, sipping and gazing at the glittering Manhattan skyline. The city stretched out before her, a vast expanse of twinkling lights and towering skyscrapers. Despite the beauty of the view, Jubilee''s thoughts were still tangled up in the incredible display of Tyson''s powers she had witnessed.


    "So," she began, "what else can you do with these illusions of yours?"


    Tyson joined her at the railing. "What would you like to see?" he asked playfully.


    Jubilee considered for a moment, then grinned. "Surprise me."


    The cityscape before them shimmered and shifted, the towering buildings and neon lights melting away to be replaced by a very different scene.


    Jubilee stood on a rooftop overlooking a wide, paved street with colorful buildings. Vendors hawked their wares from stalls, the air filled with the mouthwatering scent of sizzling meat and spices. In the distance, a mountain loomed, a series of stone faces carved into its surface.


    "The Hidden Leaf Village." Jubilee breathed, her eyes wide with delight.


    Tyson chuckled, pleased by her reaction. "Good eye."


    The scene shifted again. The village faded replaced by two colossal statues facing each other, hands forming the Seal of Confrontation with a waterfall between them.


    "Wow, the Valley of the End. This is where Naruto and Sasuke fought. Twice." Jubilee breathed, marveling at the detail and scale of the illusion. "Okay, how about the bridge of the Enterprise?"


    Tyson grinned, "For some reason, that one seems familiar."


    Suddenly, they were standing on the high-tech bridge of the USS Enterprise. Consoles blinked and chirped around them, the viewscreen displaying a field of stars streaking past at warp speed. Jubilee ran a hand over the smooth surface of the tactical station, shaking her head in amazement.


    "Kami''s Lookout, from Dragon Ball Z!" she called out next.


    The bridge faded, replaced by a wide, circular platform floating high above the clouds. The floor was tiled and a palm tree swayed gently in the breeze. The edge of the Lookout dropped away to infinite sky on all sides, a breathtaking view of the world below.


    "This is incredible," Jubilee murmured, walking to the edge and peering at the clouds far below. "Okay, last one. Hogwarts!"


    With a final shimmering shift, the Lookout disappeared. In its place rose the towering spires and turrets of Hogwarts Castle, its windows glowing with warm light against the dusky sky. The grounds stretched out before them, the Black Lake glittering in the distance and the Forbidden Forest a dark line on the horizon.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Jubilee turned to Tyson, her eyes shining with wonder and affection. "You''re amazing, you know that?" she said softly, stepping closer. "This power of yours... it''s magical."


    "I''m glad you enjoy it."


    As the Hogwarts illusion faded, returning them to the balcony and the sparkling city lights, Jubilee leaned into Tyson, her head resting on his shoulder. The night''s horrors seemed far away, chased back by the wonder and joy of the moment they had shared.


    With their drinks finished, Jubilee took Tyson''s hand, a playful glint in her eye as she led him towards the suite''s luxurious bathroom. The events of the night still clung to their skin, the dried blood reminding them of the horrors they had faced. But Jubilee was determined to wash away more than just the physical remnants of their ordeal. As they entered the bathroom, Tyson quirked an eyebrow, a silent question in his gaze. Jubilee merely smiled, a secretive curve of her lips that promised delights to come. She reached into the shower, turning the knobs until steam began to billow out, fogging the mirrors and enveloping them in a haze of warmth.


    But before they could step under the spray, Tyson held up a hand, "Allow me," he murmured.


    The bathroom shimmered, the tiles and fixtures blurring and shifting as Tyson''s illusion took hold.


    Suddenly, they were no longer standing in a shower, but before a majestic waterfall. Crystalline water cascaded down from a rocky outcropping, the droplets catching the light like diamonds as they fell. The air was heavy with the scent of lush greenery.


    Jubilee laughed in delight as she spun slowly taking in the transformed space. "You never cease to amaze me," she said softly.


    Tyson''s smile was tender, "You inspire me," he replied, the words heartfelt and genuine.


    Emboldened by the moment, Jubilee stepped back, her hands moving to the hem of her shirt. She held Tyson''s gaze, a silent challenge in her eyes as she slowly, teasingly, began to peel the garment off.


    She was careful to ensure her collection of bracelets covered her wrist.


    Inch by tantalizing inch, she revealed the gentle swell of her breasts. Tyson watched, transfixed, as she let the jacket and shirt fall to the ground, baring herself to his hungry gaze. Next came her shorts, the button popping free with a flick of her nimble fingers. She shimmied the fabric down her legs, reveling in how Tyson watched, transfixed, as each new expanse of skin was revealed. The denim pooled at her feet and she stepped free, clad only in her bra and panties.


    In that moment, vulnerable before him, Jubilee had never felt more desired. There was a heat in Tyson''s eyes. His hands flexed at his sides as if aching to touch her. All his subtle movements fed into the simmering anticipation building between them.


    Reaching out, she took his hand, guiding it to rest over her pounding heartbeat. "This," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion, "is what you do to me."


    He replied with a low growl, "I know. I''ve always known. I can hear your heartbeat across the room. I can smell your arousal."


    The dam of Tyson''s restraint broke. With a groan, he surged forward, claiming her mouth in a searing kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. They stumbled back into the waterfall, the cool spray a shocking contrast to the heat of their entwined bodies. His clothes joined Jubilee''s on the ground as they lost themselves in the rush of sensation. Hands roamed and mouths explored as the water pounded around them, washing away the grime and whatever fear and hesitance remained, leaving only passion in its wake.


    The waterfall''s roar drowned out all other sounds as Tyson and Jubilee stumbled beneath the pounding spray. Tyson ached to see all of Jubilee as his illusion claimed her, but her underwear stood. He settled for illusionary caresses, ghosting his hands over the curves of her body. Her drenched clothes clung to her like a second skin, the flimsy fabric leaving little to the imagination.


    "Take them off," Tyson growled against her ear, his breath hot compared to the cool spray. "Now."


    Jubilee didn''t need to be told twice. With trembling fingers, she unclasped her bra and peeled away the garments, letting them fall at their feet.


    When Tyson had told her to remove her underwear, not only had Jubilee eagerly complied, but Tyson''s keen senses had picked up on the sudden spike in her arousal. The way her breath hitched, the flush that spread across her skin, the subtle change in her scent¡­ It all pointed to a subtle facet of Jubilee''s desires. Being told what to do seemed to ignite a special kind of thrill within her.


    Jubilee wanted to surrender control.


    Intrigued by this discovery, Tyson decided to test his theory further. Keeping his touch light and teasing, he trailed illusory fingers along the curve of Jubilee''s spine, leaning in to murmur in her ear.


    "Keep your hands at your sides," he commanded softly, his breath hot against her neck. "No touching until I say so."


    Jubilee shivered, a breathy moan escaping her lips as she obeyed, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Tyson could practically feel the effort it took for her to restrain herself, to resist the urge to reach out and pull him closer.


    He rewarded her compliance with a trail of kisses along her throat, his touch maddeningly teasing.


    "So compliant," he praised, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "I can tell how much you want this."


    The words seemed to unlock something in Jubilee, her head falling back as a keening whimper tore from her throat. Tyson marveled at her responsiveness, how she trembled and arched into his caress.


    Emboldened, he continued his sensual assault, his commands growing bolder as he gauged her reactions. "Spread your legs," he growled, his illusory grip tight on her hips. "Let me see how much you want this."


    Jubilee hastened to obey, her thighs parting to reveal the glistening evidence of her arousal. Tyson groaned at the sight, his desire surging in response. He ached to touch her, but he held back, determined to drive her to the brink first.


    "Touch yourself," he commanded hoarsely, his illusionary hands guiding hers to where she needed it most. "Show me how you like it."


    With a shuddering gasp, Jubilee complied, her fingers delving into slick folds as Tyson watched, transfixed. He amplified her every sensation with his powers, until each stroke, each circling caress of her fingertips, resonated through her with toe-curling intensity.


    Tyson commanded. "Stop."


    Jubilee''s fingers stilled reluctantly, her body thrumming with unfulfilled need. A slow smile curved his lips as he leaned in, his calloused fingers replacing hers with exquisite care.


    "You listen so well, you should be rewarded," he murmured, the rough timbre of his voice sending delicious shivers racing down her spine.


    His finger took over, mirroring the motions she had begun, each slick caress stoking the building fire of her arousal. Jubilee arched into his touch with a whimper, chasing that elusive peak, muscles taut with delicious tension. Tyson''s free hand ran all over her body as he worked her toward sweet oblivion.


    Jubilee''s cries echoed off the bathroom walls, mingling with the sound of the cascading water. Her pleasure crested and broke under Tyson''s ardent guidance, her release a pulsing wave that left her weak and trembling.


    As Jubilee came down from her orgasm, Tyson led her out of the waterfall''s spray and onto the shore, where plush towels awaited them.


    Tyson gazed into Jubilee''s eyes, his expression filled with affection and gentle concern. "How do you want this to be, Jubes?" he asked softly, "Your first time... I want it to be perfect for you."


    Jubilee leaned into his touch. "I just want you, Tyson," she whispered, "I trust you completely. I know you''ll take care of me like only you can."


    Tyson closed his eyes in focus and Jubilee became more aware of her surroundings, marveling at the incredible detail Tyson wove into his illusion. What had initially appeared as a simple waterfall and shore had transformed into a lush oasis, teeming with life and wonder. Jubilee''s eyes widened as she took in the scene around her.


    The pool was broken by the splash of a Magikarp leaping from the surface, its scales glinting in the soft light. At the water''s edge, a Poliwhirl sat contentedly, its hypnotic swirl pattern seeming to move with a life of its own. Lush greenery surrounded the shore, dotted with vibrant flowers and rustling with the gentle movements of various Pok¨¦mon. A curious Bulbasaur peeked out from behind a bush, its large eyes blinking at the couple with an almost mischievous glint.


    Jubilee couldn''t help but giggle.


    A playful Squirtle waddled past, pausing to blow a stream of bubbles in their direction before scampering off. The bubbles floated around them, reflecting tiny rainbows and adding to the enchanting atmosphere. In the branches above, a Pidgey trilled a sweet melody, its song blending harmoniously with the soothing sound of the waterfall. A Butterfree fluttered by, the gentle breeze from its wings carrying the sweet scent of the surrounding flowers.


    Jubilee turned to Tyson, her eyes shining with wonder and appreciation. "This is incredible," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It''s like you''ve brought the world of Pok¨¦mon to life, just for me." She leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with affection. "It''s perfect," she murmured, her gaze locked with his. "You''re perfect."


    He tenderly kissed her forehead before guiding her back on the soft towel. Jubilee''s eyes fluttered closed.


    She felt Tyson''s weight settle gently over her, his strong arms bracing himself on either side of her head.


    At that moment, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of the Pok¨¦mon paradise Tyson had created just for her, Jubilee felt a sense of absolute safety and love. She stiffened as she prepared to feel a man inside her for the first time. She knew Tyson would cherish her, worship her, and treat her with the utmost care and reverence.


    But she was surprised when he whispered, "Not yet."


    He began to trail feather-light kisses down her body. Lower and lower he went, each a whispered promise against her flushed skin.


    Jubilee''s breath hitched in anticipation as he settled between her thighs. She trembled with nervous desire.


    With a tender reverence, Tyson pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. Jubilee''s eyes fluttered closed, her fingers threading through his hair as she surrendered to the sensation. Slowly, almost worshipfully, he began to explore her most intimate area with his lips and tongue. Each stroke, each gentle flick and swirl, sent sparks of pleasure racing through Jubilee''s body. Tyson took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of her, learning her responses and playing her body like a finely tuned instrument. His touch was confident yet tender, a perfect balance of skill and adoration.


    She gasped and arched into his touch, lost in the blissful sensations he was evoking.


    As he focused his efforts on her sensitive clit, Jubilee felt the pleasure building within her, coiling tighter and tighter until it bordered on exquisite torment. Her grip tightened in Tyson''s hair, her hips lifting to meet his passionate ministrations. With a final flick of his tongue, he sent Jubilee spiraling over the edge. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, stealing her breath and causing her vision to blur at the edges. Through it all, Tyson held her as he eased her through the overwhelming sensations.


    Tyson rose from between Jubilee''s thighs, trailing gentle kisses up her body as he made his way back to her waiting arms. As he settled over her, their bodies aligned and their gazes locked, Jubilee felt a swell of emotion so intense it brought tears to her eyes.


    "I want to be yours, completely," she whispered, her voice a breath of anticipation and trust.


    Tyson brushed a tender thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tear that had escaped. "I''ll take care of you," he promised.


    Jubilee pressed a hand against Tyson''s shoulder, halting his advance. Tyson eased back at her touch, understanding her silent request to wait. He gazed at her with patient eyes, ready to listen.


    "Can we do this for real?" Jubilee asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Like, without illusions?"


    Tyson nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, we can," he replied. "I''ll need to cover up and get a condom." He paused, searching her face. "Is that what you want?"


    Jubilee bit her lip. She hadn''t told Tyson about being bitten by the vampire. Earlier, she''d have been content with experiencing her first time through illusions. But now, with the weight of her mortality pressing down on her, everything had changed.


    She didn''t want to die a virgin.


    Taking a deep breath, Jubilee met Tyson''s gaze. "I want you to be my first," she said, her voice steadier now. "For real."


    Tyson''s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded in understanding. "If you''re sure, and that''s what you want," he said softly. "I''ll just be a minute."


    As the real Tyson moved to prepare, Jubilee watched him go, her heart pounded with nervous anticipation.


    While Tyson headed to put on his skintight black suit, the one Natasha had modified, and searched for condoms, he left an illusion of himself with Jubilee. The illusory Tyson continued to kiss her gently, maintaining the intimate atmosphere they had created. Jubilee closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation, trying to push away the nagging thoughts of vampires.


    His touch was a comforting presence amidst her swirling thoughts. Jubilee focused on the feeling, anchoring herself in the present moment. She tried to push away the worries about what the vampire bite might mean for her future, concentrating instead on the warmth of Tyson''s embrace.


    Tyson returned to the room, dispersing the illusion of himself with a wave of his hand. Jubilee''s gaze traveled over Tyson''s powerful frame. He wore a skintight black suit that clung to every contour of muscle. A faint blush rose on her cheeks as the suit disappeared.


    "Just the illusion to hide the suit. And when we kiss," Tyson said, his voice a low rumble. "The rest is me."


    He crossed the space between them with slow, deliberate steps, his mismatched eyes never leaving Jubilee''s upturned face. She drew a shaky breath, nerves, and anticipation building each moment.


    When he reached her, Tyson trailed gentle fingers down her arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. Jubilee leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against hers.


    "We''ll take this at your pace," he murmured, brushing his knuckles lightly across her cheek. "Tell me if you need me to stop or slow down. I want this to be good for you."


    Jubilee nodded, gratitude and affection welling up inside her. Even now, Tyson was putting her needs first.


    She reached up and guided his face down to hers, capturing his lips in a kiss that conveyed all her desire and the trust she felt for him. His arms enveloped her, strong and secure, as the kiss deepened unhurriedly.


    When they finally broke apart, breathless, Jubilee knew she was ready. She gently nudged Tyson, prompting him to climb on top. The nervous flutter in her stomach was replaced by anticipation for what was to come.


    With infinite care, Tyson positioned himself at her entrance. Jubilee''s breath hitched as she felt him press against her, creating a delicious pressure that hinted at the pleasure to come. Slowly, reverently, Tyson began to ease himself inside her. Jubilee gasped at the unfamiliar sensation, her body stretching to accommodate his gentle invasion. There was a brief flicker of discomfort, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the feeling of being joined so intimately.


    By the exquisite sensation of being filled.


    Tyson stilled, allowing her time to adjust. He whispered words of encouragement and devotion against her skin. "You feel incredible, Jubes," he murmured.


    Gradually, the initial ache faded, replaced by a growing need for more. Jubilee shifted her hips experimentally, marveling at how the movement felt so good. "Please," she breathed, her fingers digging into Tyson''s shoulders. "I need you."


    With a groan of satisfaction, Tyson began to move. His thrusts were slow and measured at first, a gentle rocking that allowed Jubilee to savor every inch of him. But as her body adjusted and her pleasure mounted, he gradually increased his pace.


    Jubilee clung to Tyson, lost in the storm of sensation, in the overwhelming feeling of connection that flowed between them. At that moment, even surrounded by the magical Pokemon paradise, she felt like the entirety of her universe had narrowed down to the feeling of Tyson moving inside her. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through her. She could feel the tension building within her, a coiling spring of ecstasy that grew tighter and tighter with each passing second.


    Tyson''s pace increased with a delicious urgency. Jubilee matched him, her hips rising to meet his as if drawn by an invisible force.


    She threw her head back, moaning as she was sent spiraling over the edge. Her climax crashed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and causing her vision to blur at the edges. She cried out his name, her voice a ragged blend of rapture and reverence.


    Tyson followed her a heartbeat later, his release pulsing deep inside her. Jubilee held him close, savoring the feeling of his weight pressing her into the soft towel, of his heart beating steadily despite their exertions.


    As the aftershocks of their shared pleasure gradually subsided, Jubilee let out a contented sigh. She felt boneless, sated in a way she had never experienced before. It was the perfect end to their magical moment.


    Or so she thought.


    To Jubilee''s surprise, Tyson remained hard inside her. She glanced at him confused, only to find a mischievous glint in his eye. "Superhuman recovery," he reminded her with a playful grin.


    Before Jubilee could respond, Tyson captured her hands in one of his, pinning them gently above her head.


    Jubilee''s body still thrummed with pleasure, her nerves tingling from the aftershocks of their joining. As she gazed up at Tyson, his mismatched eyes dark with desire, she knew that one taste would never be enough.


    "Ready for round two?" Tyson asked, his question raised goosebumps along Jubilee''s skin. She shivered at the promise held in those words. When he had gently pinned her hands above her head, she offered no resistance, only arching into his touch. The contrast of his strength and tenderness left her breathless. She could feel his hard muscles pressed against her softer curves, his body poised above hers like a powerful jungle cat.


    Not trusting her voice to convey the depth of her yearning, Jubilee instead arched up.


    She captured Tyson''s lips in a searing kiss.


    It was all the encouragement he needed. He began to move once more. She surrendered herself to the exquisite onslaught of sensation, to the feeling of being cherished and desired and thoroughly claimed by the man she adored. She reveled in Tyson''s strength, in the way he took control of her pleasure and pushed her to new heights of ecstasy.


    Soon he was driving into her with deep, relentless strokes, claiming her in a way no other man had before. Jubilee wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on wordlessly as he brought her to the peak again and again.


    Through it all, the magical Pok¨¦mon oasis shimmered around them, a whimsical backdrop to their passionate lovemaking. The gentle sounds of the waterfall mingled with their gasps and sighs, and the rustling of the leaves created a soft counterpoint to the rhythm of their bodies.


    As they climbed towards another peak together, Jubilee marveled at the depth of their connection. It was more than just physical, more than the incredible pleasure they evoked in each other. She knew his power was infusing her, making her feel so good. With that thought warming her from the inside out, Jubilee let herself fall into the blissful oblivion of another climax.

 Arc 6 - Ch 8: Hangover

    Chapter 75


    Arc 6 - Ch 8: Hangover


    Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    The first rays of morning light filtered through the bedroom curtains causing Jubilee to stir. For a moment, she was disoriented, her mind still caught in the hazy remnants of sleep and the magical memories of the night before. She stretched languidly, feeling a bit of soreness, but that was expected after the night they''d had. Tangible proof that Tyson had used more than just his illusions to be intimate.


    Rolling over, Jubilee found herself face to face with Tyson, his handsome features relaxed in sleep. She smiled softly, reaching out to trace the curve of his cheek with a gentle finger. But as her hand made contact, it passed through the illusion.


    Tyson''s disembodied voice echoed through the bedroom, "Come on out, breakfast is almost ready." His form flickered and dissipated, revealing the truth. She was alone in the bed. She sat up, confusion furrowing her brow. The Pok¨¦mon oasis that had seemed so real and tangible the night before was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she was surrounded by the luxurious trappings of Tyson''s suite. But before disappointment could set in, Jubilee''s senses were suddenly awash with the mouthwatering aroma of breakfast. The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, accompanied by the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen.


    Jubilee realized Tyson had let her sleep in while he prepared a morning feast for them to share. The illusionary version of him was just another sign of his thoughtfulness, a way to let her wake up gradually without feeling alone. Slipping out of bed, she padded barefoot towards the kitchen, the plush carpet soft beneath her feet. As she drew closer, she could hear Tyson humming softly to himself, the tune upbeat and cheerful. The sound brought a smile and a warmth to her chest.


    Rounding the corner, Jubilee caught sight of Tyson. Dressed in long-sleeved pajamas with matching pants, he stood at the stove, tending to a pan of scrambled eggs.


    A brilliant smile spread across his face as he saw her. "Morning, beautiful," he greeted, "I hope you''re hungry. I might have gone a bit overboard with breakfast."


    "Starving," she confirmed.


    Tyson crossed the kitchen and she looped her arms around his waist. She rose on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips, savoring the simple intimacy of the moment.


    Jubilee settled into her seat, enthused by the fluffy pancakes and the steaming omelet on her plate. She reached for her fork, but a sudden flash of discomfort crossed her features.


    "Ugh, the light," Jubilee groaned, shielding her eyes with her hand. "It''s way too bright in here."


    Tyson glanced up from his plate. "You okay, Jubes?"


    Jubilee waved off his worry with a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, yeah, probably just hungover. Need my shades." She pushed back from the table and headed for the bedroom, rummaging through her bag until she found her signature pink sunglasses. Slipping them on, she returned to the table, picking up her fork once more.


    She hesitated as she raised the omelet to her mouth. A strange sensation twisted in her gut. It was a visceral warning, letting her know something was wrong. She stared at the food on her fork, trying to decipher the source of her unease.


    Tyson noticed her hesitation. "What''s up, Jubes? Not a fan of my cooking?" he teased gently.


    Jubilee shook her head, forcing a smile. "No, no, it''s not that. I just..." She trailed off, unable to place the source of her apprehension.


    Taking a deep breath, she pushed past the inexplicable dread and took a bite. The flavors burst on her tongue, rich and savory, but the moment she swallowed, a violent wave of nausea slammed into her. Jubilee lurched to her feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind her as she sprinted for the bathroom. She barely reached the toilet before the contents of her stomach surged back up. Jubilee retched and heaved, her body shuddering with the force of her sickness.


    "Jubes are you okay?" He knelt beside her, one hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she continued to retch.


    When the worst of the nausea finally subsided, Jubilee slumped back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. Tyson handed her a damp towel and offered a glass of water, his brow furrowed with concern.


    "What''s wrong, Jubes? Was it the food? I didn''t think you drank that much to be so hungover. I''m sorry, it''s hard for me to tell anymore because alcohol doesn''t affect me as much. And I didn''t think you had any food allergies. I only used onions, pepper, and garlic, but..."


    Jubilee shook her head, cutting off his anxious rambling. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in hot, heavy trails. "It''s not the food, Ty," she whispered, her voice raw and trembling.


    Tyson''s touch was gentle and reassuring. "Hey, hey, it''s okay. It''s, not a big deal. We''ll order some soup if you''re sick. It''ll be fine."


    But Jubilee pulled away, a choked sob tearing from her throat. "No, Ty, it''s not okay. It''s not going to be okay." With shaking hands, she pushed up the bracelets that encircled her wrist, revealing the angry red puncture marks that marred her skin.


    Tyson''s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the vampire bite, the implications hitting him like a physical blow. He reached out instinctively, his fingers hovering just above the wound, fear and concern etched into every line of his face.


    "Jubes..." dread grew within his voice. "Why didn''t you tell me?"


    He saw the desperate, aching fear in her eyes, "I didn''t want to say anything last night," she whispered, the words scraping from her throat. "Because I was having so much fun with you. Everything was going so well." A sad smile twisted her lips, more tragic than her tears. "It was perfect. I didn''t want it to end." Jubilee swallowed, then forced out the rest in a pained rush. "I didn''t want to die a virgin. But now... now I can feel it, Ty. The sunlight hurts my eyes. Garlic makes me sick." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around her body as if warding off a chill only she could sense. "I think I''m dying. Worse I''m turning into one of them."


    But even as the enormity of their situation crashed down around them, Tyson gathered Jubilee into his arms, holding her close, "We''ll find a way, Jubes," he murmured into her hair. He refused to accept this fate, to let Jubilee slip away without a fight. "Listen to me, Jubes. I''m not losing you. Not today, not ever. We''re going to figure this out, together."


    Jubilee searched his face, her lower lip trembling. "But the bite... the sickness... Tyson, I''ve seen the movies, I know what happens next."


    Tyson shook his head, unwilling to concede. "We don''t know how it works for certain," he insisted. "There could be a cure, a way to reverse the effects. I have resources and allies. I''ll find a way."


    He thought of Dr. Connors''s brilliant scientific mind, of The Ancient One and sorcerers. Surely, between them, there had to be a solution¡­ Then there was Blade.


    She straightened slightly, drawing strength from his conviction. "You think we can beat this?" she asked, her voice tentative but tinged with the faintest hint of belief.


    "We can," Tyson replied without hesitation. "You''re a fighter, Jubes. You''re not that same girl who froze up on that train last year. We''ll get through this together."


    Jubilee managed a watery smile, she leaned into Tyson, letting his strength and love wrap around her like a protective cocoon.


    "Come on, we need to get ready," he said softly, pressing a tender illusionary kiss to Jubilee''s forehead.


    Jubilee''s question came out timidly, "Where are we going?"


    "To get an apology gift for a sorcerer," Tyson replied, "She''s the best shot at fixing this." More reluctantly he added, "But the last time I saw her, I kind of threatened to kill her..."


    Jubilee muttered "Great," but Tyson could see she was at least smiling. His admission diffused some of the tense uncertainty hanging over them. Giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, they disentangled themselves to get ready.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Jubilee pulled up the hood of Tyson''s oversized hoodie, shielding her sensitive eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as they stepped out onto the streets of New York. The journey uptown was a blur, Jubilee''s mind still reeling from the revelation of her potential vampiric transformation. She clung to Tyson''s hand, drawing strength from his solid presence beside her.


    Their first stop was McNulty''s Tea & Coffee Company, a quaint shop on Christopher Street. As they entered the rich aroma of tea and coffee wafted over them. Tyson approached the counter, "I need to place a special order. This tea, and an assortment of several others, one for each day. I want to arrange a regular, weekly delivery for the next ten years."


    The employee blinked, taken aback by the unusual request. "I... I''m not sure we can accommodate such a long-term arrangement, sir," she stammered.


    Tyson fixed her with a level stare. The employee''s attention was fixed on his mismatched eyes.


    "I assure you, you can."


    "Of course, sir. We can."


    As Tyson finalized the details, Jubilee watched him with confusion. "Ty, what are you doing?" she asked.


    "Making amends," he replied, "And hopefully, securing the sorcerers'' assistance."


    With the tea order placed and paid for, Tyson took Jubilee''s hand and led her back onto the street. He held the first of the regular deliveries in his other hand. Their next destination was 177A Bleecker Street.


    As they climbed the steps to the front door of the New York Sanctum, Jubilee''s heart raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. She knew from the stories told by Tyson and Illyana that the building was the hub for the sorcerers in this country. She put her faith in Tyson. He seemed convinced if anyone could help her, it would be the sorcerers.


    Tyson raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open before his knuckles could connect. The Ancient One stood in the doorway. She regarded the pair before her with a knowing gaze. "Tyson Smith, Jubilation Lee," she greeted, "Forgive me for opening the door before you had a chance to knock. Last time, I fear Tyson would''ve wrecked it had I not done so."


    Tyson winced at the memory, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "Fair," he conceded. He held out the peace offering. "I brought your favorite tea, and arranged regular deliveries to the Sanctum."


    The Ancient One looked at the proffered bag, her gaze inscrutable. For a long moment, she stood there, making Tyson shift uncomfortably. Just as he began to worry that she wouldn''t accept his gesture, she reached out and took the bag.


    Tyson let out a breath he hadn''t realized he''d been holding, relief washing over him. "I''m sorry for threatening you at our last meeting," he said contritely, "My emotions got the best of me, and in a moment of weakness, I said some things that I should not have."


    The Ancient One inclined her head, acknowledging his apology. "I knew that your response would likely be unfavorable," she replied, "But one can never be certain. I understand the reasoning for your reaction, though I caution you to be wary of how you allow your emotions, or perhaps the emotions of your other passengers, to control you."


    Tyson knew all too well the dangers of letting the echoes of other minds sway his actions. But he also considered the Ancient One''s words; her phrasing was unusual for someone who should have known what his response would be.


    "I''m working on control," he admitted, "I thought I mostly had the other psyches suppressed, but there are moments where it''s not always easy, but I''m trying."


    She stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter the Sanctum. "Come in," she invited, "I know there is more to your visit than just an apology and a delivery of tea."


    Together, they crossed the threshold into the Sanctum, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click. The Ancient One led them to a small, intimate sitting room. She settled herself into a high-backed chair, gesturing for Tyson and Jubilee to sit on the sofa opposite her.


    "Now," she said, "Tell me what brings you here."


    "A vampire bit Jubilee," Tyson answered. With trembling hands, Jubilee pushed up the sleeve of the hoodie, revealing the angry red puncture marks that marred her skin. The Ancient One leaned forward, examining the wound with a critical eye.


    "When did this happen?" she asked.


    "Last night," Tyson supplied, "We were at a club, and it was filled with vampires. She was bitten in the fighting."


    The Ancient One nodded, her expression inscrutable. "And have you noticed any changes since then? Increased sensitivity to sunlight, an aversion to garlic, a craving for blood?"


    Jubilee swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she replied. "The sunlight, yes. And earlier, when I tried to eat, I got sick. Really, sick."


    "The transformation is already beginning," she murmured, "But it is not yet complete."


    Tyson leaned forward, hope warring with desperation in his eyes. "Is there anything you can do?" he asked, "Please, there must be some way to stop this, to save her."


    The Ancient One was silent for a long moment, her gaze distant as she waged an internal debate. Finally, she spoke. "There is a book that exists," she said softly, "The Darkhold. The Book of Sins, the Tome of Eldritch Magic. It is one of the most ancient and powerful artifacts in existence. It is a repository of dark wisdom and forbidden spells."


    He knew of the Darkhold, its corrupting influence, and the terrible price exacted from those who dared to delve into its pages.


    "It is the key to understanding the origin of vampires," she continued, "For it was through the Darkhold that the first vampire came into being, and through its pages, the curse has been perpetuated throughout the ages."


    "In the primordial dawn, before the rise of civilization, there was a being of great power known as Chthon. Chthon was banished from Earth, but not before his teachings and power were left behind within the pages of the Darkhold." As she spoke, the shadows seemed to deepen around them. "Chthon poured his knowledge and essence into the pages, imbuing it with a fragment of his dark soul. Through the book, he sought to shape the world to his will, to bend the forces of life and death to his command, and ultimately for it to be the instrument of his return from banishment."


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "It was through the Darkhold that the first vampire was created," the Ancient One continued, her voice taking on a grim note. "A creature of the night, sustained by the blood of the living, cursed to an existence of eternal hunger and darkness. And from that first vampire, the curse spread, a plague upon the world that has endured for countless generations."


    The Ancient One regarded them with a look of deep compassion. "The path ahead will not be easy," she said softly, "The curse of vampirism is a powerful one."


    "Tell us what we need to do," he requested. "We''re ready."


    "The ritual to purge the vampiric taint will not be without risk," she warned.


    "I''ll do whatever it takes," he said, "I won''t let this curse take her from me."


    The Ancient One nodded gravely. "The Darkhold is a dangerous artifact. Even if I knew where it was hidden, I would not share that knowledge with anyone, and certainly not you, Tyson. The book corrupts all who come into contact with it, twisting their minds and souls." She continued, her voice taking on a note of cautious hope. "However, the sorcerers of the Sanctum are aware of a ritual that may purge the vampiric taint before those infected succumb to the curse. It is an ancient rite that requires a great sacrifice."


    Jubilee leaned forward, her eyes wide with desperate hope. "What kind of sacrifice?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.


    The Ancient One met her gaze, her expression a mix of compassion and solemnity. "The ritual requires blood," she explained, "Blood untainted by the curse. Blood that carries within it a spark of the divine."


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to make sense of the Ancient One''s words. "Divine?" she repeated, her tone laced with disbelief. "Like gods? Gods are real? Where can we find a god willing to give us their blood?"


    The Ancient One''s gaze shifted to Tyson, her eyes boring into him with an intensity that seemed to strip away all pretense. He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny, a flicker of understanding dawning in his mismatched eyes.


    Jubilee looked back and forth between them, her confusion only deepening. "Tyson is not a god... is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


    The Ancient One shook her head but smiled faintly at the girl''s misunderstanding. She answered, "No, Jubilation, he is not," her tone amused at the notion. "But he has met one recently."


    "Thor," he breathed, "But he''s on Asgard, and the Rainbow Bridge was destroyed, just like you said it would be..." His voice trailed off as another thought occurred to him. "Amora?" he asked hesitantly.


    The Ancient One inclined her head. "The Enchantress, yes," she confirmed, "She is a being of great power, one who walks the line between the mortal and the divine. And she has taken a keen interest in you, Tyson, has she not?"


    Memories of his encounters with the Asgardian sorceress flashed through his mind.


    "What would we have to do?" he asked, "What would she want in return?"


    "Amora''s desires are her own," she replied, "But I can tell you this. The price she demands will be high, and the consequences of your choice will be vast."


    Tyson felt Jubilee''s hand tighten around his, in a silent plea for reassurance, for hope in the face of the impossible. "I''ll do it," he said, "I''ll pay whatever price she asks."


    "Go now," she murmured, her voice soft but filled with quiet authority. "Seek out the Enchantress, if that is the path you choose. And Jubilation, know that should the day come when Tyson walks the path of the Mystic Arts, should you still be at his side, you would be welcomed at Kamar Taj."


    "The ritual must be completed before the transformation sets in. When her heart no longer beats, it is too late," The Ancient One said as she led the pair to the Sanctum''s entrance.


    Tyson and Jubilee stepped out of the Sanctum, the weight of the daunting task settling heavily upon their shoulders. Just as they reached the pavement, Tyson paused. Turning back to face the Ancient One, he asked, "Do you know where I can find Amora?"


    "I do not," she replied, her words carrying a note of enigmatic amusement. "She has been quite good at warding her magic and presence." Tyson''s heart sank, the prospect of tracking down the elusive Asgardian sorceress seeming more daunting by the moment. But the Ancient One wasn''t finished. "Had I not been monitoring your return," she continued, her voice taking on a tone of gentle admonishment, "I would not have been aware of her arrival. Amora may use magic, but her presence on Earth is not directly under the purview of the Sanctum''s defensive purpose. She is yours to deal with."


    Tyson felt a flicker of frustration at the Ancient One''s words. But there was something else in her tone, a hint of satisfaction that set his teeth on edge.


    "It''s almost fitting that you must seek her out," the Ancient One said, her smile widening ever so slightly.


    And then it hit him. This was more than just about saving Jubilee. It was a trial that the Ancient One had set before him.


    Was this the cost she spoke about all those months ago?


    Or just a way to atone for his transgressions; for the threat he had made against her the last time they had met.


    Tyson felt a surge of irritation at the realization, a part of him bristling at the idea of being manipulated; of being forced to confront the consequences of his actions in such a way. But he pushed it down. He had come to her for help.


    And The Ancient One had given it freely. The least he could do was face the challenge she set before him with a measure of grace and humility.


    Plus, she was right.


    Amora was his problem to handle.


    So, despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface, Tyson bowed his head in respect and gratitude. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice genuine despite the unhappiness that colored his tone. "For your help, and your guidance. We won''t forget it."


    The Ancient One regarded him with a look of deep understanding. "I know you won''t," she murmured, "And I have faith that you will find the strength within yourself to face the challenges that lie ahead."


    With those parting words, she turned and retreated into the Sanctum, the heavy doors closing behind her with a sense of finality.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson raised his hand, hailing a cab from the busy New York street. As one pulled up to the curb, he ushered Jubilee inside, sliding in beside her and pulling the door shut with a definitive thud. He leaned forward, catching the driver''s eye in the rearview mirror.


    "House of M, please," he requested.


    As the cab pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic, Tyson slumped back against the seat. He ran a hand over his face, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if to ward off an impending headache. Jubilee watched him with concern, her brow furrowed.


    "Why are we going to the House of M?" she asked softly, her hand finding his and gently squeezing.


    Tyson sighed, his mismatched eyes meeting hers with a look of weary determination. "There''s no easy way to track Amora," he explained, "She''s an Asgardian sorceress. The only lead on her location is an Asgardian dagger she held briefly, but even that''s a long shot."


    "So, what''s our next move?"


    Tyson hesitated, a flicker of reluctance passing over his features. "I hate to ask," he said slowly, "But we need to call the professor. Cerebro might be the only way to find Amora, and it''s our best option."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in surprise and understanding dawned in their depths. She knew how much it cost Tyson to admit they needed help, especially from Professor Xavier. But now she knew that he would do anything, put aside any personal reservations if it meant saving her life.


    Without a word, Jubilee pulled out her phone to scroll through her contacts. She found Jean''s number, pressed the call button, and brought the phone to her ear.


    The line rang once, twice, before Jean''s familiar voice came through, warm and concerned. "Jubilee? What''s up? Is everything alright?"


    "Jean, hey. Listen, we need your help. Well, the professor''s help."


    There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, a moment of confusion and worry. "Of course, anything. What''s going on?"


    "It''s a long story, but in short I''ve been bitten by a vampire. We''re trying to find a way to stop the transformation. We must find a goddess named Amora, who might be our only hope. But we have no way to track her down."


    Jean''s sharp intake of breath was audible through the phone. "Oh, Jubilee," she murmured, "I''m so sorry. Of course, we''ll help. I''m sure the professor will locate Amora."


    A wave of relief washed over Jubilee, the knot of tension in her chest loosening ever so slightly. "Thank you, Jean," she whispered.


    As she ended the call, Jubilee turned to Tyson, a flicker of hope kindling in her eyes. "Jean is sure the Professor will help us," she said softly.


    The cab sped through the streets of New York, carrying them towards the House of M and the next step in their desperate quest.


    Tyson led Jubilee through the corridors until they were stopped by a familiar figure wrapped in a form-fitting black dress. Felicia Hardy greeted them with a warm smile. She pulled both Tyson and Jubilee into a tight hug.


    As they pulled apart, Tyson asked curiously, "How''d your night go?"


    "I got the serum. There were no issues or problems," she replied, confident that the heist had gone off without a hitch. Then, her attention shifted to Jubilee, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. "How''d the date go?" she asked, her tone light and teasing.


    But before Tyson could respond, Jubilee''s words tumbled out in a frantic, breathless rush. "The date was going fine," she began, her hands gesticulating wildly as she spoke. "We talked everything out and went to the club. We danced and drank and got close. But then blood started raining from the ceiling, and we got attacked by vampires!" Felicia''s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock as Jubilee''s story unfolded. "We fought them off," Jubilee continued, her voice rising with each word, "but I got bit and hid it. We made it back to his suite and made love. But now we need to find a magical goddess and get some of her blood, or I''ll die and become a vampire!"


    Silence fell over the hallway as Felicia turned to Tyson, her expression showed her disbelief and concern, silently asking for confirmation.


    "She summed it up pretty well," he said, his tone a masterclass in understatement.


    Felicia blinked, her mind racing to process the incredible tale she had just heard. But then, to everyone''s surprise, a slow, devious grin spread across her face. She turned back to Jubilee, her eyes sparkling with mischief.


    "Soo¡­ How was he?" she asked, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, a startled laugh escaping her lips. A faint blush colored her cheeks. "He was... amazing," she admitted, her voice soft but filled with a quiet reverence. "Everything I could have hoped for and more. Gentle and caring, blended with just the right amount of being rough and demanding."


    There was no disguising the warmth that spread through Tyson at Jubilee''s tender words. Felicia regarded the intimate exchange with a fond smile, her eyes softening in genuine affection. "I''m happy for you both," she said earnestly, giving Jubilee''s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Truly."


    Despite the direness of her predicament, Jubilee couldn''t resist the urge to tease Tyson further. Turning to Felicia with a playful lilt, she said, "You should have seen the look on his face when I asked if he wanted to go on a date with me, even though he hooks up with you all the time." She paused, biting back a grin. "When I said you were hot, he had the face of a man whose wildest dreams were about to come true."


    Felicia laughed, caught off guard by Jubilee''s boldness. But then her expression sobered as the gravity of their situation reasserted itself. "While I''m not opposed to stealing you away from Tyson for a night, it seems there are more pressing matters at hand," she said briskly, "Finding this goddess, securing what we need to save your life. That''s the priority now. If you''re curious about this cat, there will be time for that once you''re safe."


    And with that, the three turned and continued down the hallway. Tyson tried to put thoughts of Felicia and Jubilee''s playful conversation out of his mind as he opened the door to the lab. Ivan Vanko hunched over a workbench, but looked up at the sound of their entrance.


    "Tyson," Vanko greeted, his thick accent curling around the name. "What brings you to my domain?"


    They took in the various projects scattered about. Felicia''s exoskeleton hung from a rack. Tyson''s eyes were briefly drawn to a small black box on Vanko''s workbench. It was a project of the utmost importance. But he put thoughts of the black box aside, instead focusing on the Uru dagger mounted nearby.


    "Is it possible to make a tracker to detect the unique metal?" he asked, nodding towards the weapon.


    Vanko leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Possible, yes," he mused. "The metal you call Uru has a distinct signature. A device could be calibrated to sense its presence."


    "How long would it take to make?" he asked, his words coming fast and urgent. "And what would its range be?"


    Vanko''s brow furrowed, his mind visibly working through the calculations. "Tomorrow night," he said at last, "Half mile, maybe."


    Tyson''s shoulders slumped, the brief spark of optimism fading as quickly as it had come. He remembered all too well the exhausting search he and Illyana had conducted going block by block through the streets of Manhattan. Even with Vanko''s device, and even if Amora had Uru in her possession, the odds of finding her were slim.


    "Never mind. Keep working on your other projects." Tyson said, his tone heavy with resignation. "I''m going to take this," he said, reaching for the weapon. "Did you get all the scans of it?"


    Vanko waved him off, his attention having refocused on the black box before him. "Da, da," he muttered, his words distracted. "Scans are in the computer. Take the dagger, do what you must."


    Tyson''s hand closed around the hilt of the Uru blade. He brought it close to his face, inhaling deeply. The barest hints of Amora''s scent still clung to the metal.


    Suddenly, Felicia''s phone vibrated insistently, demanding attention. She pulled the device from her pocket, studying the screen. "Tyson," she said slowly, her voice tinged with concern. "Are you expecting company? A man in a black trench coat with what looks like a sword on his back is at the entrance."


    Tyson cursed. Of course, now would be when Blade showed up.


    After their confrontation at the club, it was only a matter of time before the dhampir tracked him down. Tyson referred to himself as a mutant and his illusions had made it obvious which one. But with Jubilee having been bitten, he couldn''t risk a confrontation. But he also couldn''t ignore Blade.


    "Damn it," Tyson growled, his grip tightening on the Uru dagger. "Of all the times for him to show up."


    "Want me to handle him?" Felicia asked.


    Tyson shook his head, unwilling to pit Felicia against Blade. "No," he said, "This is my mess. I''ll deal with it."


    He turned to Vanko, his expression grave. "Ivan, Felicia''s mission was a success. That means you''re doing good work."


    Vanko nodded, "I will keep doing so," he vowed before adding, "The black box will be ready soon."


    Tyson managed a tight smile. He turned to Felicia, his mismatched eyes blazing with resolve. "Felicia, I need you to stay with Jubilee," he instructed, "Take her to Dr. Connors. Have him take a blood sample, then keep her safe, no matter what happens."


    Felicia''s gaze met his, "She''s too cute to die, I''ll make sure she''s okay."


    Tyson tucked the Uru dagger into his belt. With a final nod to his allies, he strode out of the lab. He quickly made his way through the halls of House of M toward the main entrance.


    Deciding a direct approach might be the best course of action; he opened the door to face Blade head-on.


    With a casual air, Tyson addressed the dhampir. "Come to check that I wasn''t sleeping in a casket?" he quipped, "Or are you looking for a ticket to the show?"


    Blade''s response was far from amused. His eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Were you or your girlie bitten last night?" he demanded.


    Tyson met Blade''s gaze defiantly. "Yeah," he admitted, the word blunt and unapologetic. "But I was also stabbed if you recall. Superhuman healing factor. I''m immune to diseases and vamp venom or whatever." Blade''s stance remained tense, his expression unreadable. But Tyson pressed on, unintimidated, now that he knew his illusions worked on Blade.


    "But I''m curious," he said, his tone conversational. "If a normie is bitten, what happens?"


    The dhampir regarded Tyson for a long moment as if weighing the merits of sharing his knowledge. Finally, he spoke, his words clipped and clinical. "Vamp venom kickstarts production of ichor in the body," Blade explained, "A big dose of silver nitrate and garlic might stop it early enough, but the ichor production eventually replaces blood. Once you reach a certain point, goodnight girlfriend, hello suck-head."


    Tyson nodded, absorbing the information with a grim set to his jaw. The clock was ticking down on Jubilee''s humanity with every passing moment.


    In a gesture of goodwill, Tyson held out his hand, his expression open and honest. "Tyson Smith," he introduced himself. "Also go as Mirage."


    Hesitating for a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, Blade grasped Tyson''s hand in a firm shake. "Blade," he said.


    "I wiped the footage from the vamp security camera. I watched you fight. Pretty good unarmed. Saw your girl got bit."


    Tyson met Blade''s gaze, his own eyes burning with desperate hope. "Is it too late to dose her?" he asked.


    Blade''s answer was a blunt knife to Tyson''s fragile optimism. "Yup. The mixture must be administered in the first few hours after a bite." The dhampir offered, "I can take care of her if you''re not up to it."


    "No chance," he replied. "With my healing, I''m an all-you-can-eat buffet. I can handle her."


    Blade regarded him for a long moment as if weighing the sincerity of Tyson''s words. Finally, he declined his head in acceptance. "Suit yourself," he said, "If I catch her in a hive or out in the streets feeding, I''m going to off her." It was a warning and a promise


    "Understood," he ground out in bitter acceptance.


    Blade turned to leave, his coat swirling behind him. But Tyson''s voice stopped him, "If I kill the one who bit her, will it stop her from turning?" He asked hopefully.


    Blade shook his head. "Movie myth. Won''t work."


    Tyson sighed but straightened. "Look, I''m not sure if you have a day job or whatever," he said, "but I''d guess that buying all that silver and leather gets expensive. I''m always looking for friends, and I don''t like the idea of too many vamps in my city." Blade''s expression remained unreadable, but Tyson pressed on regardless. "Call and ask for my assistant, Felicia. She''ll contact me if you need help or we can arrange a deal if you need a financial backer."


    With a curt nod, the dhampir turned and walked away.

 Arc 6 - Ch 9: Petitioning A Goddess

    Chapter 76


    Arc 6 - Ch 9: Petitioning a Goddess


    Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson guided Jubilee towards his motorcycle, handing her the helmet. She accepted it, her dark eyes searching his face for answers. "Where are we going?" she asked.


    The motorcycle''s engine roared to life as Tyson kicked it into gear. The throaty rumble of the bike reverberated off the buildings surrounding them as he revved the throttle. Jubilee tightened her arms around Tyson''s muscular waist, the helmet securely fastened over her dark locks. With a twist of the wrist, they tore off down the streets of Manhattan, leaving the Flatiron Armory shrinking behind them.


    Tyson''s face was grim, his jaw clenched tight. "Cerebro at the Institute is our best bet to find Amora," he said, his voice an illusion that cut through the engine''s noise. He hesitated, and Jubilee could sense his reluctance. "But I do have one other option¡­ I could project an illusion of myself requesting Amora''s help. I''d be able to reach about a quarter mile with it. But that''s a lot of minds to influence all at once." He glanced back at Jubilee, his mismatched eyes intense. "I heal fast, but I''ve hit my limits on how many people I can manipulate. Plus I''d have to go through Manhattan, section by section until I found her. I might be able to draw Amora''s attention that way, but it would draw far more attention from everyone else than I''d want. Honestly, I''m not even sure she''s in the city."


    Jubilee nodded slowly, understanding the implications. It would reveal Tyson''s desperation and Amora''s presence. And there was no guarantee it would even work.


    She knew Tyson would do anything to help her. But his discomfort at returning to the Institute was obvious the last time they were there, briefly before their trip to Monaco. As much as he didn''t want to draw unwanted attention by projecting an illusion across such a long-range, she knew he likewise wanted to avoid the institute. But Tyson and Xavier had spoken for the first time yesterday at his graduation. She hoped that meant things were getting better between them.


    Tyson weaved the motorcycle through traffic, his enhanced reflexes and senses guiding him effortlessly through the streets. Jubilee clung to his muscular frame, her petite arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they leaned into the curves. The city became a blur around them, the buildings and cars streaking by. The roar of the engine drowned out the cacophony of the metropolis. They raced up the Hendrick Hudson Parkway along the similarly named Hudson River, the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan rising to their right while the churning waters stretched to their left. The looming silhouette of the George Washington Bridge appeared ahead, its massive steel structure spanning the river''s expanse. Tyson gunned the engine, ignoring the bridge as they continued north, the wind whipping fiercely at their clothes and hair.


    Soon the city was left far behind, replaced by the stately mansions and manicured lawns of Westchester County. Tyson navigated the tree-lined suburban streets of Scarsdale where homes sat on green lawns, a stark contrast to the densely packed city they''d departed. The acrid smells of exhaust and asphalt were replaced by the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.


    And then, at last, the stone walls and wrought iron gates of the Xavier Institute emerged before them. Tyson brought the motorcycle to a halt just outside the entrance. He swung his leg over and stepped off the bike, then reached out a hand to help Jubilee dismount.


    Tyson let her take the lead as they approached the mansion. Whatever the institute had for security, or perhaps Xavier himself, must have noted their arrival because Logan opened the door as they reached it. He greeted them with a hug, his gruff voice tinged with amusement. "Didn''t expect to see you so soon, kid. But I probably should have, you can''t stay out of trouble, can you?"


    Tyson shrugged. "You know me."


    Logan ushered them inside. "Jean hasn''t stopped talking about what you said."


    They were led to Xavier''s office, where the Professor waited. Storm and Jean entered the room, just behind them. Greetings were exchanged, cordially, but the air was heavy with the weight of the situation. Jean sat with Jubilee, pulling the other girl into a hug.


    Logan cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Vampires, huh? It''s not the strangest thing I''ve ever heard. But it''s close."


    Jubilee launched into the story, her words tumbling out in a frantic rush as she recounted the attack at the club, the horror of the blood rain, and the journey to the Sanctum only to be sent on a ''quest''.


    "So you need Cerebro to locate a goddess to obtain her blood for a cure?" Xavier asked.


    Tyson explained, "They''re the Norse gods of myth, but if you''re uncomfortable with the idea of gods, they''re long-lived aliens. Asgard is the name of their planet. They''ve protected Earth for centuries. One of them, Thor, ended up on Earth a few weeks ago. I helped him out and ended up going back to Asgard with him. A sorceress named Amora helped me return to Earth, but she tagged along. Getting her blood is our best hope. She''s the only one who might be able to cure Jubilee."


    Logan asked, "So are we going to have to force her to give up her blood?"


    "I sure hope not," Tyson scoffed before explaining, "Amora is powerful. All Asguardians are at least as physically strong as someone like Captain America. Even though she''s focused on magic, Amora is stronger than I am. We fought before, and I only got by because she didn''t know about my life absorption. Now that she knows my tricks, if we fought again, she''d trounce me."


    Tyson hesitated briefly before continuing, "But I don''t think it will come to that. I got the impression that Amora is fond of me. I''m confident she''ll negotiate, or hear me out as a petitioner in the worst case."


    The room fell silent once more. Everyone knew how formidable he was, and knowing that the woman they were searching for outclassed him gave everyone pause.


    Logan broke the silence. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let''s fire up Cerebro and find this Amora dame."


    Professor X wheeled himself around his desk, his expression pensive as he admitted, "I''ve never searched for someone who wasn''t a mutant or human. I''ll try, but there''s no guarantee it will work."


    Tyson nodded, his jaw tightening, "I understand."


    "Tyson, if you would join me, along with Jean? It may help since you''ve seen and had contact with this Amora."


    Tyson hesitated. He remembered his last encounter with Xavier, inside the makeshift Cerebro at Alkali Lake. He still had reservations about what transpired between them. But to his surprise, Jean stepped forward reassuringly placing her hand on Tyson''s arm. "I''ll be there," she said softly, "Everything will be fine."


    He glanced down at Jean''s hand, taken aback by the sudden show of support, but as he met her gaze, he found himself drawing the strength he saw there. Jean led him by his arm and grabbed Jubilee''s hand. They followed Xavier out of the office and into the hallway. The Professor rolled ahead of them towards the elevator to the lower levels of the mansion. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, depositing them in a long, high-tech-looking corridor. At its end stood a massive metal door, the surface decorated with a stylized "X". Xavier placed his hand against a scanner, the device whirring to life as it read his biometric data. With a soft click, the door swung open, revealing the cavernous space beyond.


    Cerebro.


    The room was a marvel of technology, its walls lined with panels and pulsing lights. While at the center stood a raised platform. Xavier wheeled himself forward. Tyson and Jean followed toward the raised dias while Jubilee hung back. Xavier reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the helmet. As he placed it on his head, the room hummed to life, the air crackling with palpable energy.


    Cerebro darkened, plunging the room into a momentary void before a dazzling display of light burst forth. Billions of glowing dots formed a shimmering globe suspended before them. Each point of light represented a sentient life on Earth.


    Xavier spoke to Tyson. "I need details that might help identify Amora."


    Tyson''s brow furrowed as he delved into his memories, sifting through everything he had gleaned from his encounter with the Asgardian sorceress.


    "She''s tall," Tyson began, his voice hesitant. "Over six feet, blonde, with green eyes. Exceptionally beautiful." He created an illusion that was a perfect match for Amora. His gaze was distant as he recalled the unearthly allure of Amora''s features. "She would identify as Asgardian, maybe a goddess, sorceress, Enchantress, or magician."


    "She''d be keeping an eye on me," Tyson continued, his voice growing more certain. "So I imagine she''d be in New York somewhere. But with her abilities, she wouldn''t have to be."


    "That should be enough for now," Xavier murmured. Xavier''s brow furrowed and his eyes closed in concentration as he absorbed Tyson''s words. The strain of his mental exertion was evident on his face. The globe before them shifted, its countless points of light representing the vast population of Earth. Suddenly, half of the dots vanished, leaving the sphere noticeably less crowded.


    "I''ve isolated all male minds and removed them from the search." Another large portion of the dots winked out. "And now," Xavier continued, his voice strained with concentration, "I''ve eliminated all ''normal'' humans from the search."


    Jubilee stepped closer, her eyes wide with wonder. "That''s still so many," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Tyson had to agree. There were a surprising number of dots that were not normal humans.


    Millions.


    He was surprised by the number of extraordinary individuals in the world. The remaining lights pulsed softly, each representing a being with abilities or traits that set them apart from the average person. How many of these were mutants? How many were enhanced individuals? And how many were something else entirely?


    Jean leaned in, her voice low as she spoke to Tyson. "Isn''t it incredible? To see just how many of us are out there."


    Xavier''s voice cut through their musings. "I''m narrowing the search further. I''ll focus locally and pick out individuals that might match your description."


    The globe spun, zooming in on the East Coast of America and then further still until the sprawling expanse of New York City filled their view. A projection of Manhattan''s iconic skyline came into view.


    Suddenly, the globe vanished, blinking out of existence with a sharp snap. Xavier''s eyes flew open, his expression a mix of frustration and surprise.


    "She''s in New York," he announced, "But she somehow blocked me." He hesitated, his gaze shifting to Tyson. "I did receive the impression that she wouldn''t speak with me. However she may have been interested in speaking with you, Tyson."


    Tyson''s jaw clenched, a surge of frustration rising in his chest. "How can I speak with her if I don''t know where she is?" he demanded, his voice raw with desperation. "The whole point of coming here was to find her location so I could speak with her. It''s like which came first the chicken or the egg."


    Jean''s touch on Tyson''s arm once again tempered his emotions. She calmly stated, "I''ll do it."


    Tyson turned to her, confused. "Do what, Jean?"


    She met his gaze with a quiet determination. "Your illusions are amazing, and while psionic, they''re not exactly suitable for using Cerebro. My power is... together we could do it."


    Tyson shook his head, still not grasping the full extent of her suggestion. "I don''t understand."


    "I know after what happened between you and the Professor at Alkali Lake, neither of you is interested in using your powers in concert." She turned to face Tyson fully, her expression open and earnest. "But I am."


    "I trust you, Tyson. I''ve let you in before. If you let me in, you could use Cerebro with me. Through me. Just like you did with the Professor at Alkali Lake, but without it being forced." There was a moment of hesitation followed by a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "If you trust me, that is..."


    Tyson''s response was immediate, his voice filled with a quiet conviction. "It''s not a question, Jean. I do trust you¡­ But can you even use Cerebro?"


    "Since Alkali Lake, I''ve been working with the Professor on slowly reducing the limitations on my power."


    The look of surprise must have been clear on Tyson''s face.


    Xavier clarified, "Jean came to me after seeing you utilize her power against Magneto, we discussed it and agreed that she was likely at the point where she could begin training to utilize more of her potential."


    Tyson''s eyes darted between Jean and Xavier. Jean''s next statement, however, cut straight to the heart of the matter. "We can do this... for Jubilee."


    She knew exactly what to say. Those simple words were all it took to banish any lingering doubts from his mind. With a solemn nod, Tyson agreed.


    Jean approached the control panel. Xavier wheeled himself back toward the entrance, allowing her to take his place at the helm of Cerebro. She removed a foldable chair from the dias and settled in. Unlike Xavier, Jean sat facing the platform and exit, not the dias at the center of Cerebro.


    Her eyes drifted shut. The room hummed with a palpable energy, the air crackling with the force of her psychic presence. The projection of the globe burst to life again, dotted with a myriad of dots each representing a life. It was a breathtaking display of how much Jean had advanced her abilities in the past year.


    Her eyes slowly opened, her gaze meeting Tyson''s. He had no idea how much she''d grown and felt a hint of shame at having not realized how much progress she''d made.


    Tentatively reaching out with his mind, he brushed against the edges of Jean''s psychic presence. Her mental defenses were lowered completely, allowing him entrance into her consciousness.


    The multitude of personas dwelling within his mind granted him some resilience against psionics. Steadying his breathing, Tyson opened himself fully to Jean''s abilities. He actively attempted to quiet the other influences in his head, inviting her in instead. A warmth enveloped his thoughts, like a soft knock echoing through his mind. Then, suddenly, she was inside him, their consciousnesses mingling. He focused on keeping his psyche as calm and welcoming as possible, while at the same time, marveling at her mastery over her powers, and how they effortlessly interfaced with his mind.


    Tyson found his mind suspended in the vast expanse of Cerebro. Surprisingly the sensation wasn''t overwhelming thanks to Jean''s presence providing a steadying anchor by his side. The multitude of lights, representing the minds of countless individuals, stretched out before them in a dizzying connect-the-dots of psychic energy.


    Tyson reached out, guided by Jean. One presence shone brighter than the rest. Amora''s essence blazed like a beacon, a searing point of light that drew his focus like a moth to a flame. Whether it was Jean''s immense power, the Professor nearly discovering her location earlier, or the fragment of her that resided deep within Tyson''s psyche; the connection was undeniable.


    He reached out toward that dot, and to his surprise, Amora accepted his call.


    The air within Cerebro crackled as an otherworldly presence manifested before them.


    Amora the Enchantress had arrived.


    Her essence was transported across the distance through the combined effort of Jean''s telepathy, Tyson''s potent illusions, and the Asgardian''s arcane magic.


    Amora''s piercing emerald eyes swept the spherical chamber, taking in every detail. Her expression shifted from cool evaluation to mild disappointment as she surveyed the utilitarian surroundings. But a glimmer of interest sparked when her gaze fell upon Jean.


    Amora''s power rippled through the room with a wave of her hand. The stark interior of Cerebro melted away, replaced by the lavish illusion of an upscale apartment. Tyson instinctively knew what she''d done; they''d brought Amora to Cerebro and in turn, Amora brought her apartment with her to create a more comfortable setting for their discussion. Plush carpets, antique furnishings, and ornate decor now filled the space, conjured from Amora''s imagination. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the walls, though their panes were obscured. Tyson studied the windows intently with his enhanced senses, hoping for some indication of Amora''s whereabouts. But the sorceress had warded them against prying eyes; he could discern nothing of the world outside the illusionary apartment. Thwarted, Tyson turned his attention back to the Asgardian enchantress. Her beauty was as captivating as he recalled. Jean stood poised at his side, radiating a calm strength that seemed to push against the Enchantress''s charms.


    "Tyson," Amora greeted.


    Tyson bowed his head deeply. "Amora, thank you for answering my call."


    The Asgardian sorceress arched a brow at his gesture of respect and deference. "You haven''t sought me out until now. Consider me curious."


    "I apologize for interrupting your sojourn, but I have a problem, and you may be the only person on the planet with the solution."


    Amora''s eyes glittered with wicked amusement. "As always, Tyson, you have my attention."


    "A friend of mine was attacked by a vampire¡­ a human afflicted by a magical curse which transforms those bitten into their kind."


    Amora waved a dismissive hand. "I''m familiar with Earth''s vampires. They''ve been a plague here for millennia."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "I sought the aid of the Sorcerer Supreme," Tyson continued, undeterred. "She informed me they were aware of a way to cure the vampire infection before it takes root, but the ritual requires the blood of a god."


    Amora''s rich laughter filled the space. "And when you thought of a god, your first thought was to look to me?" The projection of Amora sauntered up to him, her finger trailing along Tyson''s chest in a seductive, yet imperious gesture. "You petition me like a worshipper of old, seeking a miracle." She paused, her gaze boring into Tyson''s with an intensity that stole his breath.


    "I admit I was aware of your plight. I approve of your methods and your approach. Today, I shall fill the role of your goddess. Show me your friend."


    Jubilee still stood near the entrance to Cerebro. Tyson''s eyes pierced the projection to meet hers, and his power took hold. He dragged Jubilee''s presence into the illusion with them. Jubilee gasped as she laid eyes on Amora.


    Amora''s assessing gaze raked over her. "Tyson goes to great lengths to save you. Why?"


    Jubilee squared her shoulders, meeting Amora''s gaze, "Because he''s my friend."


    Amora scoffed, her lips twisting into a sneer. "Not good enough."


    "I want Tyson strong." She looked Jubilee up and down, mockingly. "He petitions for you, bearing your burden."


    Disdain crept into her voice as she declared, "You don''t look like his strength. You look like his weakness."


    Jubilee''s eyes flashed, a spark of igniting in their depths. "I have supported Tyson since the moment he arrived here. I admit, I was weak in the past, but I''ve gotten stronger since then. When we were attacked, I killed double the amount of vampires he did." She took a step forward, her chin lifted in fierce pride. "I love him, and I think because he''s doing so much to save me, that he might love me back. I won''t let him leave me behind again. I''ll continue to fight with him. I am not weak."


    Amora regarded Jubilee for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. Finally, her expression broke with a small smile. "That''s better. Perhaps you will prove yourself a suitable mistress."


    Amora turned back to face Tyson, regarding him with an inscrutable intensity, making Jubilee seem only an afterthought. "What are you offering in exchange for my aid?" she asked.


    Tyson reached to his belt and withdrew the Uru dagger. He held it out before him, an offering to the projected goddess.


    "You told me it was a great honor to lose an eye in defense of Asgard, and that this weapon was a suitable reward," he said, keeping his tone respectful. "I bled for this dagger, and now, I offer it in return for your blood."


    Amora was silent, her gaze fixed on the proffered dagger. After a long moment, she stepped forward, the illusion of her form seeming to glide across the floor. She raised a slender hand to Tyson''s cheek, the contact sending a tingle through his skin. Moving close, she stood mere inches below his eye level, close enough that he could feel her breath.


    "You lack training in etiquette and magic," she whispered, her voice low and intimate. "Yet you surprise me. You grasp at straws, yet your grip is firm. That dagger is a worthy trade for what you ask."


    Tyson held himself still, resisting the urge to react to her closeness. Before he could respond, Amora stepped back abruptly, breaking the charged moment between them. She turned away, an uncharacteristic uncertainty flickering across her beautiful features.


    "I decline your offer," she stated, her voice hardening once more.


    Tyson clenched his jaw, biting back the bitter retort that sprang to his lips. He needed her help. Losing his temper would only push her further away. If the dagger was a worthy trade, why had she denied him? His jaw clenched as Amora''s refusal rang in his ears. He needed her aid, yet she had denied him for reasons he did not fully grasp. Her pause invited him to respond, but caution stilled his tongue.


    Amora''s melodic voice continued, "Have you forgotten? I want you strong. By taking such a magnificent weapon, I would only weaken you." Her lips curved into a sly, knowing smile. "But I am not so cold as to ignore the plight of your mistress."


    "While vampires are a blight on your world, there is strength in their curse. If I do nothing, the girl becomes stronger. Strengthening you by proxy." Amora''s eyes gleamed with cunning as her motives became clear.


    "If you wish me to assist you..." Her voice dropped to a commanding whisper. "I task you with becoming stronger yourself."


    Amora had thrown down the gauntlet at Tyson''s feet.


    "Absorb a power, grow your strength," she goaded, "and should I deem it a significant enough boost to your abilities, I shall grant your request and gift my blood for your ritual."


    He tensed as the weight of Amora''s demand settled over him. She regarded him with knowing eyes. "I see you, Tyson," she said, her melodic voice softening slightly. "I know how you feel about taking a life. So, I offer you an alternative. Take another mistress, bind her life to yours. Someone strong."


    Her emerald gaze turned pointedly to Jean.


    Tyson''s breath caught, his mismatched eyes widening as understanding struck. Amora meant for him to entwine his fate with the telepath. Jean met his stunned look with one of her own, trepidation and outrage warring across her fine features. The tension in the illusory apartment grew taut as a bowstring.


    Amora seemed unaffected, continuing to study Jean with an assessing gaze. "Yes, this one would do nicely," the sorceress purred, her voice dripping with covetous allure, "Such power, such potential. I can feel it radiating from her, even at this distance."


    He glanced at Jean, searching her face, but Tyson could sense the turmoil beneath the surface. Their mental connection left a lingering awareness of each other that made her emotions more palpable to him. Jubilee shifted uncomfortably near the entrance to Cerebro, her eyes darting between Tyson and Jean. The spark of defiance that had flared in her moments ago seemed to dim slightly in the face of this new development.


    Amora''s rich laughter broke the tension. "Oh, the drama! The possibilities!" She clapped her hands together in delight. "What will you choose? Will you seek out a new power? Kill to earn my favor? Or will you bind yourself to this fiery-haired beauty? Or perhaps there''s another you''ve had your eye on?"


    "What do you want?" Tyson asked, his voice tight with frustration. "Me to get married?"


    Amora''s laughter rang out, clear and mocking. "No," she said, amused. "That would not be a mistress. That would be a wife." She tapped a finger against her chin, as if in thought. "What do you call them now? Earth languages change so frequently. A concubine? Paramour?" Her smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "I''m sure you understand."


    Tyson felt a surge of confusion and irritation. He glanced at Jean and Jubilee, both were watching the exchange with varying degrees of discomfort and concern. He turned back to Amora, his jaw clenched. "Why would sleeping with another girl be a step toward gaining power?" Tyson asked, his voice laced with skepticism.


    "Not just sleeping with a woman," she elaborated, her tone impatient. "I want you to claim a woman. Make her yours." Her nonchalance was at odds with the demand she was making on him.


    "What you decide matters not. Let your mistress pass away, and rise stronger as a vampire. Take a life and grow stronger yourself. Or claim another mistress to stand by your side, making you stronger." Her eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "I will be satisfied regardless."


    Tyson risked a glance at Jubilee, seeing the fear and hurt in her eyes. The idea of letting her die was unthinkable, but Amora''s alternatives were equally troubling. He then looked at Jean, thinking of the connection they shared.


    The idea of "claiming" her stirred something deep within him.


    That was probably Sabertooth''s psyche.


    It felt wrong. He couldn''t ask Jean to bind herself to him even to save her friend. Honestly, he thought she would consider it. But he wouldn''t push the issue. He would not be forced into a relationship. And he would not force himself upon her, violating her, their friendship, and the trust she had placed in him.


    Tyson''s mind raced, trying to find a way out of this impossible situation. He had come seeking help, a simple exchange of the dagger for Amora''s blood. Instead, he found himself trapped in a moral quandary, with the lives and relationships of those he cared about hanging in the balance.


    He clenched his fists, frustration, and anger bubbling up inside him. Amora watched him with detached amusement, clearly enjoying the turmoil she had caused.


    "You needn''t contact me again. As always, I''ll be watching."


    With a wave of her hand, Amora''s presence vanished.


    As her absence settled the realization of what would come next sat heavily on their shoulders. To save Jubilee, he would have to become stronger. But to gain the power he needed, he would have to absorb another''s abilities, to take into himself the essence of another being.


    He would need to kill someone. Exchange someone else''s life for Jubilee''s.


    Or bind Jean or someone else strong to him, as his mistress.


    But who would even be an option? He thought of the other women he''d been intimate with. Felicia had no powers, Illyana was out of reach at Kamar-Taj, and Natasha both had no powers and was out of Tyson''s reach. There were plenty of mutants at the institute, but none he had a better relationship with than Jean¡­


    "I''m going to try again," he said to Jubilee, "Give me a moment." With a flick of his wrist, he removed Jubilee from their psychic connection.


    Turning to Jean, Tyson''s mismatched eyes blazed with a fierce intensity. "I need your help."


    Jean''s lips pressed into a thin line. "I know what you''re thinking," she said, "You''re going to kill someone to save her. I don''t..."


    "What choice do I have?" he asked, His hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration palpable. "Here with you, in Cerebro, is an opportunity I can''t pass up. I need to know the locations of some people."


    Jean shook her head, her expression torn. "That would be me helping you murder someone. And what about you? Can you handle another mind inside your head?"


    He shot back, "And what about you? Are you going to bind yourself to me? Become my slave so that Jubilee can live?"


    Connected to Cerebro and Tyson, Jean''s telepathic link allowed her to peer deeper into his mind than he realized. His carefully chosen words were a facade. She felt the temptation swirling within him, the whispered thought of convincing her to become his mistress. But she also sensed his aversion to the idea, his desperate grasp for another option.


    "I spared the Green Goblin, though he deserved death," he said, "Now I ask you to trust me. I''m not going to kill someone who doesn''t deserve it. I''d only pursue someone proven irredeemable." He paused, considering his next words. "If Jubilee turns into a vampire, my healing will let me sate her thirst and keep her in check. But what if I can''t? What if the change alters her personality, leaving a vampire with mutant abilities to hunt humans unchecked? Even if she remained herself, she would rely on me for blood, maybe forever." His fists clenched. "Amora knows this. That is why she suggested binding another to me instead."


    Tyson pleaded, "At the very least, we must consider Amora''s offer seriously. But we have to decide quickly. How much time do we have with Cerebro before the Professor grows suspicious? Minutes?" His words came faster now, urgency creeping into his tone.


    "If I''m going to locate someone both evil and expendable to sacrifice for Jubilee, it has to be now."


    Jean bit her lip. After a long moment, her shoulders slumped and she nodded, resignation in her eyes. "Alright," she said softly.


    Wasting no time, Tyson conjured the illusion of an Asian girl, her image visible only to Jean. "First is Cindy Moon. She''s human but may seem to be a mutant or something more. Likely located in Eastern Europe or Asia."


    Jean focused intently, her brow furrowing. The globe before them shifted until it focused on a single point pulsing with energy. "An underground facility, a cell in Siberia," Jean murmured, her eyes distant and glazed.


    Tyson committed the location to memory, his mind already moving to the next target. He had no intention of harming Cindy Moon. When he had a chance, he would free her. But for now, at least, he knew where to find her.


    He projected the image of his next target, and Jean''s eyes widened in recognition. "Spider-Man?" she asked, confused. "I thought he was your friend."


    Tyson nodded grimly. "He is. But an imposter is swinging around the city. He killed one of my friend''s fathers, put both my friend and Spider-Man in the hospital, and destroyed my apartment."


    Jean focused once more, and Tyson guided her, his psychic energy melding with hers as they narrowed the possibilities. The points of light reduced until only three remained, each pulsing with an eerie similarity.


    "I can''t tell them apart," Jean said, her voice strained with effort. "It''s like they''re the same person. Same psionic signature. The only time I''ve felt something like this was the Cuckoos."


    Tyson''s mind whirled with the implications. He had previously considered the potential identities of the imposter, but Jean revealing they shared a psionic signature narrowed the options.


    Clones.


    Someone had cloned Peter. Nathaniel Essex, Mister Sinister, was Tyson''s most likely suspect.


    Jean focused on one of the lights, and Tyson recognized it as Peter, having lunch with Aunt May. Nudging Jean along since that wasn''t their target, they turned their attention to the next point.


    It was the imposter he was seeking. He was moving through Manhattan, but Tyson marked his location in his mind. If he could catch their scent, he could track them. He''d need to call Peter and tell him to stay home to avoid confusing the trails.


    With a nod of confirmation, Tyson projected the image of his next target.


    Magneto.


    Jean searched, her psychic presence stretching out across the vast expanse of the globe, but she came up empty. "His helmet blocks psionics," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "Even Professor X can''t find him."


    Undeterred, Tyson projected the image of John Allerdyce, their former classmate. His expression hardened. "At Alkali Lake, John sided with Magneto, joining the Brotherhood. Tracking him will lead me to Magneto."


    Jean shot him a questioning look, her unease evident. "Is this a good idea?"


    She knew Magneto presented perhaps the greatest challenge to Tyson due to the power mismatch. Even with Jean''s power, Tyson had barely survived their first encounter. But she sensed that he wouldn''t back down. With a resigned sigh, Jean closed her eyes again and stretched her psychic senses. A faint glimmer appeared on her mental map, flickering in Eastern Europe. Opening her eyes, she frowned slightly.


    "Sokovia," she said.


    Tyson cursed under his breath. Sokovia was too far away, clear on the other side of Europe. The only notable things he knew about the country centered around the events of Age of Ultron. A worrying thought occurred to Tyson.


    The Maximoff twins, Wanda and Pietro.


    In this world, could the twins possibly be Magneto''s children?


    Either way, Sokovia was too distant for Tyson to reach in time to find and kill one of the Brotherhood to save Jubilee. But to be certain, he projected an image of Wanda Maximoff, drawing from his meta-knowledge. He watched Jean''s face intently as she searched, her eyes closed in concentration.


    After a moment, Jean''s eyes fluttered open. "She''s in the same location as John," she said, her voice tinged with surprise.


    Tyson cursed under his breath.


    Magneto was with the Scarlet Witch.


    This was trouble. Big trouble.


    He could feel the weight of this revelation settling on his shoulders, adding to the burden of Jubilee''s predicament. But he needed to prioritize Jubilee first. The clock was ticking, and her life hung in the balance.


    He projected an image of Mystique.


    Jean sought out the elusive shapeshifter. For long moments, she came up blank. Tyson thought about what he knew of Mystique. Shifting the illusion, he projected the image of the senator Mystique had impersonated during the movies, and sure enough, his light glowed bright, located in the heart of Washington, D.C.


    Tyson grinned, triumph flickered in his eyes as he mumbled, "Gotcha."


    But even as the satisfaction of the discovery washed over him, he mentally kicked himself. The one time he was in D.C. he''d been so distracted by the Senate hearing, the senator hadn''t even crossed his mind.


    Next, Tyson projected the image of Emil Blonsky, the Abomination. Jean had little trouble locating him, his presence a pulsing beacon in Barrow, Alaska. Again, another location that would be impossible to reach within their time limit.


    Tyson racked his brain, contemplating who might possess the power to satisfy Amora''s request, yet also be morally bankrupt enough that he wouldn''t feel remorse in taking their life. At the same time, he knew he needed to avoid someone with an overwhelmingly dominant psyche, as absorbing them could overwrite his personality and mind.


    Briefly, he considered seeking out Mr. Sinister but quickly dismissed the thought. Tangling with someone of Sinister''s abilities would be reckless. Tyson''s thoughts turned to the villains of this world that he was aware of, particularly those imprisoned in the RAFT. He had already dealt with Kraven and Green Goblin, yet neither offered any abilities worth absorbing. Then there was Dr. Sterns also locked within the RAFT. His intellect could perhaps satisfy Amora, but Sterns had not committed any true crimes yet. Nothing that made him deserving of death. Plus, Tyson had concerns about the physical transformation and megalomania that might accompany absorbing The Leader''s psyche.


    As for the X-Men''s adversaries, Tyson had already verified that Magneto and the Brotherhood were well out of reach.


    Thoughts of his former martial arts mentor, Colleen, sparked an idea in Tyson''s mind. Her connection to the street-level heroes caused him to consider their rogues galleries. Luke Cage didn''t have any notable villains that fit his criteria. But thinking of Cage led Tyson to Jessica Jones. He recalled seeing her photo in Midtown High''s previous yearbook since she was an alum. Right now, she should be in college somewhere in the city. Focusing on Jones stirred a promising idea in Tyson''s mind.


    He projected the mental image of an unassuming, average-looking white man to Jean. "His name is Kilgrave."


    Jean''s eyes took on a faraway look and a point of light lit up. "He''s at the Bellagio Casino in Las Vegas. Who is he?" she asked.


    "Someone very dangerous and bad, but an easy target if you''re ready for him and he''s not ready for you," Tyson replied.


    Tyson had the locations of his targets, the individuals who could hold the key to saving Jubilee''s life. He glanced over at Jean, seeing the conflict and worry etched onto her features. She knew the toll this could take on him, the burden of absorbing another''s mind, another''s powers. But she also understood the depths of his care for Jubilee and the lengths he would go to save her.


    "Jean," Tyson said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I know what I just asked of you, what I''m asking of myself. But I can''t let Jubilee die without doing everything in my power to try to save her.


    Jean''s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hand coming up to rest on Tyson''s arm in a gesture of support and understanding. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And I want to help find a way to save her. But I don''t want to lose you, or myself, in the process."


    Tyson ended his illusion, focusing on severing the psychic connection with Jean.


    As he stepped back from the psionic space, breaking their connection through Cerebro. Jubilee''s voice drew his attention, her tone laced with concern. "How did it go?" she asked, eyes searching Tyson''s face for any hint of progress or hope.


    Tyson''s shoulders slumped, his expression grim. "Not well," he admitted, his words heavy with disappointment. "I''m going to go find Logan and bum a cigar. I''ll be outside. I need to think." With that, he turned and strode out of Cerebro toward the elevator.


    Jean removed the helmet causing her red hair to cascade around her shoulders. She walked the platform back to where the others stood. Jubilee''s gaze fixed on her, worry etched onto her features.


    "What did Amora say?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.


    Jean shook her head. With a somber expression, she replied, "We didn''t speak to Amora."


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed, her confusion deepening. "Why not?"


    "Because Tyson knew she wouldn''t negotiate further."


    Frustration mounting, Jubilee''s hands clenched into fists at her sides. "So, what took so long?"


    Jean hesitated, her gaze darting to Professor X before settling back on Jubilee. "Tyson was looking for bad people with powers he could absorb to fulfill Amora''s bargain."


    Jubilee''s eyes went wide, horror dawning across her face. "What? No. He can''t. That''s not what I want at all," she protested, panic and disbelief warring in her tone.


    Jean tried to reassure her, though her expression was etched with concern. "Don''t worry, we''ll figure this out together. Binding myself to Tyson wasn''t how I intended to spend my weekend, but I''ll do it if that''s what it takes to save your life." Jubilee vehemently shook her head in denial. But before they could speak further, Jean''s unease grew, mirroring the younger girl''s distress. "Where did Tyson go just now?" she asked.


    Jubilee''s answer came absently, clearly distracted by the revelation. "He said he was going to see Logan for a cigar." She paused, her brow furrowing in contemplation. After a moment, she added in a perplexed tone, "I''ve never seen Tyson smoke before."


    Jean''s disquiet deepened at this. "Neither have I," she admitted gravely.


    Professor Xavier''s voice suddenly cut in. He revealed, "I''m no longer sensing Tyson''s presence on the institute grounds,"


    The two women exchanged an alarmed look. Jubilee''s face had gone pale, her usual exuberance vanishing. Her head snapped to the Professor. "Isn''t that normal? You''ve said he''s resistant to telepathy."


    Jean urgently strode back to Cerebro. She donned the helmet again, her eyes closing in concentration as she reached out with her psychic senses. After a long moment, her eyes snapped open.


    "He''s gone," she said, "Left the mansion on his motorcycle, heading south."


    Jubilee''s heart sank, the realization of Tyson''s intentions crashing over her like a tidal wave. "He''s going to kill someone and take on the burden to save me." Her words were a whisper, a plea, and a condemnation.


    She turned to Professor X, her eyes wide and imploring. "We can''t let him do that for me."


    Professor Xavier''s expression was grave, his fingers steepled beneath his chin as he considered the weight of Jubilee''s words. "Tyson''s decisions are his own," he declared. "He has made it clear that he isn''t a student at the Institute, and he isn''t an X-Man. I have little say over his actions."


    Desperation was etched onto Jubilee''s features as she pleaded, "Can we rally the X-Men?"


    Professor X was silent for a long moment. "Tyson is seeking someone to absorb. While I believe in his character, it''s better not to tempt him. Take only those we''re certain he won''t attack. Yourselves, and Ororo so long as she stays with Logan. And Colossus, his relationship with Illyana would prevent him from attacking her brother."


    Jubilee and Jean nodded gratefully. They knew they could not stand idly by while their friend, a man they cared for deeply, walked a path of self-destruction.


    They would find him and convince him to stop. And together, they would find another way.

 Arc 6 - Ch 10: Going Rogue

    Chapter 77


    Arc 6 - Ch 10: Going Rogue


    Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    The atmosphere in Professor X''s office was heavy with concern as Jubilee, Jean, Logan, Storm, and the Professor himself gathered to discuss the situation. Jean took the lead, her voice laced with an undercurrent of worry as she explained the events that had transpired in Cerebro.


    "Amora offered Tyson her blood if he absorbed a power," Jean began, her gaze sweeping over the assembled group. "He picked out several targets, people he thought were powerful enough to satisfy Amora, but bad enough to warrant death."


    Ororo''s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing her regal features. "And he plans on absorbing one of these bad people, adding their evil to his mind?"


    Jubilee spoke up, her voice fierce with conviction. "He wouldn''t kill someone who didn''t deserve it."


    Logan asked, "Who are the targets?"


    Jean''s expression tightened as she recounted the information she gleaned. "He picked out several, but only three of them are close enough that he could reasonably reach them in time to save Jubes."


    "First is Mystique. She''s a shapeshifter. She was part of Magneto''s group, the one who impersonated Professor Ororo and attacked us on the train. She''s posing as a Senator in Washington, D.C. The second was the imposter Spider-Man, I located him just south of Central Park in Manhattan."


    "Tyson was looking for him anyway," Jubilee interjected, "The imposter killed a cop who was the father of one of Tyson''s friends, then dropped her injured in his apartment. And on top of that, Tyson is friends with Spider-Man, who he''s impersonating."


    "It''s the perfect target," Logan mused, his voice a low rumble. "He gets powers, stops a bad guy who seems to know his identity, and clears his friend''s name. And it''s also close by."


    The others nodded in agreement. Logan turned to Jean, "Who was the last target?"


    Jean hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "A man in Los Vegas called Kilgrave. As far as I could tell, he was just a normal guy. He registered as human through Cerebro." She paused, her voice dropping to a cautionary tone. "Tyson said he was dangerous. He didn''t say that about any of the others. And we''ve all seen what Spider-Man can do on TV."


    Professor X spoke up after everyone processed Tyson''s ominous warning. "I''ll stay here and keep in contact, guiding you with Cerebro."


    Ororo stepped forward. With Scott not part of this mission, she was the de facto leader. "We should split up," she suggested, "Jean and Jubilee, head into the city. Try to reach him before he finds the imposter. Logan and I will remain here with the Professor, monitoring his progress. If Tyson goes after one of the others, we''ll take the Blackbird and head him off."


    Jubilee spoke up, her words heavy with gratitude and guilt. "Thank you, everyone, for helping me and for helping Tyson. It''s my fault he''s doing this, so I appreciate you all."


    Logan shook his head. "Nah, pretty sure it''s his fault. Kid''s a trouble magnet."


    Despite the gravity of the situation, a flicker of amusement passed through the room. They all knew the stakes, the risks Tyson was taking, and the potential consequences of his actions. But they also saw the lengths he was going to save Jubilee. And so, with a renewed sense of purpose and determination, they set their plan in motion. Jean and Jubilee made their way to the garage, to find Tyson before he could take another life.


    As Jean drove toward the city, Jubilee pulled out her phone with trembling hands. She dialed Tyson''s number, each unanswered ring sending a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.


    Of course, he didn''t pick up.


    Glancing at the time, her brow furrowed. It was late for Illyana, but she knew she had to let her know what was happening. She dialed Illyana''s number, her fingers drumming anxiously against her thigh as she waited for the call to connect.


    On the third ring, Illyana picked up, and in her Russian accent, she asked, "Jubilee! How did the date go?"


    Jubilee''s throat tightened, the words catching as she tried to form a response. Slowly, haltingly, she began to recount the events of the evening. She told Illyana about the vampire attack, about the blood rain, and that she had been bitten. She spoke of Tyson''s desperate quest to find a cure and informed her about the Asgardian sorceress-slash-goddess, Amora''s challenge, and the terrible price he was willing to pay. By the end of her explanation, Jubilee was crying, her voice thick with emotion as she choked out the words. "Tyson''s going to kill someone to save me, Illyana. He''s going to take a life, to absorb their power, all to keep me from turning into a monster."


    Illyana''s response was fierce. "Jubilee, listen to me. Tyson loves you. He''s only doing this because of that love because he can''t bear the thought of losing you."


    Jubilee''s sobs intensified, guilt and desperation warring in her chest. "I''m so sorry, Illyana. I never meant for any of this to happen."


    But Illyana''s voice remained steady. "There''s nothing to apologize for, Jubes. Tyson has a hero complex, but I''d do the same if I were in his place. You were there for me when I needed it most. Tyson tried to save me from Azazel and the demons, and now he''s doing the same for you." Jubilee''s breath hitched. She clung to Illyana''s words and the support and understanding that radiated through the phone. Illyana''s voice softened with a quiet certainty. "There''s nothing to worry about. Tyson will take care of you, no matter what happens. And if he comes out of this changed, if the burden he''s taking on alters him, I know one thing that won''t change. The way he feels about all of us. His love for you, for me... that''s unshakable."


    Jubilee drew strength from her friend''s words. "Thank you, Illyana," she whispered, her words thick with gratitude. "I don''t know what I''d do without you."


    "I''m going to try to call Tyson," Illyana said, "Maybe he''ll pick up for me."


    "Yes, do that, please," Jubilee agreed. With a final exchange of goodbyes, Jubilee ended the call.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson sped down 87 with the imposter''s location fresh in his mind, intending to follow the trail like a bloodhound. He knew he was almost an hour behind, but that wouldn''t stop him.


    He made a phone call as he pushed the bike to its limits, his voice terse but focused. "Pete, I need you to stay home this afternoon."


    Peter''s confusion was evident even through the phone. "Why?"


    "I have his scent," Tyson explained, his words clipped and urgent. "I need you to stay away so I can track him."


    "Got it," Peter said, "Let me know how it goes. Good luck."


    The call ended, and Tyson fixed his attention on the road ahead. He was nearing the city proper when another call came through. This time, it was Jubilee. Tyson couldn''t bring himself to answer. Not now, not when he was so close to his goal. He let the call go to voicemail, a silent apology on his lips.


    Several minutes later, a third call came through. Tyson recognized the number.


    Illyana.


    They hadn''t spoken since that day on the steps of the New York Sanctum. It had been almost a month. The conversation was a misunderstanding that had driven a wedge between them. Tyson had been too angry, too busy with the events of the Stark Expo, then the Asgardians, then the Abomination, to reach out, to mend the rift that had formed.


    He answered the call with a simple, "Hey."


    "Hey back." Illyana''s next words were a statement, not a question. "I hear you''re going hunting."


    "I am."


    "When was the last time you went hunting?" she asked, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her tone. "In Limbo?"


    A laugh escaped Tyson''s lips. "Yeah. Hopefully no fart demons this time." They both chuckled at the shared memory. But as the laughter faded, Tyson felt the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. He''d been mad about Victor, yet he hesitated to tell her why.


    "Illyana," he said, "I''ve been hiding some things from you."


    "I know," she said, her tone gentle yet weighted with empathy. "Jubilee told me about Amora."


    Confusion clouded Tyson''s eyes. "Huh? Amora?" He shook his head. "No, this isn''t about her. I didn''t even meet Amora until after our last conversation."


    Illyana''s words were measured as she clarified, "You found another sorceress. One who wants you to bind someone strong to yourself. Why didn''t you call me?"


    Tyson opened his mouth but only a dumbfounded "Uhh" escaped his lips. "I''m not sure I just interpreted your question properly."


    Illyana sighed, the rush of air crackling through the phone. "Just tell me what you''ve been hiding."


    Tyson''s grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles paling from the strain. "I saw more of the future than I ever let on," he confessed. "Glimpses of events years yet to come." He hesitated old anger and hurt welling up inside him. "Finding out about Victor left me upset. It wasn''t you dating someone else that bothered me, Lyana. It was who you were spending time with."


    Illyana''s voice came through the phone again, insistently. "I didn''t date Victor, Tyson."


    "I know, I know," Tyson replied, "But Victor is dangerous. As dangerous as Magneto, maybe even worse. The visions showed me that much." He let out a heavy sigh. "I''m sorry I wasn''t open with you. I was angry and confused, but that''s no excuse."


    Silence hung between them for a moment before Illyana responded, her voice gentle. "It''s okay, Tyson. Let''s not dwell on Victor right now. There will be time for that later." She paused, and Tyson could imagine the determined set of her jaw as she turned over ideas. "I can steal a sling ring easily enough. Then I''ll come to New York, and we''ll go to Limbo together. Track down one of the stronger demons for you to take out."


    "I need the sorcerers to do the ritual to save Jubilee," he explained, his voice tight with regret. "I can''t ask you to put yourself at risk with them again, nor can we anger them. I need their help."


    She offered an alternative, "Okay, then get the X-Men to fly you here in their fancy jet."


    Tyson hesitated, the idea taking root in his mind. "I don''t know exactly how fast their jet is, but a flight to Nepal takes like 20 hours."


    Illyana''s voice took on a coy edge, a hint of amusement lacing her words. "Do you know that because you considered visiting?"


    A mumbled "maybe" was Tyson''s only response, but it was enough to draw a laugh from Illyana, a sound that warmed his heart.


    "I''ll consider it a last resort," he conceded.


    "I won''t try to stop you, but Jubilee doesn''t want you to do this."


    Tyson''s heart clenched. "I know," he admitted, the truth of her words was a knife in his gut. "That''s why I didn''t give them a chance to stop me."


    "Keep her safe for me, either way?" Illyana whispered in request.


    "You know it," Tyson vowed.


    Her voice softened, a hint of wistfulness creeping into her tone. "It was nice hearing your voice again."


    "Same," Tyson murmured, the weight of the unsaid hanging heavy between them. "Good night, Illyana."


    "Good luck, Tyson," she replied.


    The call ended, and he was alone once more.


    Tyson exited the Hendrick Hudson Parkway at 54th Street. He wove through the streets of Hell''s Kitchen, heading eastward.


    Carnegie Hall.


    This was where Cerebro had pinged the imposter''s presence. He stopped his motorcycle to scan the area. He inhaled deeply, his enhanced senses sorting through the myriad scents that assaulted him. Street food, garbage, the acrid tang of gasoline, and concrete all blended.


    But deep within, Tyson found what he was looking for. A scent that was achingly familiar, yet not quite right. The smell of Peter Parker.


    The imposter.


    Tyson followed it westward, back in the direction he had come. The scent did not originate at Carnegie Hall, but Tyson followed it that way due to the old gamer''s adage.


    When in doubt, go left.


    The scent wound south then south and east, leading Tyson on a dizzying path through the streets. He rode slowly, his helmet discarded in favor of keeping his senses unobstructed. He stopped frequently, inhaling deeply as he sought to hold onto the scent, to keep it from slipping away in the currents of the city. The trail led him to 39th Street, just past 9th Avenue. The roads here were near the Lincoln Tunnel exit, a confusing tangle of overpasses and underpasses.


    The scent was everywhere.


    Tyson growled in frustration, his eyes darting from one potential path to another. Which way should he go? Which trail would lead him to the imposter?


    And then he saw a red figure swinging through the sky.


    He gunned his engine, the motorcycle leaping forward like a beast unleashed. The wind whipped at his face, his eyes watering as he pushed the machine to its limits. The imposter was fast, but Tyson dodged around cars and pedestrians, his focus never wavering from the figure ahead. The imposter swung from building to building but Tyson wouldn''t be deterred. He couldn''t let them slip away now. Not when Jubilee''s life hung in the balance.


    Even if it meant becoming the monster he had tried not to be from the moment he arrived.


    The imposter Spider-Man seemed to sense the feral presence that stalked them, their movements becoming more erratic, more desperate, like a frightened animal seeking escape. They swung low, skimming the tops of cars and buses that honked angrily, trying to shake their relentless pursuer. But Tysone wove expertly through the traffic, never losing sight of his target. He could smell their panic, fear, and desperation, on the wind. The scent urged him onward like blood in the water, his predatory instincts in overdrive. He pushed the motorcycle to its limits as he rapidly closed the distance.


    And then, Tyson used the subtlest of illusions, he added a street light at the perfect spot for the imposter to swing from. The imposter''s webline shot through the air. But instead of finding a purchase, it passed through the illusion. Their swing faltered, but with the agility born of spider-enhanced reflexes, they adapted, rolling to disperse their momentum and sliding to a stop in a classic superhero pose.


    Tyson who''d shrouded himself in the illusion of his Mirage costume when the pursuit began, launched himself from his motorcycle in a ferocious charge. But as he closed the distance, he suddenly pulled up short. Doubt took hold through the haze of his anger and his burning desire for revenge for Gwen, redemption for Peter, and above all, to save Jubilee. Tyson''s rage and desperation slowly ebbed.


    He looked at the imposter, taking in the details of the costume. It didn''t match Peter''s Spider-Man suit. With a clarity that had eluded him in the heat of the moment, Tyson saw the truth. This wasn''t the Spider-Man he sought.


    It was a Spider-Woman.


    He had made the same mistake Peter had at graduation, targeting the wrong imposter.


    Peter''s account of the attack on Gwen had been clear. The imposter who had assaulted them was a man. But the figure before him, the one he had chased and cornered, was unmistakably female. Cerebro revealed Cindy Moon''s location in Siberia, so this couldn''t be her. The only other possibility for a Spider-Woman that he could think of was¡­ Gwen herself. Spider-Gwen or Ghost Spider. But the woman before him wasn''t Gwen. Her hair wasn''t blonde, and he was there the day Peter was bitten. Gwen had been in the room, but he was certain she hadn''t been bitten. She might have fought better against the imposter if she had.


    Spider-Woman''s mask was a small domino, barely disguising her features. Even so, Tyson didn''t recognize her. There was too much evidence this wasn''t who he sought. He''d found the wrong clone.


    Tyson stared at the woman, his rage dissipating. "I thought you were the other one," he said slowly. Amora''s words echoed as he studied her, particularly the option to claim a powerful mistress. Here stood a woman with all of Peter''s abilities, practically gift-wrapped and delivered to him. He knew Peter didn''t have any particular resistance to his illusions. His power could bend her will, just as with Vanko and Connors.


    The temptation pulled at him, whispering he''d found an easy solution to his desperate situation.


    But something held him back. News reports painted a clear picture.


    Spider-Woman was a hero.


    Like Peter, she stopped crimes and saved lives. She swung through the city, protecting the innocent and vulnerable. There''d been no incidence where she''d committed unnecessarily violent acts.


    Guilt spread through him. Using his powers to manipulate someone who had done nothing wrong felt wrong on a fundamental level. This wasn''t like Vanko, who had tried to kill Tony Stark, or Connors, who had transformed into a monster and intended to do the same for the rest of the city.


    This was different.


    The weight of his moral compass pressed against his desperation. Yes, he wanted to save Jubilee more than anything. But at what cost? Mind-controlling an innocent hero was crossing the line.


    Tyson''s shoulders slumped as the tension drained from his posture. He wouldn''t do it. He couldn''t justify using his powers on someone who had committed no crime and had only tried to help others. The path of manipulating the innocent wasn''t one he would walk, no matter how convenient it might be. His threatening stance relaxed, and his hands dropped as he let go of the dark possibility. There had to be another way to save Jubilee that didn''t require compromising everything he believed in.


    His thoughts were interrupted as her scent reached him, stopping his thoughts in their tracks. She smelled familiar, like Peter, but there was something more.


    An alluring undertone he couldn''t place.


    Unbidden, thoughts of Jubilee faded from his mind, replaced by interest in this mysterious Spider-Woman.


    She cocked her head, eyes flashing defiantly. "Do I look like a dude to you?" she questioned, sarcasm dripping from each word.


    Tyson''s gaze traveled over her slender yet toned frame, the curves of her suit leaving no doubt as to her femininity. "Far from it," he conceded, unable to keep a hint of appreciation from seeping into his voice.


    Spider-Woman placed a hand on her hip, her body language radiating sass. "Eyes up here, cowboy," she quipped, though her words held a playful edge. "I know the suit''s tight, but try to focus."


    Tyson''s eyes snapped back to her barely masked features. "Are you alright?" he asked.


    She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "No thanks to you," she retorted, "What''s the deal with the heroes in this town? You''re the second one to ambush me."


    Tyson winced. "I''m sorry," he began, but Spider-Woman cut him off.


    "Why were you chasing me, Mirage?" she asked. There was suspicion in her tone, but also a flicker of curiosity.


    Tyson let out a frustrated sigh. "Do you know where to find the other imposter?" he asked.


    Spider-Woman shook her head. "I don''t," she admitted, a hint of apology in her voice. "Believe me, if I did, I''d be giving him a piece of my mind. It''s hard enough being a spider-hero without him ruining our reputation."


    Tyson grunted in frustration. He''d been so close to securing the power to save Jubilee''s life. But now, he was back at square one, with nothing to show for his efforts but a case of mistaken identity.


    He couldn''t afford to wallow, though.


    He would find another way. But first, he owed Spider-Woman an apology. "I''m sorry," he said again sincerely. "I shouldn''t have attacked you like that. I let emotions get the better of me, and you paid the price. My¡­ friend is dying, and to save her, I need to find the other Spider-Man."


    Spider-Woman''s posture softened, understanding dawning in her eyes. "I get it," she said, her voice gentler now. "We''ve all been there. Desperate to save someone we care about, willing to do whatever it takes. It''s not an easy place to be."


    Tyson nodded. He extended his hand, an offer of truce. Spider-Woman hesitated for a beat, then took it. He noted how strong her grip was despite her slender fingers.


    "I hope you find what you''re looking for," she said sincerely. "And I hope you save your friend."


    Mirage''s smile was genuine, if a bit strained. "I''m glad I ran into you, even under these circumstances. It was good to meet you, you look great in that costume. I mean¡­ It''s good to know another costumed hero is out in the streets."


    Spider-Woman laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased. "But seriously, no hard feelings. We''re all fighting the good fight."


    "Damn straight. And if you ever need a hand out here, give me a shout. I''m not that hard to find," Mirage offered.


    "I might just take you up on that," she said playfully. "It''s not every day a girl gets an offer from our local celebrity hero." She stepped back, preparing to swing away. "Good luck, Tyson," she said, in a warm, genuine tone.


    He watched her swing away knowing he''d nearly made a terrible mistake, letting his desperation cloud his mind and attacking the wrong target. But as Spider-Woman disappeared from view, a realization hit him like a thunderbolt.


    She had called him Tyson. His real name, not his alias.


    How did she know his identity?


    But there was no time to dwell on it now. With a shake of his head, Tyson turned back to his motorcycle. When the dust settled, he would track down Spider-Woman and get some answers.


    But for now, the hunt was on.


    As Jessica swung away, her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions as she distanced herself from Tyson.


    The encounter had left her unsettled.


    She couldn''t stop thinking about what she''d said, those words that had slipped out almost without thought. "Flattery will get you everywhere." It had been a knee-jerk response, a quip thrown out in the heat of the moment. But now, in the cold light of hindsight, it made her cringe. Had she been flirting with Tyson? The thought made her stomach twist.


    "Gross," she muttered.


    Jessica was still coming to terms with the fact that she wasn''t Peter Parker, that despite the memories and experiences that felt so real, she was her own person.


    A woman, not a man.


    It was a jarring realization, one that she grappled with daily.


    But even amid that inner turmoil, she couldn''t deny that talking to Tyson had been... nice. Comforting, even. He was her friend, or at least, he had been Peter''s friend. Those memories of their camaraderie, of the trust and understanding they shared, still resonated within her, even if they weren''t truly her own.


    Her thoughts drifted to Gwen, and the tragedy that had befallen her father. When the news reached her, Jessica was hit with a wave of grief that was both foreign and achingly familiar. Memories of time spent with Gwen, of kisses and embraces, had surged to the surface, vivid and heart-wrenching. But they weren''t her memories, not really. They belonged to Peter, to a life that wasn''t hers.


    And then there was Kaine. Her "brother," the other clone shared her genes but not her heart. Jessica had known, with a bone-deep certainty, that Kaine was responsible for Captain Stacy''s death. It was the kind of thing he would do, lashing out in anger and pain at a world he didn''t understand. They had been separated after their release. Jessica hadn''t seen Kaine since that day, and honestly, she was surprised he was still loose in the city. She had half-expected him to be locked up by now, his violent tendencies and unstable mind a danger to himself and others.


    A part of her, the part that clung to Peter''s innate sense of responsibility, felt a pang of guilt. Maybe she should have tried harder to reach out to Kaine, to help him find his way in this strange new world they found themselves in. But another part, the part that was slowly, painstakingly carving out her own identity, knew that she wasn''t responsible for Kaine''s actions. She had her own life to figure out, her own path to forge.


    Since her creation and subsequent abandonment by Dr. Warren, Jessica had grown accustomed to being treated like a pariah. Everywhere she went, she was met with fear. Suspicion and disdain had become her constant companions. Even out of costume, it seemed people sensed her true nature and that something was off about her, making them keep their distance.


    But Tyson had been different.


    His initial aggression had given way to genuine remorse and kindness. Jessica couldn''t shake the memory of his apologetic tone, and the sincerity in his eyes as he explained his desperate situation. Normally, that would be the point that whatever was driving people away kicked in. But the hostility she''d come to expect from others hadn''t occurred; with Tyson, it seemed, almost the opposite. Like what drove normal people away had drawn him to her.


    She landed on a rooftop, perching on the edge as she gazed at the cityscape, replaying their interaction. Her spider-sense had screamed danger when Tyson pursued her, and for a heart-stopping moment, she''d thought this was it. That would be her end. Whatever mysterious force had been turning people against her had finally infected Tyson, her best friend, or at least, the man she remembered as her best friend. Instead, he''d surprised her. Not only had he apologized, but he''d been almost... charming. Jessica felt a warmth creep into her cheeks at the memory of his appreciative gaze and compliment about her costume. Or was it her body he was complimenting? Was that flirting? No one had shown her any positive attention since she''d been left behind at the lab. She wasn''t sure if she could even recognize it anymore.


    "Come on, Jessica," she muttered, shaking her head. "First boy to show interest in you and you swoon? That''s so clich¨¦."


    But try as she might, she couldn''t dismiss the flutter in her chest, the way her spirits had lifted during their brief interaction. Tyson had been the first person since her "birth" who seemed to accept her without question and treated her like a person rather than an outsider, threat, or abomination.


    Was she so starved for positive attention that a few kind words could affect her this deeply?


    She thought back to Tyson''s offer to help. The sincerity in his voice had been unmistakable. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jessica felt maybe there was a place for her in this world after all.


    But doubt crept in, tempering her optimism.


    What if Tyson''s kindness was a fluke? What if, once he learned the truth about her, he''d recoil in disgust like everyone else?


    Jessica stood up, stretching her limbs as she prepared to continue her patrol. She couldn''t afford to dwell on what-ifs and maybes. She had a city to protect. And yet, as she leaped off the building, shooting a web to swing away, she couldn''t quite shake the warmth that Tyson''s acceptance had kindled within her. Try as she might to dislodge the thought.


    She had enough on her plate without adding confusing feelings for her gene donor''s best friend into the mix.


    She needed to focus on herself, her life, and her identity. It wouldn''t be easy; nothing in her short, strange existence was. But she was determined to do it, to carve out a place for herself in this world that made sense.


    She was Spider-Woman. Jessica. Not Peter Parker.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Kaine felt the warning of danger from his spider-sense. It was greater than any sensation he''d gotten yet. It was greater than anything he remembered Peter feeling. He searched but saw nothing, his sense only giving him a general direction. Something bad was coming for him from the North.


    Kaine headed for the Lincoln Tunnel, the sensation he got through his spider-sense was so large that he wasn''t sure if the threat was against him, or an attack on Manhattan itself. If it was the latter, the tunnel might be his quickest escape. He reached the tunnel and crawled along its ceiling as the sensation suddenly disappeared. Kaine stopped and stayed there for a minute, clinging to the top of the Lincoln Tunnel. He crawled back toward the Manhattan side. But when he exited, he saw what must have caused the threat. Mirage. He was chasing Jessica. Kaine smiled, good. A chance to kill two birds with one stone; get rid of Jessica, and maybe even get Mirage off his back.


    Kaine watched from the shadows, observing how Mirage was handling Spider-Woman. He had to be careful, he couldn''t let Mirage get the drop on him. Not with his powers. Mirage''s illusion tricked Jessica, sending her crashing into the ground.


    Mirage lept at her.


    Kaine''s smile grew wider. This was perfect. Hopefully, his claws would ruin the perfect, pretty girl''s face.


    Kaine''s smile disappeared as Tyson stopped short of Jessica. They were talking now, their voices carrying faintly on the wind. He watched as Mirage''s aggressive stance relaxed, his body language shifting from that of a predator to almost friendly. Kaine''s eyes narrowed, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. This wasn''t how it was supposed to happen.


    Jessica, the clone who thought she was a woman, was smiling. The sight of it twisted Kaine''s insides with disgust. She was falling for Mirage''s tricks, just like everyone else. It was sickening. Of course, Tyson wouldn''t attack her. Kaine knew all too well his womanizing ways. He had seen it with Felicia Hardy. The way she looked at Tyson with a mix of admiration and desire. And then there was Gwen Stacy, the girl who had captured Peter''s heart. Tyson had circled her like a vulture, trying to weasel his way in. It was despicable.


    Kaine couldn''t stand to watch any longer. He crept back into the shadows, his mind racing. He needed to find some way to stop Tyson, to expose him for the manipulative monster he truly was. But how? Tyson was perhaps even more powerful than Kaine himself. His illusions were enough to make anyone question their sanity.


    As Kaine slunk away, he couldn''t shake the image of Jessica and Tyson from his mind.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson sat astride his motorcycle as he grappled with the next step in his desperate quest. The encounter with Spider-Woman had thrown him off balance; realizing she wasn''t the imposter he sought was a bitter pill to swallow. He had asked Peter to stay home, knowing that his friend''s familiar scent would interfere with his tracking abilities. But he hadn''t accounted for the existence of another clone, a wrinkle in his plan that left him frustrated and unsure.


    It was a shit coincidence, he mused darkly, that the other clone had traveled through the area near the Lincoln Tunnel. Their scents had intermingled, confusing his senses and leading him on a wild goose chase.


    Now, he was left with three options, each with its own set of risks and uncertainties.


    The first was to backtrack to Carnegie Hall and follow the scent in the opposite direction. But Tyson was hesitant to pursue that course of action. If the scent trail led to a dead end, he would have wasted precious time chasing false leads. And given that the imposter had managed to evade Peter for the better part of a month, the odds of Tyson finding him in a few short hours seemed slim.


    The second option was to assume that Spider-Woman had been lying, to follow her, hoping she would lead him to the imposter. But even as he considered it, Tyson felt a pang of reluctance. Spider-Woman had been forthcoming, even friendly, in their brief interaction. And there was a familiarity that reminded him of Peter. The fact that she knew he was Mirage gave him pause, revealing a depth of knowledge that he hadn''t expected. But it wasn''t enough, in his mind, to suspect her of any wrongdoing.


    That left the third option.


    Choose another target.


    With a heavy sigh, Tyson made his decision. He revved the engine of his motorcycle, the machine roaring to life beneath him. Merging into traffic, he sped eastward, towards the House of M.


    As he entered the building, he was met by Felicia. "I took some calls while you were out," she said without preamble.


    Tyson sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Let me guess. Jubilee."


    "Yeah. She''s worried, doesn''t want you to do what you''re doing, and she''s coming here."


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "No surprise there," Tyson mumbled. He knew Jubilee''s heart was in the right place, but he couldn''t let her dissuade him from his path.


    Felicia studied him for a moment, her gaze searching. "Have to ask, are you sure about this?"


    "Yeah. I am."


    Felicia nodded, accepting his resolve. "Alright then. On to other things." She consulted her tablet, scrolling through her notes. "Maki called, asking when she could come for an interview."


    "Maki?"


    "The woman who put in the random application to be Mirage''s bodyguard," Felicia clarified, a hint of amusement in her tone. "You said, and I quote, ''she''s a ninja assassin, make sure you hire her.''"


    Recognition dawned on Tyson''s face. "Ah, yeah. Bring her in. Maybe... Wednesday." He paused, considering. "Don''t let her into the secure areas without me around, and keep a close eye on her until after I speak with her."


    "Got it." Felicia made a note on her tablet, nodding. "I didn''t realize you knew about Wednesday already."


    Tyson shifted, his mind already moving on to the next step in his plan. "Right. Anything else?"


    "Nothing besides Wednesday," Felicia shook her head, offering him a small, supportive smile. "That''s all."


    Tyson started to walk away, but then, an illusion of him turned back to Felicia.


    The illusory Tyson reached out, pulling Felicia into a warm embrace. "Thanks for understanding," he murmured, "And for everything you do."


    Felicia leaned into the embrace, her own arms coming up to wrap around him.


    "I have to try to save her," he whispered, "I''d do the same for you."


    "I know," she whispered back.


    For a long moment, they stayed like that, locked in an embrace. Finally, Felicia drew back, her eyes searching the illusion''s face. "Spend a few minutes with me," she pleaded softly, "until you disappear."


    "Of course," he murmured, drawing her back into his arms.


    And so they stood, Felicia and the illusory Tyson, stealing a moment of comfort and connection as the real Tyson continued to Vanko''s lab.


    "What''s the status of the whiplash armor?" Tyson asked, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.


    Vanko looked up from his workbench, answering in his heavy Russian accent, "I resized the chassis for you. Extending it four inches was no problem, man. Either of us may use it."


    "Time for me to suit up. How far will the arc reactor allow me to fly?"


    Vanko shrugged, responding, "Far as you want."


    That was what Tyson had hoped to hear. He had taken a risk, going out on a limb to prevent the armor''s destruction and Vanko''s death at the Stark Expo. Now, it was time to put the tech to use.


    Vanko rose from his seat. He gestured for Tyson to follow, ready to assist him in donning the Whiplash Mark 2 armor. The suit was a match for the Iron Man and War Machine suits and he was about to take it for a spin.


    The armor hummed to life, the arc reactor glowing a brilliant blue at its core. Tyson flexed his fingers, feeling the strength and precision of the suit''s hydraulics.


    Vanko stepped back, admiring his handiwork. "You''re all set, man."


    Tyson turned towards the exit.


    Outside, Jean and Jubilee had just pulled up to the House of M in their borrowed car from the Xavier Institute. They stepped out, their eyes widening as they caught sight of a figure streaking off from the building''s roof. It looked like Iron Man, but there was something different about it.


    Jean reached out with her mind, trying to get a read on the figure inside the armor. But she hit a wall, a mental barrier she couldn''t penetrate from this distance. Whoever was in that suit, they were well-protected.


    Jubilee let out a low whistle. "Damn, that''s some serious tech. You think it''s Iron Man''s new suit?"


    Jean shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern. "I don''t think so, Jubes. His mind was shielded... I think that was Tyson."


    They watched as the figure disappeared into the distance, a trail of blue light marking its path.


    Jubilee growled in frustration, she said, "That''s so cool¡­ but now I''m mad. We need to call Professor Ororo to come pick us up. We''ll never be able to catch him without the Blackbird."


    Tyson soared through the sky, the armor responding to his every directive and movement. He had never felt so free as the world stretched out below him.


    The Whiplash suit''s thrusters propelled him forward as he left Manhattan behind. The southern tip of the island grew smaller with each passing second, and Tyson couldn''t help but feel a rush of exhilaration as he ascended higher into the clouds.


    As he reached cruising altitude, a notification flashed on the suit''s HUD, indicating an incoming call. Tyson glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was none other than Tony Stark himself.


    "Mr. Stark, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Tyson asked, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.


    "I got an interesting notification from Wednesday," Tony replied, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.


    "Who''s Wednesday?"


    "That AI assistant security system we talked about," Tony explained, a slight edge to his voice.


    Tyson mumbled under his breath, "Didn''t think it would happen that fast."


    "You should listen to that assistant of yours more," Tony chided.


    "You''re one to talk."


    Tony brushed off the jab and continued, "Anyway, Wednesday told me a suit left from House of M, but Vanko was still on the premises. Do you know anything about that?"


    Tyson hesitated for a moment before answering, "Uh, yeah. That''d be me."


    "Going for a joyride?" Tony asked.


    "Something like that," Tyson replied, trying to keep his voice casual. "Just a quick flight to DC."


    "DC? What''s there?" Tony pressed.


    "Need to meet with a Senator."


    There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Tyson could almost picture the look of concern on Tony''s face.


    "Not sure that''s the best idea," Tony finally said seriously. "Government has been real difficult with the suits. They finally got off my back when I let Rhodes have my hand-me-downs. If they find out you have one, it''ll be trouble."


    Tyson tried to reassure him, "I won''t take the armor into the city proper. I''ll leave it outside the city limits. I just needed a way to get south quickly."


    "You''re making me a bit nervous," Tony admitted, and Tyson could hear the unease in his voice. "You know, Vanko didn''t make that thing for stealth. I''m tracking you as we speak, and I doubt my eyes are the only ones on you."


    A sense of realization washed over Tyson. He hadn''t considered that the suit would pop up on military radar, but Tony had a point. If Natasha was here, she''d make a joke about cameras, or in this case, electronic surveillance being his greatest nemesis. With a sigh, Tyson asked, "Any chance you could hide my movements with your tech wizardry?"


    "Maybe," Tony replied, "Tell me what''s so important that you''d risk taking the armor to the capital."


    Tyson hesitated before explaining, "There''s a mutant who''s a shapeshifter, posing as a Senator. I need to stop her."


    "I know you''ve appointed yourself the Secretary of Mutant Affairs," Tony said, a hint of skepticism in his voice, "but why do this yourself? Why not tell SHIELD and let them handle it?"


    Tyson admitted, "It goes deeper than that. A friend of mine is in trouble. To save her, I need to kill the shapeshifter."


    Tony interrupted, his voice rising with concern, "Let me get this straight. You''re going to Washington DC to kill a Senator?"


    "It sounds way worse when you say it like that," Tyson replied, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation.


    "What happens when you kill the Senator and everyone finds out that he was killed by a mutant?" Tony asked his words carrying a heavy weight.


    Tyson mumbled under his breath, "Fuck." Could he return mutants to the spotlight in such a negative way? As he pondered Tony''s words, a text flashed in his HUD from Jubilee. "The Professor called Senator Mystique. She''s gone into hiding. You won''t be able to find her. Please stop and come back."


    Another curse escaped Tyson''s lips. With Tony still on the line, he answered, "You know what, you''re right. I''ll let SHIELD handle the Senator. Instead, I''m just going to go for that joyride. Vegas sounds nice. Maybe I''ll put on a show. Thanks for the advice."


    Tony watched as Tyson banked inland on the satellite tracking. "Good man," he said relieved. "I''ll cover your trail just this one time. But if I see you heading toward DC, I''m suiting up."


    "Understood," Tyson replied, ending the call.


    The Whiplash suit hummed with power as Tyson altered his course, the bright lights of Las Vegas now his destination.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson carefully concealed the Whiplash armor at an outdoor speedway amusement center on Route 15, just south of the glittering lights of Las Vegas. With a final glance to ensure its security, Tyson turned his attention northward, toward the beckoning glow of the Strip.


    His superhuman speed and endurance made the journey a breeze, his feet pounding against the pavement in a steady rhythm. As he ran, Tyson drew upon his powers to cloak himself in an illusion, rendering him invisible to the eyes of the passing motorists. The cars whizzed by, their occupants blissfully unaware of the extraordinary figure running alongside them, nearly matching their speed.


    The Bellagio sat on the southern end of the Strip. But as Tyson neared the edge of the Strip, a familiar group came into view, their silhouettes standing out against the vibrant backdrop of the city. Jubilee wearing her yellow jacket, stood alongside Jean Grey. Wolverine flanked them on one side, Colossus on the other. And finally was Storm, her white hair billowing in the gentle breeze.


    Tyson slowed his pace, realizing that his friends had anticipated his move. As fast as the Whiplash armor was, it couldn''t match the unparalleled speed of the Blackbird, the sleek aircraft modeled after the legendary SR-71 spy plane. The X-Men had beaten him to the punch, and now they stood before him, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.


    The Strip beyond them buzzed with energy, the chatter of excited tourists filling the air. The towering hotels and casinos loomed ahead. Neon signs flickered and pulsed, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the faces of the gathered mutants.


    Tyson approached, his illusion fading away as he revealed himself; Jean and Ororo had seen through the simple deception already. The weight of his decision to come to Las Vegas hung heavy in the air, the unspoken concerns palpable between them.


    Jubilee stepped forward, her eyes locked on Tyson''s. "We know what you''re doing. Why did you leave before even speaking to us, Ty?" she asked, her voice a mix of worry and frustration.


    Tyson met her gaze, his own eyes filled with a determination that bordered on defiance. "I had to," he said simply, his words carrying a weight despite their brevity.


    Wolverine warned, "You don''t need to do this, kid."


    Jean placed a hand on Wolverine''s shoulder, her touch was a gentle reminder of their shared purpose. "We all want to help Jubilee," she said, her voice soft but firm. "This isn''t the way. Just talk to me, please. We can figure this out."


    Storm nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with a wisdom that seemed to transcend her years. "We are a team, Tyson," she said, her words a promise of support and unity.


    Tyson looked at each of his friends in turn, the gravity of their presence sinking in. He had come to Las Vegas with a singular purpose, but now, standing before his friends, he knew he was right to avoid them. Seeing their faces, and hearing their words, made him hesitate, and question his path.


    "Talk about what? You becoming my slave?" he asked Jean. His eyes were dark with desperation as he shifted to pleading with Jubilee. "Let me try to save you."


    Jubilee shook her head. Her expression was resolute even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can''t let you kill someone else for me," she replied, her voice soft but unwavering.


    How could he stand by and let her die?


    "You don''t understand. This guy I''m going after is the absolute worst kind of person. He can bend others to his will and does so without remorse or second thoughts. Killing him would be doing the world a favor." He turned to Logan, "If he knew you existed, he wouldn''t hesitate to control you, keep you as a bodyguard."


    Tyson then addressed the women, his voice taking on a somber tone. "I''m sure I don''t need to say what he''d do to any of you. I don''t want you to be in the same city as this guy, let alone be so near to him. Let me take care of him, and this will all be settled."


    Storm, her white hair billowing in the gentle desert breeze, asked, "And what happens to you when you absorb this man''s power, Tyson? Will you become him?"


    Tyson met her eyes, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features. "I''ve kept Sabertooth in check all these months."


    "How much evil can one man hold before it begins to affect him?" she asked.


    But Jean interrupted, raising her hand.


    Suddenly, Tyson, who had been running across the street, was yanked off his feet and dragged in front of them by Jean''s telekinesis.


    The disappointment could be heard in Jean''s voice as she explained, "He tried to get past us by distracting us with an illusion."


    Tyson struggled against Jean''s telekinetic hold. "You don''t understand," he growled in frustration. His eyes darted between his friends, locking onto each of them. "I have to do this. Why won''t you trust me?"


    "We know the weight you carry, Tyson. But taking on this burden alone will only lead you down a dark path. Let us help you find another way." Storm said.


    Tyson''s eyes locked with Storm''s, lingering for a long moment as desperation filled his eyes. Then he focused on Jean.


    Despite the invisible force of her telekinesis holding him in place, Tyson suddenly was able to raise his arm, his bare hand reaching for her face.


    Jean reacted instinctively, using her telekinesis to toss Tyson away from her.


    The simple illusion he had crafted slipped past her defenses, catching her off guard. As Tyson hit the ground, the impact freed him from Jean''s grasp, just as he had hoped. He split into several illusionary duplicates, each locking eyes with the mutants assembled against him¡­


    Jubilee''s world shifted¡­


    The neon lights and desert heat of Las Vegas vanished, replaced by the gentle lapping of water beneath her feet. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden change. Somehow, she stood atop an expanse of water, the surface tension holding her weight like solid ground. The air felt different here, cleaner, filled with the scent of forest and stone. Looking down, Jubilee found herself wearing an orange and black jumpsuit. A glance at her surroundings revealed towering cliffs on either side of a waterfall, and at their peak, two massive stone statues faced each other in eternal confrontation.


    "The Valley of the End," she whispered, recognizing the scene from countless anime marathons, and it was one of the scenes Tyson had created on their date.


    Across the water he stood, dressed in a loose white shirt, dark pants, and that purple rope belt. His expression matched Sasuke''s brooding intensity perfectly, his three-tomoe Sharingan eyes stared her down.


    "Really, Ty? You''re gonna make me do this whole thing?" Jubilee called out, unable to suppress a small smile despite the situation. "Like, I get the metaphor and everything, but this is seriously extra."


    The water rippled beneath her feet as she took a step forward. "Look, I know you think you''re protecting me by going after this Kilgrave guy. But that''s not what I want. That''s not what any of us want."


    She took another step forward, her reflection wavering in the water below. "I know you''re scared. I''m scared too. But becoming a killer isn''t the answer. That''s not who you are. I know you''re not going to hurt any of us. You''re such a nerd, I noticed all your little details. Three-tomoe sharingan, not a Mangeky¨­. Whether you intended it or not, that has meaning."


    "You don''t understand what he''s capable of," Tyson replied, his voice echoing across the water.


    "Maybe not," Jubilee admitted. "But I understand you. And this path you''re on? It leads nowhere good." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Remember when we first met? You had just killed for the first time. You didn''t know how any of us would feel about you. But you let us in any way. You let me in."


    The water stirred beneath them as a breeze swept through the valley.


    "I love you, you big dummy," Jubilee said, her voice cracking slightly. "And I''m not gonna stand here and watch you throw away everything you''ve built. Everything you are. Not for me. Not for anyone."


    Tyson''s expression softened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.


    "Sorry, Jubes. Your Talk no Jutsu failed," he said quietly. "You don''t want me to become a killer, but that''s exactly what I''ve been since that day I arrived."


    Logan and Colossus''s world shifted¡­


    Logan''s nostrils flared as the sulfurous stench of Limbo filled his lungs. The familiar crimson sky and twisted landscape materialized around them, replacing the neon lights of Las Vegas. Across a field of black stone, Tyson stood transformed. His skin was bleached white and covered in glowing runes that pulsed with an otherworldly light.


    "This again?" Logan growled, "Didn''t we do this dance a few weeks ago?"


    Tyson''s voice echoed across the hellish landscape. "And have you forgotten how that ended up?"


    "Alright kid, that''s how it''s going to be." Logan''s jaw clenched. "I''m going to beat some sense into you."


    Colossus took a hesitant step forward, his metal skin gleaming in the crimson light. "Logan, perhaps we should..."


    But Logan was already moving. With a familiar SNIKT, his adamantium claws burst from his knuckles. He launched himself at Tyson, claws extended for a devastating strike. Just before impact, Tyson''s form rippled like water and sank into the black stone beneath their feet, mimicking the faceless Vilsteth demon''s ability they''d encountered in their battle within Limbo while fighting Azazel.


    Logan''s claws sliced through empty air as Tyson emerged from the ground behind him. The feral mutant spun around, his claws carved deadly arcs, whistling through empty air as Tyson melted into the rocky ground of Limbo. The sulfurous stench burned Logan''s nostrils, bringing back unwanted memories of their previous visit to this hellish dimension.


    "Getting slow in your old age?" Tyson''s voice echoed from behind.


    Logan spun, claws leading the way. His strike caught nothing but air as Tyson sank into the ground again. The kid was playing games, testing his patience.


    "Logan, we must be careful," Colossus warned, his metal skin gleaming in the crimson light. "This is not the real Tyson we face."


    "Real enough," Logan growled.


    Tyson emerged from a nearby boulder, those mismatched eyes glowing with otherworldly power. The arcane runes etched into Tyson''s bone-white skin pulsed with energy. He moved like the Vilsteth demon, fluid and unpredictable. Logan lunged forward with his adamantium claws extended. Tyson flowed around the attack like water, his form rippling as he phased through solid rock.


    Logan dropped and rolled as Tyson burst from the ground behind him, stone claws raking through the space where Logan''s head had been.


    "You''re not the only one with claws, old man," Tyson taunted.


    Logan sprang to his feet, spinning to face his opponent. Colossus stepped forward. "This accomplishes nothing, comrade. We should¡­"


    "If you don''t want to fight then stay back, Pete," Logan snapped. "The kid wants to dance? Let''s dance."


    Tyson''s laughter bounced off the twisted spires of rock surrounding them. He phased through another boulder, emerging with his stone claws extended. Logan met the attack head-on, adamantium meeting stone in a shower of sparks. They traded blows, neither gaining the upper hand. When Logan slashed high, Tyson would sink into the ground. When Tyson emerged for a surprise attack, Logan countered.


    Logan pressed forward with a series of quick strikes, forcing Tyson to phase through a twisted column of black stone.


    "Getting tired yet?" Tyson''s voice echoed from within the pillar.


    Logan snorted, rotating his shoulders, ready to continue the fight. But he realized the truth. Even compared to the last time they fought¡­


    The kid was holding back.


    Ororo''s world shifted¡­


    The neon lights of Las Vegas dissolved into a familiar scene. The manicured lawns and elegant architecture of Xavier''s Institute materialized around her. She stood in the central courtyard, the sky indicating the sun had recently set. The first thing that caught her attention was the sound. A seeking noise in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. Black vans pulled up outside the ornate gates. The doors burst open, and soldiers began streaming out. The whoosh of helicopter blades cut through the air, and the sound echoed across the grounds as multiple aircraft approached from different directions.


    Storm watched soldiers wearing dark uniforms scale the walls. As they entered the courtyard, something struck her as wrong. Then she saw it, each soldier had the same face. Tyson''s face. Dozens of him, armed and ready for battle, surrounded the school.


    "What is this?" Storm demanded, her voice carrying on the wind that had begun to stir around her.


    Tyson''s voice came from the mouth of a soldier, each sentence projecting from a different armed figure.


    "This was the battle I fought for you."


    "I protected your students."


    "That''s what I''m doing here."


    "Protecting one of your students."


    Storm''s white hair whipped around her face as the wind picked up, responding to her rising emotions. It had been a year, but the guilt from that day was still fresh. The attack on the school, the children in danger. She''d missed the entire battle since she was off with Logan searching for the mutant that had attacked the President.


    "Are you sure that''s what you''re doing?" she challenged, her eyes beginning to cloud with white energy. "It seems more likely that you''ve given in to your bloodlust and are trying to kill a man. Just like you killed during this battle."


    The illusion of soldiers paused in their movements, frozen in time. One Tyson, dressed in uniform, stood before her, his mismatched eyes blazing with anger and hurt.


    "If you''d been there, and done your job," he fired back, his voice sharp as a blade, "maybe I wouldn''t have had to."


    The wind howled around them now, whipping at their clothes as Storm faced down her former student. The soldiers remained motionless, silent witnesses to their confrontation, each wearing Tyson''s face like an accusation. The institute''s grounds stretched out around them, peaceful and serene despite the invasion force frozen in time. This place of learning and sanctuary was surrounded by violence and death.


    Just as Tyson himself seemed caught between being a protector and a killer.


    The helicopters hung suspended in the darkening sky, and their blades caught mid-rotation. Storm could see every detail of the scene Tyson had recreated. The determination on the soldiers'' faces, the weapons in their hands, the fear they must have brought to the children who called this place home. But this wasn''t about protecting the school. This was about something else entirely, and they both knew it. The illusion served as a mirror, reflecting the consequences of that day.


    Logan''s claws glinted under the flickering lights, a snarl emanating from his throat as he faced off against one of the illusionary Tyson duplicates. Storm''s eyes glowed a brilliant white, the wind whipping around her as she summoned the forces of nature to her aid. Jubilee''s hands crackled with energy, her mutant power casting a dazzling display of light and color across the scene.


    But none of them fought the real Tyson. The X-Men found themselves engaged in battle against an enemy that only existed within their minds.


    Or rather Tyson''s mind.


    Jean stood still, her brow furrowed in concentration. She''d brushed away Tyson''s illusion that attempted to ensnare her like she''d swat away a fly. Her telepathic powers reached out searching for the familiar presence of her friend. She ignored the distraction of Tyson and Jubilee battling on the water, Logan and Colossus fighting the projection in Limbo, and the army of Tysons arrayed against Professor Ororo. None of the illusions had thoughts of their own, making them easy to ignore, but Jean had always had difficulty sensing Tyson. More so since he''d gained the illusions, his psionic powers seemingly bolstering his defenses.


    But then, like a beacon in the darkness, Jean felt it. The unmistakable essence of his mind, the unique but muted pattern of his thoughts and emotions set him apart from the illusions he created. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto the real Tyson as he tried to slip away.


    "There!" Jean shouted. She pointed at the retreating figure, her telekinetic power surging forward to grab hold of him once more.


    But the other X-Men failed to heed her call.


    Their attentions were fully drawn to Tyson''s illusion. The real fight was between just the two of them.


    Psychic vs psychic.


    Tyson remained firmly held in Jean''s telekinetic grasp, his body suspended mid-air, unable to break free. Their eyes locked once more, a mixture of frustration and resignation etched upon his features. At that moment, Tyson made a decision born of desperation and a singular focus on his goal.


    His mind stretched outwards forming invisible wispy tendrils of psychic energy that snaked toward Jean''s consciousness. He pressed against the edges of her psyche, his influence spreading like a heavy fog. Manipulating others had always been a last resort reserved only for his enemies when left with no choice. But now desperation drove him to cross that line.


    "I trust you, Jean. And I know you trust me. I''ve felt it. We connected. I''ve been inside you, and you''ve been inside me¡­ In a way that goes beyond intimacy. The others can''t possibly understand our connection and what we''ve shared." Tyson said. He pushed harder, his psychic powers seeping into the familiar pathways of her mind. After their time linked together in Cerebro, he knew how to navigate the complex terrain.


    She felt his presence at the edges of her mind, probing and searching. His psychic touch differed from Xavier''s, far less precise, but somehow more intimate.


    Her telepathic barriers stood firm, walls of pure thought and will. But they couldn''t contain everything. Emotions leaked through, wisps of feeling that Tyson''s power caught. He found the warmth she held for him. Pushing against that section of the barrier, he picked up impressions. Their shared moments at the Institute, quiet conversations at breakfast, the way he made her laugh, his power giving her the solace of silence.


    The exact nature of those feelings remained unclear to his untrained abilities. Not quite love, but not simple friendship either; something more complex that defied easy categorization. But he recognized their strength, their genuineness.


    In response, Tyson gathered his own emotions. Memories flooded through him. Jean''s gentle guidance when he first arrived at Xavier''s, her fierce protectiveness when Illyana vanished him to Limbo, quiet moments when the rest of the institute slept. Deeper feelings rose unbidden. Flashes of her smile, thoughts of her beauty that he''d tried to suppress.


    He took it all, this tangled mess of gratitude and desire, friendship and want, and pressed it against her mental shields.


    Not attacking. Offering. Sharing.


    Jean''s barriers softened, almost imperceptibly. The rigid walls became permeable, allowing tendrils of his consciousness to seep through growing cracks. He felt her acceptance, her willingness to let him in.


    That small success spurred him on. He reached through the widening fissures, grasping for Jean''s feelings, using them to create more openings.


    A voice in the back of his mind whispered encouragement¡­


    She was letting this happen, wanting it as much as he did. Their mutual desire created a feedback loop, each moment of connection amplifying the next.


    A soft gasp escaped Jean''s lips. The sound was not pain, resistance, or exertion.


    Pleasure.


    Pure and unrestrained. Her mental barriers crumbled further as waves of sensation passed between them.


    Their psychic connection deepened as emotions flowed freely now. Physical sensations began to blur; her racing heart and his quickened breath became indistinguishable. Las Vegas faded as their consciousness intertwined more intimately than any physical embrace.


    Jean''s emerald eyes locked onto his mismatched ones, pupils dilated. Her lips parted slightly as another small sound escaped. The telekinetic hold on Tyson weakened as her concentration wavered under the assault of shared sensation.


    Around them, the other X-Men remained caught in Tyson''s illusions, unaware of the intimate psychic dance unfolding. The neon lights of Vegas cast shifting colors across Jean''s face as she swayed slightly, caught in the tide of their mental joining.


    Tyson pressed deeper into the connection, riding the wave of Jean''s acceptance. Each barrier that fell revealed new depths of emotion, and new sensations to explore. Awareness of the physical world faded away, leaving only their interwoven consciousness floating in a sea of shared feelings.


    Tyson had succeeded.


    Her grip on him wavered.


    Their eyes remained locked eyes, neither able to look away as his mismatched ones burrowed into her emerald greens. With a final surge of energy, Tyson tried to override Jean''s will, to bend her to his command against her consent.


    "Let. Me. Go."


    But then, through their connection, Tyson felt something new streaming through Jean''s barriers. The sensation was unlike anything he''d experienced before. More than just emotions or thoughts, it carried an almost physical weight, pressing against his consciousness with tangible force.


    He saw Jean, but not as she appeared before him in Las Vegas. This vision showed her wreathed in flames, her usual gentle demeanor sharpened to a razor''s edge. The warmth he typically felt from her had transformed into searing heat. Where Jean''s normal presence was like sunlight filtering through leaves¡­ This was a solar flare.


    The love he sensed wasn''t the complex mix of friendship and attraction he''d grown accustomed to. This presence radiated pure want, primal and unrestrained. It didn''t wait for him to reach out, it surged forward, grasping his mind with fierce intensity. Not content to simply accept his advances, it sought to claim him entirely.


    Raw power rolled off this presence in waves. It dwarfed anything Tyson had encountered before, making even Professor Xavier''s formidable abilities seem modest comparatively. The sheer force of it threatened to overwhelm him completely. His psychic defenses had already lowered to connect with Jean and offered no resistance against this tide of power.


    The presence filled every corner of his mind, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. Where Jean''s touch had been gentle, this entity burned through him like wildfire. It found every hidden desire, every suppressed wanting, and drew them to the surface. His carefully maintained control began to slip away.


    Tyson''s consciousness reeled under the onslaught. His identity began to blur at the edges as this force pressed in from all sides. He could feel Jean''s presence too, familiar and warm, but it was overshadowed by this other entity that burned so much brighter.


    The physical world seemed impossibly distant now. The neon lights of Las Vegas, his illusions battling his friends, even his own body¡­ all felt less real than this psychic connection. The presence consumed his awareness until nothing else remained but its burning intensity.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    With a cry, Jean forced Tyson back, extinguishing his influence over her mind in an instant. She hovered above him, eyes blazing, her powers swirling around her. There would be no manipulating her mind.


    Jean''s consciousness surged through the connection Tyson had opened between them. His attempt to manipulate her mind had created a bridge, and now she crossed it, diving deep into the landscape of his thoughts. The familiar sensation of entering another''s mind enveloped her, but this differed from her usual telepathic encounters.


    Tyson''s mindscape materialized around her psychic presence. Unlike the ordered thoughts she typically encountered, his mind was a swirling maelstrom of memories and emotions. Images flashed past her; faces of those he''d killed, the weight of powers he''d absorbed, the constant struggle to maintain control.


    The memories whirled faster, more recent ones rising to the surface. She saw Jubilee through his eyes, growing paler and weaker from the vampire''s bite. Felt his crushing fear of losing her, the desperate need to save her at any cost. The memory shifted to his conversation with Amora, her smile as she demanded he grow stronger to earn her help. His determination crystallized into a single thought.


    He wasn''t strong enough to protect those he cared about.


    Jean pushed deeper, past the surface thoughts. Here, in the depths of his consciousness, she found the true source of his desperation. It wasn''t just about saving Jubilee. Deeper currents of guilt and shame swirled around memories of others he''d failed to protect. Azazel''s domination over Limbo, over Illyana. The students at Xavier''s school during the attack. The soldiers he''d slaughtered and their memories, most decent people. Each death was a weight he carried, each failure another crack in his resolve to remain noble.


    Tyson''s consciousness reacted to her presence, trying to push her out. But Jean held firm, her telepathic abilities far more refined than his nascent psychic powers. She felt his frustration, his anger at being invaded this way, but also his bone-deep exhaustion from constantly fighting his darker impulses and controlling the other psyches within his mind.


    The landscape of his mind shifted again, revealing what truly drove him. It wasn''t love, nor a desire for power that pushed him toward Kilgrave.


    It was fear.


    Fear that if he didn''t act, and didn''t become strong enough, he would lose everyone he cared about.


    This went deeper than protecting Jubilee.


    Jean witnessed the battle raging within him. The part that wanted to be a hero wrestled with the part that would do anything, become anything, to protect those he loved. She felt his conviction that absorbing Kilgrave''s power was the best of his current paths forward, even as another part of him recoiled from the idea of taking another life.


    Through their connection, Jean sensed something else.


    Resignation.


    Tyson knew what he was about to do was wrong, and knew it would disappoint his friends, but he''d accepted those consequences. In his mind, their opinions of him changing was a small price to pay for saving Jubilee''s life.


    A small price to pay to protect the future.


    Jean had to ask, What future was Tyson trying to protect?


    But as she delved into those thoughts, the mental landscape grew hazy. She could feel something fighting harder against her presence. But it wasn''t Tyson. He wasn''t strong enough to push her out of his mind, not when she was this deep. This was something else. Memories and emotions swirled chaotically around her, but Jean had seen enough. She understood now the depth of his struggle. He was desperate enough to sacrifice his humanity to save...


    Everyone?


    No.


    Half of everyone¡­


    What did that even mean?


    Jean reached out for the barrier trying to force her out. She got the impression it was impenetrable. Like a mental version of Tyson''s unbreakable bones. But stronger. Impossibly so. As she reached out to touch it, her consciousness suddenly shifted.


    The chaotic mindscape of memories and emotions dissolved, replaced by the velvet darkness of a movie theater. Jean sat in a plush seat, the familiar scent of popcorn hanging in the air. Beside her sat Tyson, his hand intertwined with hers. It was Tyson, but not Tyson. Gone was his massive frame and wild wavy hair, he looked more¡­ normal.


    Her breath caught. Their fingers were interlocked, skin against skin, yet his power wasn''t activating. No drain, no pain, no pull of memories or abilities. Just the warmth of his touch.


    This couldn''t be real, she thought. But she was able to see through his illusions. This was different. This was more. And yet¡­


    The screen before them flickered with images. A massive battle unfolded, heroes she didn''t recognize fighting. The scenes grew darker and more desperate until it happened.


    Two fingers, a gold gauntlet.


    Snap.


    People began to dissolve into ash, scattering on the wind. A young man in red and blue, clutching¡­ an older Iron Man¡­ begging not to go before he too faded away.


    The final scene showed a muscular figure with purple skin sitting peacefully, watching a sunset over pristine mountains. His expression held satisfaction, perhaps even peace, as he observed the golden light spilling across the landscape.


    The screen faded to black. White text appeared.


    "Thanos will return..."


    Darkness enveloped the theater.


    "That''s the end?" Jean asked, confused, her voice barely above a whisper in the quiet theater.


    Tyson turned to her, his mismatched eyes reflecting what little light remained. "Yeah, I know, it''s crazy." he squeezed her hand reassuringly, "But don''t worry, the story''s not over yet."


    He leaned forward, one hand rising to cup her cheek. Jean moved to meet him, drawn by something deeper than physical attraction. Their lips met in a gentle kiss that felt more real than any vision had a right to.


    As they separated, he breathed, "I promise." as the theater dissolved around them.


    Jean''s presence hovered within his mind, her hand still against the impenetrable barrier. She felt it pulse and she was violently forced back into her own mind, the taste of their kiss still lingering as reality reasserted itself.


    Hurled out of his mental landscape, she again felt Tyson''s power squirming toward her mind. But then, with a single word, Jean shattered his resistance.


    "Stop Fighting Me."


    The command was soft, but its impact was immeasurable. Tyson''s illusion power withered and died, his mental tendrils retracting back into his mind as if scorched by the sun. His struggles ceased, and his resistance crumbled in the face of Jean''s psychic might.


    As strong a psychic as Tyson was, and as much resistance he had from the multiple minds within his head¡­


    None of it was a match for Jean Grey.


    Around them, the illusions flickered and vanished, the X-Men''s attacks passing harmlessly through the empty air. Logan''s claws sliced through nothingness, while Storm''s winds dissipated into the night sky. Jubilee''s energy fizzled out, the dazzling light show fading into the ever-present glow of the city.


    Tyson hung limply in Jean''s telekinetic grasp, his eyes vacant and his face expressionless.


    Jean felt a mixture of sadness and understanding, her eyes filled with a deep empathy for her friend. She knew the pain that drove Tyson, the desperation that had led him to this moment. What she didn''t know and couldn''t understand, was the barrier within his mind, stronger than any Professor Xavier had helped her build within her own.


    ¡­ And the


    ¡­ theater.


    She struggled to hold on to the thoughts as she hovered to the ground, the city around her growing dimmer.


    The other X-Men gathered around them, their faces etched with concern and compassion.


    They had seen Tyson at his lowest; when he''d arrived at the Institute having taken Sabertooth''s life to survive, when he''d nearly been killed by Magneto, when he''d been tortured and mutilated at Alkali Lake, and now when he tried and failed to take a life to save one.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson''s senses returned to him gradually, the fog of confusion lifting as he found himself strapped securely inside the Blackbird. As he regained his cognizance, Tyson reached out with his powers, quick to restart the fight, to finish what he started. But Jean tamped down his power at the slightest use of psionics. She was still maintaining a minimal psychic connection, and with a greater familiarity with his power after their mental battle, she easily rendered his subtle manipulations ineffective.


    With a heavy sigh, Tyson relented. "Alright, I''ll stop. You win."


    Logan, seated nearby, mumbled gruffly, "Already won, kid. Now, where''s that armor? Can''t leave it lying around here."


    Tyson''s voice was filled with resignation as he directed them to the speedway where he''d left the Whiplash Mark 2. Once the armor was safely loaded into the aircraft, Tyson asked aloud with a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Any chance you''ll give me a ride to Nepal?"


    Jean, her brow furrowed with confusion, asked, "Why?"


    Tyson explained, "I spoke with Illyana. She said if all else failed, she would open a portal to Limbo. I could hunt and absorb a demon. I wouldn''t kill any people that way."


    Storm questioned, her voice filled with skepticism, "How would taking in a demon be any better than taking in a vile human? Wouldn''t you still be changed?"


    Tyson paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. "In Limbo, time moves differently. Illyana could drop me in, and I might have days, weeks, or longer to find the right demon to absorb. The biggest problem now is time."


    Every gaze turned to Jubilee, waiting for her response. The young mutant sat quietly, her usually vibrant features had begun to pale, her face starting to look drawn, the toll of her illness evident in the shadows beneath her eyes.


    Tyson sensed the growing unease, prompting him to propose, "Or there are other gods¡­"


    Jubilee interrupted him softly, "Stop. Please."


    Tyson continued, "I could try to find an Eternal, Thena might be considered a god, or..."


    She turned to face Tyson directly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.


    "I''m dying. I can feel it. Please, stop making my death about you."


    Her words struck Tyson like a physical blow, causing him to recoil. The pain in Jubilee''s voice, and the raw honesty of her confession, cut through the layers of his desperation.


    She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling as she continued. "I love you. I love that you tried so hard¡­ And if you love me back, you''ll be there to support me as I die."


    The following silence was deafening, broken only by the gentle hum of the Blackbird''s engines. Tyson''s eyes widened with shock and realization. His desperate plans and schemes now seemed hollow and meaningless in the face of Jubilee''s plea. He had been so consumed that he had forgotten the most important thing.


    To be there for her, to love her, and to support her in her darkest hour.


    Tyson knew that he had a choice to make. He could continue down the path of desperation, seeking out powers and gods. Or he could choose to be the man Jubilee needed him to be, to stand by her side and face the coming darkness together.


    At that moment, as he looked into Jubilee''s eyes, Tyson knew there was only one choice. With a shaky breath, he took her hand in his.


    "I''m here, Jubilee. I''m not going anywhere."


    It was well into the evening as the X-Men''s jet touched down. The ramp lowered with a hiss, and the team disembarked, their faces etched with sorrow. At the center of the solemn procession walked Jubilee, her usual bubbly energy notably absent. With each step, Jubilee felt the crushing weight of her fate pressing down upon her slender shoulders. In a day, the ichor would claim her life, transforming her into a vampire. But even in the face of her mortality, Jubilee refused to succumb to despair. She''d always been an upbeat beacon of light, even in the darkest times. She would not let this final challenge break her spirit.


    Steeling herself with a deep breath, Jubilee gathered the strength to face the grim task she had been considering during their flight.


    Planning her funeral.


    Tyson placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a sad smile crossing his rugged face. "While technically you''re dying, you''ll rise again as a vampire. This isn''t the end," he reminded her gently.


    But Jubilee was adamant. "How many people hear what their loved ones think of them after they''re gone? This is my chance to find out how I''ll be remembered."


    "I don''t know what''s going to happen to me. You might need to put me down if I become a ravenous, undead monster." She tried to keep her tone light and joking, but the fear in her voice was palpable.


    "That''s not going to happen," Tyson firmly stated, "I won''t let it."


    Jubilee''s laughter echoed through the hangar in stark contrast to the somber mood that had settled over the group.


    "If I''m going to die," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of humor and resignation, "we''re either having a wedding or a funeral."


    She turned to Tyson, her eyes sparkling with mischief despite the gravity of their situation. "Want to get married? Till death do us part? That''s only¡­ what? A day, maybe two, max?"


    "Vows or eulogy? What''ll it be?"

 Arc 6 - Ch 11: A Wedding Or A Funeral

    Chapter 78


    Arc 6 - Ch 11: A Wedding Or A Funeral


    Date: Saturday, June 25, 2011.


    Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York


    Tyson stood shocked for a moment. Marriage? It was an unexpected proposition. Yet, as he looked into Jubilee''s expectant face, he was caught in a whirlwind of emotions. Her suggestion was sudden, of course, but it was her way of embracing life, of finding joy even in the face of darkness. The silence was brief, filled with the distant hum of the jet''s engines winding down. Her smile faltered as she watched the play of emotions across Tyson''s face. Before she could backtrack, Tyson''s expression softened.


    "Jubes," Tyson began, lowering to one knee before her, his mismatched eyes never leaving hers.


    He crafted a shimmering diamond ring that appeared to materialize in his hand. The gem sparkled brilliantly, catching the light in a way that no earthly diamond could.


    "I love you," he continued, "I''d be honored if you''d marry me."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and joy dancing across her features. She looked from Tyson''s face to the ring and back again, her lips parting in a soft gasp.


    "I... yes."


    "Yes!"


    She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. Tyson wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close as he rose to his feet, lifting her off the ground. They spun in a small circle, she laughed and cried at the same time.


    As Tyson set Jubilee back on her feet, he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Jubilee held up her hand, admiring the way the light played off the facets of the diamond.


    "It''s beautiful," she murmured, then looked up at Tyson with a mischievous glint in her eye. "But you know, a girl might prefer something a little more... tangible. Unless you secretly stopped at a jewelry shop wearing that Iron Man suit."


    Tyson chuckled, pulling her close again. "Don''t worry, I''ll get you a real one. This is just a placeholder."


    Jubilee''s smile softened. "I was just teasing. This is perfect. You''re perfect."


    For a moment, all their worries and fears melted away. There was no impending doom, no ticking clock. There was only this moment, however brief it might be.


    "Alright, everyone," she announced, her voice carrying across the hangar. "Change of plans. We''re going to throw the most epic wedding this school has ever seen."


    Jubilee took a deep breath, squared her slender shoulders, and lifted her chin. This was a surreal experience. She had always imagined her future, her dreams and aspirations, but never had she thought she would be planning a wedding so soon. She sought out her friends, unable to help but feel a sense of bittersweet excitement.


    Jean was first, the telepath''s usually calm and collected demeanor cracking under the weight of her emotions. Jubilee pulled her into a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of Jean''s tears against her shoulder. "I want you to be my maid of honor," Jubilee whispered, her voice trembling with joy. "Share a memory at the reception, something that made you laugh. I want our wedding to be filled with joy and laughter."


    Jean nodded, her eyes glistening with happy tears. "Of course," she said.


    Jubilee radiated a joy that cut through the gloom and uncertainty that had settled over the group. Her eyes shone with hope and love as she turned to Storm, grasping the weather witch''s hands in her own.


    "Professor Ororo, would you officiate my wedding?" Jubilee asked, practically bouncing on her toes in excitement.


    Ororo glanced at Tyson, her brow furrowing slightly. Undoubtedly she cared for Jubilee deeply, but she wasn''t sure how she felt about the illusionist. Yet looking into Jubilee''s vibrant, pleading eyes, she couldn''t refuse. This wedding represented more than just the union of two people; it was a spark of life in the face of darkness.


    Slowly, Storm nodded, a smile breaking across her elegant features. "Nothing would make me happier, child," she said warmly. Jubilee let out a squeal of delight, throwing her arms around the weather witch.


    Then Jubilee pulled back, practically bouncing on her toes again as she began peppering Ororo with questions about the ceremony. Storm listened indulgently, her smile never fading.


    As Jubilee busied herself with planning, Tyson slipped away. He found an empty room and pulled out his cell phone with a desperate idea in mind. He had exhausted every target, and nearly every potential solution to prevent Jubilee''s death. But one name lingered in his thoughts, refusing to fade away.


    Agatha Harkness.


    Tyson opened his phone and quickly performed a Google search. It was his only option, well aware that using Cerebro was out of the question. To his surprise, the search revealed a woman named Agatha Harkness lived in Massachusetts, working as a private governess and teacher.


    Could it truly be that simple?


    The thought of reaching out to her felt like a gamble. Tyson went over what he knew of her thanks to his meta-knowledge. After the events of Endgame, Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, had spiraled into grief and despair. The loss of Vision, whom she had grown to love, had left her broken with her powers unhinged and wild. In a desperate attempt to cling to the fragments of the life she could have had, Wanda inadvertently twisted reality, capturing the unsuspecting town of Westview in a bubble of reality under her control.


    Agatha was drawn by the potent magic that Wanda wielded. She infiltrated the reality bubble and confronted the Scarlet Witch. To the casual observer, Agatha appeared to be the antagonist seeking to steal Wanda''s power. But the truth was more complex. Wanda, in her anguish, had subjugated the townspeople. Agatha had attempted to intervene, to end the chaos that Wanda had unleashed. Did this make Wanda the villain of her story, consumed by her grief and pain? Was Agatha the unsung hero, misunderstood and vilified for her actions? The lines between right and wrong were blurred, painted in shades of gray that defied easy categorization.


    Tyson contemplated the potential risks and rewards of contacting Agatha. He was unsure if this was the right choice, but he had no other options.


    He dialed the number listed, listening intently as the line rang.


    "Hello?" answered a familiar voice.


    "Good evening, is this Agatha Harkness?" Tyson asked, his voice tight and strained with desperation.


    "Yes, who is this?" came the wary reply.


    He took a moment to steady his nerves before responding. "My name is Tyson. I''m looking to hire your services."


    "Alright, Mr. Tyson," said Agatha briskly, "How old is your child, and in what area of study do you believe they need help?"


    Tyson hesitated, knowing his response would sound strange. "I''m not inquiring about your lessons for a child. I''m looking to hire your services for myself."


    He heard Agatha sigh in exasperation. "Is this a prank call? If not, those aren''t the kinds of services I provide. A governess is a tutor, a teacher, not an escort." she said, clearly having fielded calls of that nature before.


    Tyson squinted in confusion for a brief moment before understanding her meaning. He rolled his eyes in frustration. "That''s not what I meant, Ms. Harkness. I''m looking for an instructor to teach me a subject that''s a little more esoteric..."


    He let his voice trail off, hoping she would understand his implied meaning. His heart pounded as he awaited her response, knowing this was likely his final chance to save his friend. Tyson waited with bated breath as silence descended on the phone line. He could practically hear the seconds ticking by as Agatha Harkness contemplated his request, the weight of her judgment hanging over him.


    When she finally spoke, her voice was curious, "How did you get this number?"


    "Google," Tyson answered, hoping that using the internet to find her would not undermine his credibility in her eyes.


    Agatha let out a small huff, a hint of amusement coloring her tone. "I''m afraid I only work with children, Tyson. My teaching is focused on nurturing young minds, guiding them in the ways of magic."


    Tyson closed his eyes as frustration welled up inside him, his grip on the phone tightening reflexively. "I''m technically not an adult yet. I won''t be turning eighteen for a few more months. Please. I need to learn magic. I''ll pay any price, do whatever it takes." He injected a note of desperation into the last sentence, hoping she could sense the importance of this to him.


    Silence descended once more. Tyson strained to hear any sounds from Agatha''s end of the call. He thought he detected the soft rustle of clothing as if she had gotten up from her seat to pace in consideration. Seconds passed before she finally spoke again. "The path you seek is dangerous," she said, her voice low and serious. "Magic is not a toy to be played with, nor a quick solution to life''s problems. It requires dedication, sacrifice, and a willingness to face the consequences of your actions."


    Tyson felt a flicker of anger at her perceived judgment of him. He bit back a harsh retort, letting a quiet intensity fill his words. "I''ve faced consequences before. I''ve fought powerful enemies, even demons, and taken lives, all in the name of survival."


    "Very well, Tyson. I will agree to teach you, but my services won''t come cheap. Where are you located?"


    "New York City," Tyson answered promptly, relief flooding through him.


    "You''ll be paying my relocation fee as well. 50 thousand dollars upfront," Agatha stated matter-of-factly.


    Tyson quickly agreed, "Of course. And I can arrange housing if needed."


    After a thoughtful pause, Agatha named her terms. "And a 50 thousand dollar a month retainer fee. So long as you''re my student."


    "Agreed," Tyson said without hesitation. He provided Felicia''s contact information for handling payment and housing details, knowing Agatha would find the arrangements satisfactory.


    Tyson walked toward the main entrance of the institute. The weight of Jubilee''s impending death was a constant pressure on his chest. As he passed by the common area, Jubilee called out. "Tyson, are you trying to sneak away again?"


    Tyson paused, turning to face her. Her eyes, usually so full of light and mischief, now held a shadow of the fate that awaited her. "I am," he admitted, "but not to escape and absorb someone. I''m working on something."


    Jubilee regarded him for a moment. "If you''re working on something, it better be your vows," she teased, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness beneath her words.


    "Hopefully better," he replied.


    "Fine," she said, "but don''t take too long. And if you run off to try to absorb someone else, I''m won''t forgive you. I''ll die angry, and probably rise as a vengeful spirit. A vengeful spirit¡­ vampire."


    "I won''t," he promised, "With a final glance at Jubilee, he turned and headed toward a secluded section of the institute grounds.


    The grounds around the Xavier Institute were expansive, with a few acres of well-manicured lawns, gardens, and wooded areas that provided a serene backdrop. As Tyson walked, he took in the tranquility of the surroundings, the chirping of crickets, and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. He found an out-of-sight area, tucked away behind a copse of trees. It was a peaceful spot that Tyson idly noted would serve perfectly as a secret rendezvous point for mutant teens. Though not secretive enough to avoid the notice of Professor Xavier.


    Once he was sure there wasn''t anyone nearby, Tyson stopped and took a deep breath. He called out into the empty air, his voice echoing slightly in the dark. "Amora. You said you would be watching¡­ I respectfully request to speak with you."


    As Tyson finished speaking, nothing happened. The world around him remained unchanged, the quiet serenity of the institute grounds undisturbed. He waited for a beat, his heart pounding in his chest, the anticipation building with each passing second.


    Just when disappointment began to set in, the air in front of him shimmered and rippled. A portal appeared, its edges flickering with an otherworldly light. Inside the portal was a lavishly appointed room, its walls adorned with arcane scribbles that pulsed with a soft, eldritch glow. Reclining on a plush pillow bed, draped in sumptuous fabrics was Amora.


    The Enchantress gestured with a ''come hither'' motion, inviting Tyson through the portal.


    He stepped forward, crossing the threshold, and the institute grounds gave way to Amora''s opulent chamber. The portal closed behind him with a soft pop, leaving him in the presence of the powerful Asgardian sorceress.


    Amora lounged on her bed. "You have come to bargain, I presume," she said.


    "I have," he confirmed, his voice betraying none of the apprehension he felt.


    The Enchantress considered him for a long, drawn-out moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And why should I aid you?" she asked, her tone laced with a regal haughtiness. "What makes you worthy of my divine essence? I mandated you gain strength. To seek out someone powerful and absorb them. Have you done so without me becoming aware? Because I saw your failure. You neither killed nor defeated the fiery psychic in a battle of wills, binding her to you."


    Tyson frowned. That wasn''t his intention in engaging Jean. He brushed off the Enchantress''s words and met Amora''s stare with a steady resolve, his jaw set in a firm line.


    "I have not absorbed anyone''s power," Tyson admitted, "On such short notice, I could not find a suitable target who was both accessible and possessed abilities that would be worthy of your divine essence. However, I have secured an instructor to teach me the ways of magic."


    Amora arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression one of skeptical amusement. "A mere mortal dabbling in the mystic arts?" she scoffed. "And you believe this will make you stronger?"


    "There are many paths to power. You, yourself are proof of this" he said, "While absorbing the abilities of others is one way, mastering magic is another. With a skilled instructor to guide me, I can unlock the potential within myself and grow stronger in ways beyond physical abilities."


    Amora regarded him, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns embroidered on the silken sheets beneath her. "And who is this instructor you speak of?" she asked.


    "Agatha Harkness," Tyson replied without hesitation. "A witch who has lived for over three hundred years. She has agreed to take me on as her student. I know of few on Earth who would be a better tutor, save yourself and perhaps the Sorcerer Supreme." Tyson pressed on with his case. "With Agatha''s guidance, I can learn magic. While I''m sure, Earthly magic pales compared to Asgardian magic, I hoped that taking steps toward such power would be worthy of your divine essence."


    For a long moment, the only sound in the chamber was the soft hum of the arcane runes etched into the walls. Finally, she spoke. "Very well, Tyson. I deem that you have met the requirements of taking the steps necessary to become stronger."


    Relief flooded Tyson''s veins, a rush of hope that threatened to overwhelm him. But he remained outwardly composed, his expression carefully neutral as he approached Amora''s seated form. He reached out, his fingers closing around the cool glass of the vial she held toward him. Tyson was momentarily taken aback when he realized the vial was empty.


    Amora fixed him with a piercing gaze making him tense. "However," she said, her voice carrying disappointment, "I question your audacity. I specifically asked you to bind a mistress and explained the difference between a mistress and a wife. Now, I thought you a step above the rest of the men here, more cunning and somewhat intelligent. Yet, you act against my words, disappointing me by intending to marry the one you set out to save. While not a direct violation of my request, I feel¡­ spurned."


    Tyson''s mind raced. He was close to attaining her blood and didn''t want to anger the Enchantress. He needed a way to smooth things over. Thinking quickly, he said, "Marriages on Earth specifically state ''Till death do us part.'' If Jubilee dies and becomes a vampire, the wedding is nullified."


    Amora countered, "Is not the purpose of my blood to prevent her death, and remove the curse of vampirism? If your ritual is successful and she survives, she won''t die and become a vampire, she''ll be a living human. What then?"


    She was right.


    Tyson quickly answered, "We''ll play it off like a heat of the moment thing. Weddings require paperwork, verification by the local government, and such. We won''t do it..." He paused, his mind working furiously. "And I''ll get a temporary ring," he blurted out. "It''s our custom to gift diamond rings to your betrothed because diamonds are forever. I won''t symbolically give a diamond."


    Amora leaned back, seeming to mull over his words. Tyson held his breath as she considered his explanation, acutely aware of how much hinged on this moment.


    Finally, Amora inclined her head. "Very well. Symbolism is far more important to me than paperwork," she said, her voice carrying a note of amusement. "I accept your terms." She held out her hand, palm up, towards Tyson.


    She held her palm to him, a clear expectation in her eyes. Tyson hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. "May I?" he asked uncertainly.


    Amora beckoned him closer. With a deep breath, Tyson released his adamantium talons from his fingertip. He gently dragged the talon across Amora''s palm, a thin line of crimson welling up in its wake.


    Tyson held the vial steady as Amora tipped her hand, allowing her blood to flow into the container. As the vial filled to the brim, she muttered an incantation, her voice low and melodic. Before Tyson''s eyes, the wound on her palm began to close, the skin knitting together by the magic.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She fixed him with a stern gaze. "Use it wisely, mortal. My blood is not to be trifled with." she warned."


    Tyson nodded solemnly, carefully securing the vial. "I will. You have my word," he promised, his voice filled with gratitude and reverence. "Thank you, Amora. I won''t forget this."


    "See that you don''t," she replied.


    "Twice now, I have granted you a boon," Amora said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "And neither time have I accepted true payment." Tyson swallowed hard, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. She leaned forward. "Are you familiar with the Rule of Three?" she asked.


    When Tyson shook his head in the negative, Amora continued, "Magic is not a force to be trifled with. It is a fundamental law of the universe, a principle that governs the intricate web of interconnectedness that binds all things together." She raised a hand, three fingers extended. "The rule of three is a manifestation of this interconnectedness, a reminder that every action we take, every spell we cast, sends ripples through the fabric of reality, touching every point in the vast tapestry of existence." Amora''s voice took on a hypnotic quality, her words painting vivid images in Tyson''s mind. "Imagine a still pond, its surface smooth and mirror-like. Throwing a stone into that pond creates ripples that expand outward, touching every inch of the water''s surface. Magic works similarly with each spell, each boon granted or favor asked, creating ripples that reverberate through the chains of interconnectedness, shaping destinies and altering the universe''s balance."


    She leaned forward, her face mere inches from Tyson''s, her eyes boring into his soul. "You cannot escape the consequences of your actions, Tyson. No spells, no illusions, can shield you from the repercussions of the ripples you create. Every choice you make, every path you walk, will impact the whole, setting in motion a cascade of events that will shape your life and the lives of those around you."


    Amora reminded, "I have granted you two boons, Tyson. First, I boosted your power on the rainbow bridge. Now, I grant you my blood, the blood of a goddess, in your own words. Something rare on Earth, especially since the destruction of the Bifrost. Two acts of kindness, two gifts freely given, two acts of magic. But the universe demands balance, and the scales are tipping in my favor."


    Her voice dropped to a whisper, her breath hot against Tyson''s skin. "If you seek a third boon from me, know the price will be steep. The universe will demand its due. I will demand my due. And the cost may be more than you care."


    Tyson considered the implications of Amora''s words. He had no idea what Amora''s price was, however, it sounded steep. But he knew that the boons Amora had granted him were worthwhile. With the power boost, he''d saved Thor, allowing Odin to remain in the Odinsleep, recovering his strength. And with the second boon, he''d save Jubilee''s life.


    "I understand," he said, "And I''m grateful for your help, Amora. I recognize the value of your boons, and I will not invoke a third frivolously. Should there be a boon I can provide for you in return, please let me know."


    "We shall see, Tyson. We shall see," she said, seemingly satisfied. With a wave of her hand, the air behind Tyson shimmered and rippled, a portal opening back to the Xavier Institute grounds. "Now go," she said, her tone dismissive. "You have what you came for."


    Tyson bowed his head in respect before turning towards the portal. As he stepped through, he felt the rush of magic wash over him, transporting him back to the quiet, moonlit grounds of the institute. The portal closed behind him with a soft pop, leaving him alone in the night air.


    He stood there, his heart pounding with excitement and nerves. The vial of Amora''s blood felt warm in his hand, a constant reminder of the power he now possessed and the responsibility that came with it. Tyson couldn''t shake the feeling that he had just made a deal with the devil herself. But he pushed aside his doubts, his fears.


    He had the blood, the key to saving Jubilee''s life.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    As Tyson stepped through the doors, he was greeted by a buzz of excitement, a palpable sense of joy that hung in the air like a celebratory mist. He''d been given a suit. Logan hadn''t said where he''d gotten it, but Tyson guessed he''d stolen it from one of the other professors. One of beastly proportions, since it fit Tyson rather well. He entered the main hall, which had been transformed into a beautiful wedding venue. He wasn''t sure how it happened, but with a mansion full of mutants, someone had to be able to grow flowers on demand. Everyone was gathered, their faces beaming with happiness. At the front of the room stood Storm as Officiant stood in the center with her, and Jean off to the side as the maid-of-honor. On the opposite side stood Logan as Tyson''s best man.


    The soft murmur of the gathered crowd faded into the background as he focused on each step, each breath. Logan stood at the front watching his friend approach. As Tyson reached the end of the aisle, he turned to face the entrance. The music swelled a beautiful melody that filled the room with anticipation.


    And then, like a vision, Jubilee appeared. She was radiant. Her white dress was more akin to a cocktail than a wedding dress but fit her beautifully. Her dark hair lacked its usual gelled-up style; straightened, but still asymmetrically parted. But it was her smile that truly took Tyson''s breath away. It was bright, joyous, and filled with love.


    Jubilee began her walk down the aisle, her eyes locked on Tyson. Each step brought her closer to him. The assembled guests turned to watch her, their faces mirroring the happiness that radiated from the bride.


    Nearing the front of the room, Jubilee''s gaze swept over the crowd. Her eyes glistened with happy tears as she took in the sight of their friends gathered to celebrate.


    Her gaze returned to Tyson, and the rest of the world faded. It was just the two of them, standing on the precipice of a new chapter in their lives. As she reached his side, he extended his gloved hand to her. She took it, her fingers intertwining with his. They turned to face Storm, ready to begin the ceremony. The room fell silent save for the occasional sniffle from an emotional guest.


    Storm began the ceremony. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."


    Tyson was in a haze throughout the ceremony, still hardly believing that he was getting married¡­ and then it was his turn to say his vows. He faced Jubilee. As he looked into her eyes, he found the words to express the depth of his feelings.


    "Jubilation," he began, "You were the first person to welcome me to the institute. From the moment I arrived, you made me feel like I belonged. You showed me around, introduced me to everyone, and made sure I had everything I needed." Tyson paused and searched the crowd, finding Professor Xavier, he quipped, "Thanks for the introduction, Professor."


    The crowd laughed and Tyson waited for them to calm down before turning back to Jubilee to continue. "You never feared or judged, even though you knew how dangerous I could be."


    "You have always been there for me," he continued, his voice growing stronger. "When I felt like I was thrust into this new world, you were the one who helped me find my way."


    "And I want you to know that I will always be there for you, just as you have been there for me. I will do everything in my power to support and love you. That''s what you did for me. That''s what love is all about."


    Logan tapped Tyson''s shoulder, drawing his attention away for a moment. The gruff mutant held out a small, glittering object. It was a ring, but not just any ring. It was made of pure ice, sparkling and shimmering in the light.


    Tyson took the ring carefully, marveling at its delicate beauty. It was cool to the touch, yet it didn''t melt in his gloved hand. He glanced out into the crowd and his gaze landed on Bobby Drake. The young mutant known as Iceman gave him a thumbs up.


    Turning back to Jubilee, he held up the icy ring, watching as Jubilee''s eyes lit up with wonder. Gently, he took her hand in his. With utmost care, he slid the ring onto her finger.


    The ice ring sparkled on Jubilee''s hand, catching the light. Tyson couldn''t help but smile at the symbolism.


    A ring that was beautiful yet fleeting. Bobby promised it should last a little over two months before melting.


    Storm''s voice cut through the moment, rich and clear. "You may now kiss the bride."


    Tyson looked into Jubilee''s eyes. He saw the love there, the trust, and the slight hint of apprehension that mirrored his own. They both knew the risks of his touch.


    Slowly, carefully, Tyson leaned in. He cupped Jubilee''s face with his gloved hands. She tilted her head up, her eyes fluttering closed as she awaited his kiss.


    Their lips met in a chaste, gentle kiss.


    Tyson was acutely aware of every millisecond that passed, not wanting to risk absorbing too much of Jubilee''s life force. The kiss was brief, but it held love and promise.


    As they parted, despite the drain on her life, Tyson saw the flush on Jubilee''s cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. She smiled up at him, a mix of joy and understanding in her expression.


    The assembled guests erupted into applause, their cheers filling the hall. Tyson and Jubilee turned to face their friends and family, hands clasped tightly together.


    The newlyweds made their way through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from their friends.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson''s gloved hand gently clasped hers. "Hey, Jubes," he said, his voice soft but urgent. "This was nice, but we''ve got to go."


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed in confusion. "Go where?"


    "Back to the city," Tyson replied, "If we''re going to save you... I convinced Amora to let me have her blood."


    A flicker of hope danced in Jubilee''s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by skepticism. "She just gave it to you?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion. "Did you sneak out before to absorb someone and you''re hiding it?"


    "Nope. I used my other superpower this time."


    "Which one?" she asked.


    "Money."


    Jubilee gave him a deadpan look, her eyebrow arched in disbelief. "Who are you? Batman?"


    Tyson laughed before explaining, "I hired a magic tutor. Amora accepted it as a step toward me becoming stronger, which was what she wanted."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in surprise, and then she hugged him, her thin arms struggling to wrap around his neck. But even as she clung to him, Tyson felt her stagger, her body trembling with the effort of staying upright.


    "We''re borrowing a car," he declared, scooping her into his arms in a princess carry. He strode towards the garage. They had no time to waste.


    As they neared the garage, Jean Grey fell into step beside them. "I''m coming," she stated.


    Tyson nodded, grateful for the support. But Jubilee, her face buried in the sleeve of his shirt, shook her head weakly. "No," she mumbled, her voice muffled by Tyson''s shirt.


    Confusion and hurt flashed across Jean''s features. "Why not?"


    Jubilee lifted her head, her eyes meeting Jean''s with a look of sadness. "Because if I die, I don''t know what I''m going to be like when I rise again." She gestured to Tyson, her hand trembling with the effort. "I can feed off him, and he''s immune to Vampire bites. Jean, you aren''t." Understanding dawned on Jean''s face, and she nodded slowly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Give us a few days to see where we land," Jubilee continued, her voice grew weaker with each word. "Then you can come."


    Tyson shifted Jubilee in his arms, holding her close as he met Jean''s gaze. "I''ll always have room for you. Once things settle, you can join us. Promise."


    Jean nodded, stepping back as Tyson gently lowered Jubilee into the backseat of a black luxury car. As the car roared to life, Tyson glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes locking with Jubilee''s. She looked so small, so fragile, lying in the leather seats. He turned his attention back to the road, the car thundering out of the garage and into the darkness.


    Tyson''s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he sped south, heading for the New York Sanctum. In the backseat, Jubilee lay curled up, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. As they crossed into the Bronx, she stirred, her voice barely above a whisper.


    "Ty," she murmured, her words slurring with exhaustion. "I''m feeling drained. I''m going to go to sleep. Wake me up when we get to the Sanctum, okay?"


    Tyson glanced in the rearview mirror, his heart clenching at her pale, drawn face. "Sure thing, Jubes," he said, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice. "You rest. I''ll take care of everything." As Jubilee drifted off, Tyson turned his attention back to the road.


    At last, the Sanctum Sanctorum came into view. Tyson pulled the car to a stop, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the Ancient One waiting for him on the steps, her face grave and her hands clasped.


    Tyson rushed from the car. "Is the ritual prepared?" he asked, his voice tight, urgent. "We don''t have much time." The Ancient One''s expression remained somber, a flicker of sadness passing across her features. Tyson, still speaking, moved to open the car door, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I''ve got the blood, and Jubilee''s here. We need to¡­"


    He reached into the backseat, grasping Jubilee''s leg to shake her awake.


    But she remained still, limp and unresponsive.


    Frowning, Tyson shook her harder, his voice rising. "Jubes? Jubilee, wake up!"


    But there was no response. With a sinking dread, Tyson pulled her from the car, cradling her in his arms like a child. Her head lolled against his chest, her eyes closed and her lips parted. But no breath passed between them, and the rise and fall of her chest was absent.


    Tyson looked to the Ancient One, his eyes wide and pleading, desperate for some sign of hope. But the sorcerer shook her head, her voice heavy with regret. "It''s too late," she said softly. "I''m sorry."


    The words hit Tyson like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs and sending a wave of anguish crashing over him. He sank to his knees, pressing his forehead against Jubilee''s, his tears falling onto her pale, lifeless face. There was no rush of power.


    There was no life to drain from her body.


    Jubilee was gone.


    Tyson''s shoulders shook with silent sobs.


    The Ancient One watched in silence. She had seen death many times in her long life, but it never got easier, never hurt less.


    Tyson reeled with the weight of his failure, with the knowledge that he had been too late, too slow, too weak, too stupid to save his friend. He had promised to protect her, save her, and he had failed. And now, he would have to live with that failure.


    As he knelt there on the cold stone steps, cradling Jubilee''s lifeless form in his arms, Tyson felt a part of himself die with her. The world seemed to spin around him, the colors fading to gray, the sounds muffled and distant.


    Tyson''s eyes locked with the Ancient One''s, a flicker of desperation burning in their depths. His voice was low, carefully controlled, as he asked the question haunting him. "Was there a chance for me to save her? Were there any futures where she was cured before passing?"


    The Ancient One met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "The outcome wasn''t certain," she replied cryptically.


    Tyson''s mind raced, replaying every decision, every action he had taken since learning of Jubilee''s fate. Had he wasted precious time chasing after the imposter Spider-Man? Should he have gone straight after Mystique, or Killgrave? If only he''d had more time...


    Time.


    The word echoed in Tyson''s mind, a sudden realization dawning on him. He looked back at the Ancient One, his eyes wide with desperate hope. "You can bring her back?"


    The Ancient One''s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy passing across her features. "I know much magic," she said gently, "but there are some spells beyond my ability to cast. Resurrection is one such magic."


    Tyson paused. "That''s not what I meant," he mumbled.


    "The Time Stone."


    "It could¡­ rewind her. Bring her back. How she was before being bitten by the vampire."


    The Ancient One nodded, "It could."


    Tyson waited, his heart pounding in his chest, a sense of detached calmness settling over him. The Ancient One continued, "And I am willing to do so." A rush of relief and joy threatened to overwhelm him. But his elation was cut short by the Ancient One''s next words.


    "However," she said, her voice taking on a note of finality, "it will be the only time I do so, and the Sanctum will be closed to you. For good."


    Tyson tried to make sense of the Ancient One''s words. Why would the Sanctum be closed to him if she used the Time Stone to save Jubilee? It didn''t make sense, unless...


    And then it hit him, a sudden, sickening realization that made his blood run cold.


    He spoke the words aloud, his voice barely above a whisper, as much to himself as to the Ancient One. "Jubilee... losing her? Her becoming a vampire? Is it my cost? The cost I need to pay to become a sorcerer?"


    The Ancient One''s expression remained inscrutable, but she gave a slight nod. "In part," she replied, her words cryptic and laden with hidden meaning.


    Tyson reeled with the implications of her words. To become a sorcerer, to learn the secrets of magic and harness its power... it had been one of his driving ambitions. Images of Dr. Strange fighting Thanos alone, without using an infinity stone, while Thanos had four passed through Tyson''s mind.


    But was all that power worth the cost of Jubilee''s life, and her humanity? It was a price he wasn''t sure he was willing to pay.


    And yet, he had already secured Agatha Harkness as a magic tutor. Closing off the route to Kamar Taj, cutting himself off from the vast knowledge and resources of the sorcerers... it might be a hasty decision, one he could come to regret.


    He searched for a way out, a loophole, or a compromise that would allow him to have both Jubilee and magic. And then he had an idea.


    "The Stone will still affect her after she turns, right?" he asked.


    The Ancient One nodded, her expression unreadable.


    Tyson rose and gently placed Jubilee''s still, lifeless form back into the car. He turned to the Ancient One, "I may return. Thank you for your consideration." he said with a slight bow.


    And with that, he returned to the driver''s seat. He drove off toward the Flatiron Armory. He knew that letting Jubilee turn, allowing her to become a vampire, was a risk. But the Ancient One had guaranteed that the Time Stone would be able to restore her humanity, to bring her back to the way she was before. If he was willing to give up learning magic.


    He had an option. But he wouldn''t make the decision prematurely.


    Tyson carried Jubilee''s lifeless body into the House of M. The once vibrant young woman was now silent and still. He entered the building and just stood there, unsure where to go. His mind was weighed down with grief and guilt.


    After a few minutes, Felicia Hardy approached from down the hall. She took in the sight of Tyson carrying Jubilee''s limp form cradled in his arms. A look of concern crossed her face, her green eyes flickering with worry.


    "What happened?" she asked.


    Tyson''s voice was hoarse, the words catching in his throat as he spoke. "I wasn''t fast enough. She died."


    "She''s going to turn."


    Felicia reached out, her hand came to rest on Tyson''s arm in a silent gesture of support. "It''s okay," she said gently, her gaze softening as she met his eyes. "We can figure this out. But you need to be on your A-game. You can''t stand here lost, worried about what you didn''t do right. It happened." She paused for a beat. "Now take a breath. then tell me what we need to do and how I can help."


    Tyson took a deep breath, forcing himself to push aside the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He thought for a second, considering their options. "I need the most secure room in this place," he said, "I don''t know what will happen when she wakes up. I thought about the arena, but I don''t want such a wide open area, she''ll be faster than me. I need a space, that''ll keep her confined."


    "The Vault then," Felicia replied confidently.


    "The Vault?"


    Felicia huffed out a breath, "This was an armory remember? Armories required munitions to be stored inside secure areas, away from exterior walls. The one here is updated, ballistic-rated door and everything."


    "That''s perfect," Tyson mumbled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the thought of such a room.


    Felicia gestured for him to follow, leading the way until they reached a heavy steel door set into the concrete wall. The Vault was a holdover from the building''s former purpose as an armory. The door was imposing with a series of locks and bolts securing it in place, and a small digital keypad glowed faintly in the dim light.


    Inside, the room was sparse and utilitarian, the walls lined with metal shelves that were now empty. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting long, flickering shadows across the cold, hard floor. It was the perfect place to contain Jubilee until they could figure out what to do next. Tyson lowered her body gently onto the floor, his hands lingering on her before he straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the room.


    Felicia stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him. "What else do you need?" she asked.


    "Just a bed, a little food and water, and the door locked. I''ll stay with her."


    Felicia nodded, disappearing down the hall to gather the requested items. When she returned, Tyson pulled out the blood vial from Amora and handed it to her. "And get this to Dr. Connors," he said, "Tell him to learn everything he can about it."


    Felicia took the vial, her fingers closing around the delicate glass. "I''ll make sure he gets it," she promised, "We know how much Connors loves the different blood samples you bring him."


    With that, she turned and left the room.


    The heavy steel door closed behind her with a resounding thud. The locks engaged with a series of loud clicks, sealing Tyson and Jubilee inside the Vault. Alone in the dimly lit room, Tyson settled down beside Jubilee, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face.


    No matter what it took, he would not give up on her. Not now, not ever.


    Tyson had nothing left to do but wait. He had arrived back at House of M late, well after 2 am. Felicia had been working so hard recently, pushing herself to the brink of exhaustion, and Tyson knew he needed to do something special for her... well, something besides having Ivan Vanko build her one of the world''s most advanced super suits.


    As the hours ticked by, Tyson stayed by Jubilee''s side, his eyes never leaving her face. She lay eerily still, her chest unmoving, her skin pale and cold to the touch. Tyson nibbled on bits of food and sipped at the water Felicia had left for him, but mostly he meditated, his mind reaching out to the white room, seeking the door that had eluded him for months.


    To pass the time, Tyson played with his illusions, conjuring up little shows for himself, tiny ghostly performances that played out around him. It was a small comfort, a way to keep his mind occupied and his heart from sinking into despair.


    And then, just as the last rays of daylight faded outside, it happened.


    Jubilee, who had been still for hours, suddenly moved.


    It was a subtle thing. But to Tyson, who had enhanced senses and had been watching her, it was obvious.


    He leaned forward, holding his breath. And then, in one eerie motion, Jubilee''s eyes shot open, as if she had been wide awake the whole time. She sat up, her movements unnatural.


    Jubilee''s head turned slowly, her eyes locking onto Tyson''s with a predatory focus. A smile spread across her face, but it was not the warm, mischievous grin he had come to love. This smile held a ravenous hunger that sent a chill down Tyson''s spine.


    "Jubilee?" Tyson whispered hoarsely, "Is that... is that you?"


    She tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his. And then he saw her fangs. Long and sharp, standing out as she opened her mouth to speak.


    "Of course, it''s me, Ty," she purred, her voice like honey. "Who else would it be?"


    For the first time, he saw her chest rise as she inhaled deeply, sniffing the air.


    "That blonde was right," she admitted.


    "God, you smell good enough to eat."

 Arc 6 - Ch 12: Just A Taste

    Chapter 79


    Arc 6 - Ch 12: Just A Taste


    Date: Monday, June 27, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    Jubilee, who had been still for hours, suddenly moved.


    It was a subtle thing. But to Tyson, who had enhanced senses and had been watching her, it was obvious.


    He leaned forward, holding his breath. And then, in one eerie motion, Jubilee''s eyes shot open as if she had been wide awake the whole time. She sat up, her movements unnatural.


    Jubilee''s head turned slowly, her eyes locking onto Tyson''s with a predatory focus. A smile spread across her face, but it was not the warm, mischievous grin he had come to love. This smile held a ravenous hunger that sent a chill down Tyson''s spine.


    "Jubilee?" Tyson whispered hoarsely, "Is that... is that you?"


    She tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his. And then he saw her fangs. Long and sharp, standing out as she opened her mouth to speak.


    "Of course, it''s me, Ty," she purred, her voice like honey. "Who else would it be?"


    For the first time, he saw her chest rise as she inhaled deeply, sniffing the air.


    "That blonde was right," she admitted.


    "God, you smell good enough to eat."


    Tyson''s throat tightened as he swallowed hard. He realized the bitter truth as she rose.


    He had failed her.


    "Jubilee, I..." Tyson began, his voice thick with emotion. "I''m so sorry. I tried to save you, but I couldn''t. I couldn''t stop this from happening."


    Jubilee tilted her head, studying him with a predatory gaze. She licked her lips slowly, savoring his scent. "Stop worrying, handsome. I feel great. It''s better than great. I feel powerful." She crawled towards Tyson. Her hips seductively swayed as she crept closer. "And hungry. So very, very hungry."


    Tyson sat back instinctively, putting some distance between them. "Jubes, listen," he pleaded. "We can still fix this."


    Jubilee laughed a throaty chuckle. "Oh, Tyson, always the hero. Always trying to save everyone." She pressed herself against him. "But maybe I don''t want to be saved. Maybe I like being this way."


    Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch feather-light. "You smell so good, Tyson. Like sunshine and unbreakable strength and life. I''m so hungry. Help me. Just a taste. Just a sip."


    Every instinct screamed at him that she was a predator. To push her away, to defend himself against the vampire. But this was Jubilee. He couldn''t hurt her, couldn''t bring himself to raise a hand against her. Then, his mind halted.


    She''d touched him.


    She was touching him; he felt no drain, and she didn''t recoil from the pain.


    Jubilee''s eyes glinted with amusement as she watched Tyson''s expression shift to surprised realization. She continued tracing her finger along his cheek, reveling in the warmth of his skin against her cool touch.


    "Did you forget? The vampire woman bit you, and she was unaffected. Why are you shocked that it''s the same with me?"


    Tyson''s brow furrowed as her words sank in. She was right. In the chaos of the past few days, he hadn''t taken the time to consider it. The memory of the vampire woman''s bite flashed through his mind, her fangs sinking into his flesh without triggering his power. Focused on saving Jubilee and preventing her transformation, he hadn''t stopped to think about the implications of his encounter with the vampires.


    "You absorb lifeforce," Jubilee continued, her fingers trailing down his neck. "You can''t absorb life from someone dead."


    "I... I didn''t think about it," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Jubilee''s lips curled into a predatory smile. "Of course you didn''t. You were too busy playing the hero, trying to save poor little me." She leaned in closer, her breath cool against his ear. "But now, we''re equals. No more worrying about hurting me with your touch."


    "The way you''re acting...this isn''t you," he said quietly.


    She leaned back, regarding him with a sly smile. "Would you prefer I start quoting lines from vampire movies? I can do that." Jubilee cleared her throat theatrically, lifting her chin as she adopted an exaggerated accent.


    "Bear me no ill will, my love. We are now even. What died in this room was not that woman. What has died is the last breath in me that was human."


    Tyson looked at her blankly, clearly not recognizing the quote.


    Jubilee dropped the accent, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Interview with the Vampire? No? Too obscure, I guess. Don''t remember that with your so-called selective amnesia, huh?"


    She paused, thoughtful, then leaned in close again until her nose nearly brushed his neck. Taking a deep, exaggerated breath, she purred, "Your scent is like a drug to me, like my own personal brand of heroin."


    Pulling back, she searched his face expectantly.


    "Twilight?" Tyson guessed uncertainly.


    "Ding ding. He gets it. See, handsome, it is me. Don''t you want to see what it''s like? To touch without fear?" The temptation to give in, to experience intimacy without the constant worry of his powers, was enticing. "Illyana told me about how you two had sex with the amulet," she said, "Twenty minutes was all you had. That''s so sad. I know you''re good for far more than that."


    "And I''m so hungry. I need to feed. I need you."


    "There are ways we can help you." he said, "We failed the ritual, but that wasn''t the only solution. I haven''t given up."


    Jubilee''s expression hardened for a moment before softening into a seductive smile. "Always so noble," she cooed. "But what if I told you I don''t want to be cured? What if this is what I want to be?"


    Tyson''s resolve crumbled. It was his fault that she became this. He couldn''t deny her. Slowly, reluctantly, he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck.


    Jubilee''s breath was cool against his skin as she leaned in close. "Don''t worry, handsome. You were gentle with me my first time. I''ll be gentle, too. I''ll take care of you. I promise."


    Her fangs sank into his flesh, piercing deep. Tyson gasped at the penetration. But then, a wave of euphoria washed over him, drowning out everything else. His eyes fluttered closed as Jubilee drank deep, her lips sealed against his throat.


    The world narrowed as they locked in an intimate embrace. Tyson felt his life force ebbing, his blood flowing into Jubilee with every pull of her mouth. But he didn''t fight it. The drain from her bite was so minor, such a small thing, that it was hardly noticeable. He didn''t feel weaker, lightheaded, or paralyzed. If anything, it felt nice having her up against him, her lips on him. And the way she grinded on him was making his body respond.


    Finally, Jubilee pulled back. Her lips were stained crimson, her eyes glowing with newfound vitality. She licked a stray drop of blood from the corner of her mouth, savoring the taste. "You taste even better than you smell," she whispered, her voice husky with satisfaction.


    Tyson wondered if he should feel horrified or turned on by what had just happened, but all he could focus on was the blissful numbness that permeated his body.


    "What... what happens now?" he managed to ask.


    Jubilee smiled, a wicked glint in her eye. "Now? Now we have some fun. That was just a taste. I want more. Think you can handle it?"


    Tyson opened his mouth to protest, but Jubilee cut him off before he could speak.


    "Do I need to be the damsel in distress?" she asked, a playful glint in her eye. Seeing the confusion on Tyson''s face, Jubilee grinned and scooted onto his lap, straddling him. She gazed into his eyes with an exaggerated pout.


    "Tyson, the vampire bit me," Jubilee said, her voice dripping with mock dramatics. "I died. And I need you. Only you can help me. Your blood is so delicious. I need it so bad, and you taste so good." She leaned in closer, her breath tickling his ear. "I don''t know who else to turn to. You''re the only one who can satisfy me."


    Jubilee rolled her hips against him seductively, her movements deliberate and enticing.


    "Please, Tyson," Jubilee whispered, her lips brushing his earlobe. "I need you. I need you to fill me up. In more ways than one."


    Jubilee''s newfound boldness and the sinful promises lacing her words were intoxicating, chipping away at his resolve.


    "Talk about bloodlust¡­" Tyson attempted weakly, even as his hands found their way to her hips.


    She threw her head back and laughed. "Now you''re starting to get into it," Jubilee purred, nipping at his jawline. "I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel it."


    She ground down harder against the growing bulge in his pants, eliciting a low groan from Tyson. His fingers dug into her thighs as he fought to maintain control.


    "You''re not yourself. It''s the vampire talking." Tyson argued, but his protests sounded feeble even to his ears.


    Jubilee chuckled, a seductive sound that vibrated through her chest. "Oh, I''m very much myself, Tyson. And I know what I want."


    She pushed his back to the mattress, still straddling his hips. Her eyes glittered with hunger as she gazed down at him.


    "Poor touch-starved Tyson," she purred, "So desperate for contact, for connection. I can feel how much you need this, need me."


    Tyson swallowed hard. "Jubilee..."


    "Shh, I''ve got you," Jubilee soothed, leaning down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into his mouth with shameless hunger. Tyson responded, his tongue tangling with hers as the last vestiges of his resistance crumbled.


    Jubilee broke the kiss, leaving them both panting. "I''ll take care of you, fill that aching void inside you. Say yes, Tyson. Please. Give in to what we both desire. Let me have you, all of you."


    Tyson stared into her eyes, seeing the longing and lust burning within. Slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat.


    "Yes," he breathed, his voice raw with want. "Take what you need, Jubes. I''m yours."


    "Mine," she agreed before sinking her teeth deep into his flesh.


    Tyson shuddered. A rush of euphoria quickly chased away the sting of pain. She drank deep, each pull of her mouth sending bolts of pleasure zinging through his nerve endings. Even as she fed, her fingers worked deftly at the buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric to expose his chest. Nails raked over his skin, raising pink welts in their wake, only for them to heal moments later.


    Jubilee pulled back, licking the ruby droplets from her lips. The wound at Tyson''s throat knitted closed before her eyes.


    "Look at you," she marveled, tracing the unblemished skin. "My own¡­ personal¡­ buffet. I could feast on you for hours, and you''d keep coming back for more, wouldn''t you?"


    Tyson''s only response was a shaky exhale, his entire body trembling with need. Jubilee grinned fiercely, a predator scenting weakness. She leaned down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, the coppery tang of his own blood flooding Tyson''s mouth. Her tongue delved deep, claiming and conquering. Tyson submitted eagerly, arching up into her with wanton desperation.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Jubilee''s hands roamed his body; nails scored lines of fire down his ribs and abdomen. Lower and lower, she traveled until her fingers brushed the waistband of his pants.


    "Please," Tyson begged, the word muffled against her lips. "Please, Jubilee, I need..."


    "I know what you need," she said, popping the button of his fly with a flick of her fingers. Her hand delved into his pants, wrapping around the rigid heat of him. Tyson inhaled sharply at her touch.


    She stroked him with deliberate slowness, relishing each twitch and moan she wrung from him. Her thumb swirled around the sensitive head, gathering the bead of moisture at the tip. She pulled back to watch Tyson''s face as she touched him, entranced by the play of ecstasy across his features, lost to the sensations she stoked to life within him.


    Leaning down, Jubilee dragged her tongue along the hollow of Tyson''s throat. "You''re mine now," she declared, punctuating the words with a sharp nip. "And I plan to claim every. Last. Drop. And every inch of you."


    Jubilee''s eyes glinted with a feral intensity as she crawled backward, her movements languid and deliberate. Her hand remained firmly wrapped around his member as she positioned herself between his legs.


    Tyson''s breath hitched in his throat as he watched her, his body a tangle of desire and trepidation. She continued to stroke him, each motion sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. With a wicked smile, Jubilee leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his inner thigh. Her lips were cool against his heated skin. Tyson''s fingers curled into the mattress, his entire body tensing in anticipation.


    Their eyes locked as her fangs sank into the flesh of his thigh. She drank deeply from his femoral artery, causing his breath to catch and forcing a gasp of surprise and pleasure to escape his lips. The sensation of her feeding from him was intoxicating, a heady, euphoric bliss. He reveled in the joy of her touch, of how she continued to stroke him, even as she fed.


    As Jubilee had her fill of his blood, she leaned back. Tyson watched in awe as her skin transitioned from a deathly pallor to a more vibrant hue, closer to her normal skin tone. She released her grip on his member and brought her blood-stained lips to his wound. The punctures from her bite healed almost instantly, leaving nothing but smooth, unblemished skin in its wake. She licked the stray drops of blood that lingered on his skin, her tongue warm and wet against his flesh. Tyson wondered at that warmth. When she''d risen, she was cold. But now she felt almost normal.


    With a soft purr of contentment, Jubilee leaned up and guided his hard length into her mouth.


    A flicker of nervousness fluttered in his chest at the sight of her fangs so close to such a sensitive area. But as she began to suck, he realized that her sharp teeth had retracted, leaving nothing but the soft, velvety warmth of her mouth.


    The sensation was exquisite, a maddening blend of heat and suction that threatened to unravel his self-control. Tyson''s hips bucked of their own accord, driving himself deeper into her mouth. Jubilee moaned around him as his fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she bobbed her head up and down. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, teasing and taunting him with each stroke. He could feel the pressure building within him, a coiling tension that threatened to snap at any moment.


    Her hands roamed his body. Each touch, each caress, only served to heighten his arousal, pushing him ever closer to the brink.


    With a low growl, Tyson pulled Jubilee away from him, his body shaking with the effort it took to hold back.


    Jubilee grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "Impatient, are we?" she teased, her voice husky with arousal.


    Tyson reached for Jubilee. He wanted to lift her onto him, to claim her with the same wild abandon she had shown him. But Jubilee''s hands flashed out, her fingers encircling his wrists with surprising strength. The force of her grip told him she was not as strong as he was, but still, she was far beyond any human could hope to be.


    "Not so fast," she admonished him, "I''m not done with you yet."


    Before Tyson could respond, Jubilee dipped her head again, her lips parting as she took him into her mouth. She worked him with a skill and enthusiasm that left him breathless, her tongue swirling around his shaft. Tyson''s head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he surrendered to the exquisite sensations coursing through his body.


    Then, without warning, Jubilee took him further than he thought possible. Tyson''s eyes snapped open, a gasp escaping his lips as he felt her engulf the entirety of his cock. He could feel her throat constricting around him, the muscles working to accommodate his girth. She didn''t need to breathe any longer, a fact she proved by holding him deep, her lips pressed against the base of his shaft. Tyson groaned, his fingers running through her hair as he fought the urge to thrust into her mouth.


    The sight of her lips stretched wide around his member was almost too much for him to bear. But Jubilee was relentless, her mouth and throat working in tandem to drive him ever closer to the edge. He could feel the pressure building within him, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to sweep him away.


    When Tyson thought he could take no more, Jubilee pulled back, releasing him with a wet, popping sound. She licked her lips slowly, savoring his taste. "You like that, don''t you?" she murmured, "You like it when I take control."


    Tyson could only nod, his voice trapped in his throat by the intensity of his arousal. Jubilee grinned, smug and satisfied. "A little bit of using my mouth got you to stop thinking with your big head and thinking with your little one."


    Her fingers traced his erection. "I want you inside me, Tyson," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "I want to feel you fill me up, claim me as yours. You were my first. And you''ll be my only."


    Tyson''s hands found their way to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lifted her effortlessly. Jubilee wrapped her legs around his waist, her body aligning perfectly with his. He could feel the heat of her through the thin barrier of their clothing, a tantalizing promise of the pleasure that awaited them both.


    With a low growl, Tyson claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with hers. Jubilee moaned into the kiss, her fingers clawing at his shoulders as she ground herself against him. The friction was exquisite, a maddening tease that only heightened their mutual desire.


    Tyson''s hands roamed her body, exploring every dip and curve. He slipped his fingers beneath the bottom of her dress, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Jubilee arched into his touch. As their kiss deepened, Tyson''s other hand snaked between their bodies. He slid his hand inside her panties, his fingers seeking out the slick, wet heat of her core. Jubilee gasped as he stroked her, her body shuddering with pleasure at his touch.


    Tyson broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path down her throat to the valley between her breasts. Jubilee''s head fell back, her eyes closed as she surrendered herself to his touch. Her hips bucked against his hand. Tyson watched her, entranced by the play of emotions across her face. Her pleasure was his pleasure, her desire mirroring his own.


    Jubilee pulled back just enough to remove her dress. Her panties and bra followed before she reached for him once more and positioned herself above him.


    The sight of her, poised above him, completely nude, was intoxicating. She reached down, her fingers curling around his length. She stroked him slowly, her touch light and teasing. She positioned him at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, wet heat. And then, with agonizing slowness, Jubilee began to lower herself onto him. The sensation was exquisite, a rush of heat and pleasure as he felt himself slide deep inside her. She was tight, so tight, and the feeling of her surrounding him was almost too much to bear.


    Her eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping her lips as she took him entirely inside her. She paused momentarily, adjusting to the sensation of him filling her so completely. Then she began to move.


    Tyson''s hands found their way to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as he matched her rhythm. He thrust up. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the room, the wet slap of skin against skin mingling with their ragged breaths and soft moans of pleasure.


    Jubilee rode him with an abandon that left Tyson breathless. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her body undulating with a sensual rhythm that was both mesmerizing and maddening. She leaned forward, her hands braced against his chest, her eyes locked on his as she took what she needed from him.


    Her voice dripped with playful mockery as she gazed down at Tyson. "You were so quick to give in to me this time. What happened? I die, and you lose all that fire in you?" Tyson''s eyes narrowed, a spark of defiance rising within him at her taunting words. She smirked, relishing the reaction. "Ah, there it is. A little bit of that side of you is coming out. You don''t have to hold back anymore. I''m stronger than you now."


    "You think you''re in control now just because you''re a vampire?" Tyson''s voice was a low rumble, vibrating with an undercurrent of danger that sent a thrill coursing through Jubilee''s veins.


    A rumbling growl escaped Tyson''s throat, primal and dangerous. With sudden speed, his hands shot up to grab Jubilee''s wrists. She struggled against him, testing her newfound vampiric strength, but he was still stronger. Tyson flipped them over, pinning Jubilee beneath the weight of his muscular body. She gasped, surprise and arousal mingling in her expression. He drove into her powerfully then, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her lips.


    His grip on Jubilee''s wrists tightened, his muscles straining to hold her in place.


    "That''s it, take me, make me feel alive," Jubilee commanded, her eyes burning with intensity.


    Tyson''s response was a sudden, forceful thrust that left them both gasping for air. Jubilee''s eyes widened, and a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure crossed her face as Tyson''s grip on her wrists tightened further.


    She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him on as he claimed her with unrestrained passion. His powerful body moved over her insistently, dominating her slender form.


    Jubilee reveled in this unleashed side of Tyson, thrilling in the enthusiasm of his lovemaking. She craved the wild abandon, the raw sensuality, the dance between power and submission.


    "Is this what you wanted?" Tyson demanded as their bodies moved together. "To push me? To see how far I''ll go?"


    Jubilee''s answer was a low, throaty moan as Tyson''s pace increased, each powerful stroke pushing her closer and closer to the edge.


    "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "This is what I wanted. I wanted you to stop holding back. I wanted to feel your power, your strength. I wanted to feel alive."


    Tyson''s only response was a low growl as he released her wrists, his hands moving to grip her hips with bruising force. He pulled her harder against him, his movements growing more frantic with each passing second.


    Jubilee''s fingers clawed at the sheets, her body arching beneath Tyson''s. She could feel the hunger building within her, a desperate, all-consuming need that only Tyson could satisfy.


    "Tyson," she gasped, her voice trembling with need. "I need you. All of you."


    Tyson could feel the pressure building within him, a coiling tension that threatened to snap at any moment. His fingers tightened on her hips, his thrusts growing more urgent as he chased the release that beckoned just out of reach.


    And then, just as he was about to reach the point of no return, Jubilee leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Come for me, Tyson," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Let go and give yourself to me."


    The sound of her voice, the feel of her body moving against his, was too much for Tyson to resist.


    Then, without warning, her bite sank sharply into his neck.


    Tyson gasped at the sudden spike of pleasure as the endorphin rush from her bite flooded his senses. Warm euphoria spread outward from the mark, tendrils of bliss moving across his skin. His body thrummed, every nerve alive. Lost in the haze of sensation, he was barely clinging to coherence. Jubilee''s lips and tongue played at his skin while she sucked, causing fresh flares of pleasure to jolt through him with each pass of her mouth.


    Tyson finally shattered. The euphoria peaked, cresting like a wave as he came undone. His climax rolled through him powerfully, every muscle taut as a bowstring. Gasping her name, Tyson let the sensations carry him away, awash in the bliss she had bestowed upon him. His body convulsed as he spilled himself deep inside her.


    Jubilee threw her head back, her fingers clawing at his chest as she found her release alongside his. Her body shuddered around him, her inner muscles milking him as she came with a soft, keening cry.


    They clung to each other as the aftershocks of their passion rippled through their bodies. Jubilee collapsed onto Tyson''s chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.


    The room grew silent, save for their breathing, which was slowly returning to normal. Tyson stroked Jubilee''s hair, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head as he held her in his arms. There was a warmth in her gaze, a sense of contentment that Tyson had never seen before. She smiled at him; the soft, genuine gesture lit her face.


    Jubilee''s eyes locked onto Tyson''s, their brown depths pulling him in with an irresistible gravity. "Don''t ever let me go," she whispered, her voice husky with desire and contentment. "I''m yours now. And forever."


    Tyson felt her words reverberate through his soul, settling into the corners of his mind and the marrow of his bones.


    He knew, with sudden clarity, that she meant every syllable. Despite the complicated twist their relationship had taken, her commitment was unwavering. Wordlessly, he drew her slender frame against him, one hand tangling in her silken black hair while the other pressed into the small of her back. He held her like she were the most precious thing in the universe, cradling her against his chest. Jubilee melted into his embrace, fitting her lithe body against his like two puzzle pieces locking into place.


    "I love you," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. Her voice was a mere whisper, yet it rang with sincerity. "I know things are different now. But what I feel for you will never change."


    Seeing her now, Tyson marveled at the change in her complexion as she gazed up at him through her lashes. The pale pallor had faded completely, replaced by the soft peach tones he remembered. A flush of life and vibrancy had returned to her skin.


    Jubilee trailed gentle fingers along the outline of Tyson''s jaw. Tyson caught her hand, pressing a fervent kiss to her palm. "I''d do anything for you, Jubes. I care about you more than I know how to say."


    Tyson captured her lips in a kiss that poured out all the worry and regret he''d harbored the past days. Jubilee melted against him, her fingers twining in his hair as she returned the kiss with equal ardor. They lost themselves in the push and pull of lips and tongues in wandering hands that mapped the contours of bared skin. But there was a tenderness underlying the passion, a sense of cherishing, loving.


    When they finally broke apart. Jubilee rested her forehead against Tyson''s and spoke through kiss-swollen lips. "Well. That was a long time coming."


    Tyson huffed a laugh. "Guess near-death experiences, or whatever you''d call this, have a way of putting things in perspective."


    Tyson''s mismatched eyes traced the contours of her face, the flush of life in her cheeks. "Your color came back after you had some of my blood," he observed.


    "I feel so alive now," she replied, her voice laced with wonder. "I don''t mean metaphorically. It was like living in a black-and-white show when I woke up. All that mattered was the hunger. The only color was the red of the blood in your veins. But now it''s like all the color returned to the world. I feel normal. Stronger." She paused, her gaze intensifying. "And everything seems so clear, the smallest details, your scent."


    Jubilee rested her head on his chest. "I was only half joking earlier. I might still need you to be my hero." Her voice showed vulnerability for the first time since her awakening. "I don''t want to hurt anyone."


    "I need you to promise you''ll keep me from crossing any lines and keep me under control. I need you to take care of me."


    Tyson tightened his arms around her, lips brushing against her forehead in a tender kiss. "I promise, Jubes," he murmured.


    She lifted her head to meet his gaze, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears. "And I''ll do the same, okay?" she replied. "I''ll take care of you, fight at your side, and make sure you don''t take things too far. I promise. Even death couldn''t keep us apart."


    Tyson sighed and said, "Let''s not tempt fate. You dying once was enough. Let''s keep it from happening again. Please."


    She took his hand and placed it on her chest. "I can feel your blood in my veins," she murmured, her fingers intertwining with his. "I can feel my heartbeat. Can''t you?"


    Tyson could. Beneath his palm, the steady thrum of her heart was reassuring. It was a change from the silence when she''d first awakened.


    Jubilee smiled darkly, a hint of the predator that lurked beneath her skin peeking through. "That''s not all I feel," she purred, her hand trailing down his chest, over the firm planes of his abdomen, until she reached the evidence of his arousal. Her eyes locked onto his. Tyson felt a pull in the back of his mind as she said, "I can feel you. You want more."


    A surge of desire coursed through Tyson, a reminder that his body was still eager. He grabbed Jubilee''s wrists and rolled her onto her back.


    He confirmed, "I want more," his voice husky with need.

 Arc 6 - Ch 13: Power Testing

    Chapter 80


    Arc 6 - Ch 13: Power Testing


    Date: Monday, June 27, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    Several hours after Jubilee had awakened, she and Tyson had satisfied their hunger, moving past the primal urges. Tyson took out his phone and texted Felicia, letting her know that he and Jubilee would be ready to leave by morning. He was capable of slicing his way out, but why ruin the vault needlessly? With the night still young, Tyson and Jubilee settled in to pass the remaining hours until dawn. They sat facing each other, cross-legged on the cold concrete floor of the vault. The air was thick with the musky scent of their recent intimacy.


    "So I haven''t been completely honest about what I saw and know," Tyson began, his voice low and hesitant.


    "You''re talking about what you saw? You did say that it was more than you let on."


    Tyson took a deep breath, steeling himself for the revelation. "I didn''t just get a glimpse of the future or a flash of insight that the soldiers were coming to invade the institute. I got an extensive view of the future. People, events, there was so much."


    Jubilee leaned forward, her dark eyes intense and searching. "Like what?"


    Tyson ran a hand through his hair, "There''s so much, I don''t even know where to start."


    A small smile quirked Jubilee''s lips in a flash of her usual playful spirit. "We have all night, so why don''t you start at the beginning."


    Tyson frowned, but he nodded, accepting the invitation. "Alright. Back in the 1940s, there was a Nazi villain named the Red Skull..."


    As the hours ticked by, Jubilee listened with rapt attention. Tyson wove a tale of heroism and sacrifice, of gods and monsters, of impossible victories and heart-wrenching losses. He spoke of the rise of HYDRA, the formation of the Avengers, and the fall of SHIELD. Of Ultron and Sokovia, the Sokovia Accords, and the fracturing of the team. The Black Order and the Infinity Stones, Thanos'' terrible purpose, and the Snap that erased half of all life. Tyson''s voice grew hoarse as he recounted the desperate fight to undo what Thanos had wrought. The time heist and the final battle.


    "... then Tony snapped his fingers, and Thanos and his army were dusted. However, using all six infinity stones was too much and killed him. Captain America returned the Infinity Stones to their proper realities," Tyson concluded, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Jubilee sat stunned, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. She''d stopped breathing at some point, her new vampiric nature rendering the reflex unnecessary.


    "No way," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "That was so much more than I expected or imagined."


    Tyson huffed a laugh devoid of humor. "Tell me about it. I''ve been carrying this around, trying to figure out what to do with it. How to use this knowledge to make things better, to save lives."


    Jubilee reached out, taking Tyson''s hand in her own. "That''s a heavy burden to bear alone, Ty. I can''t even begin to imagine."


    He squeezed her hand, grateful for the comfort. "I didn''t want to lay it on anyone else."


    "You didn''t tell anyone else?" Jubilee asked.


    Tyson replied, "Just Nat."


    Jubilee laughed, "The hot teacher who is actually a super-spy and sacrifices herself to get the soul stone¡­ No wonder you had a crush on her. After meeting her, I can''t blame you." She continued, "Well, now you''ve got me to help you too."


    "Thanks, Jubes," he said, "I''m damn glad you''re still you and that you''re here."


    Jubilee grinned, flashing her fangs. "Well, you did let me snack on you and rock your world, so I think we''re even."


    Tyson laughed then, a real laugh, and the tension that had been coiled within him began to ease.


    Jubilee leaned forward, resting her hand on Tyson''s knee. "But what does that mean for us?"


    Tyson grinned, trying to lighten the mood. "I was thinking of asking you to be my girlfriend since no one else around here seems to want that title officially..."


    Jubilee smacked his arm playfully, interrupting him. "That''s not what I meant, you dork. What about you, me, Logan, the X-Men? None of us were in the story you told."


    Tyson''s smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "It''s true, none of us were. No mutants at all, except the Maximoff twins."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "Wait, wait. So that''s how you knew who to go after in Cerebro with Jean. The targets you picked out were from what you saw."


    Tyson nodded, a hint of guilt in his expression. "Mostly, yeah."


    Jubilee''s shoulders slumped, a wave of remorse washing over her. "Tyson, I''m sorry."


    He looked at her in confusion. "For what?"


    "I think we''ve made things worse," Jubilee admitted, her voice small and uncertain.


    Tyson frowned, still not comprehending. "What do you mean?"


    Jubilee took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. "When you went after Mystique, we had the Professor warn her. You said you looked for Magneto but found John was in Sokovia. From your vision, Sokovia is where the Maximoff twins, the only mutants in the vision, are from. What are the odds that''s a coincidence?" Her voice grew more urgent, tinged with fear. "Magneto will come for you, and he''ll have more mutants with him. And it''s my fault. He''s going to have a better idea of where you are."


    He quickly schooled his features into a reassuring smile. "It''s fine, Jubes. Magneto is dangerous, but I''ve known there was a chance he''d be coming for me. I''ve been taking steps to try to make a difference, and I''m preparing for him."


    Jubilee looked at him skeptically. "Like what? I listened to your whole story. It doesn''t seem like you changed that much."


    "And you dodged my question. What about mutants? Are we just irrelevant to this grand cosmic drama?" she asked.


    Tyson covered her hand with his own, his thumb stroking her knuckles reassuringly. "I don''t think it''s that simple, Jubes. Just because we weren''t part of the vision doesn''t mean we don''t have a role to play. It could be that mutants had their own issues that kept them from being active in larger affairs. Or maybe if I hadn''t interfered at Alkali Lake, Stryker would''ve killed all the mutants." He continued, "Nat thinks that I might have only seen the events beyond my presence, almost like I could see everything but myself. Either way, my actions have already started to ripple out, changing things in small but potentially significant ways."


    Tyson''s gaze went distant as he recalled the events that had changed. "The Stark Expo went about as expected. With Thor''s arrival, things generally went the same. Except for Amora the Enchantress, who is on Earth now. Just like Omega Red wasn''t supposed to be with Stryker when he attacked the institute, she wasn''t supposed to arrive with the other Asgardians."


    "With the Hulk, I fought the Abomination in his place. I hoped it would take some heat off Banner and lead to him gaining a measure of control. Ultimately, I''ve met almost all the original Avengers. I worked with Natasha and Clint during SHIELD operations, and I''ve helped both Iron Man and Thor; all that''s left is for them to find Captain America on the ice. They all know my true identity, and I''ve built the foundations for good relationships with each of them. "


    "As for mutants, I started House of M," Tyson mentioned with a hint of pride in his voice.


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed in confusion. "How does an illusion show help against Magneto? Or help mutants in general?"


    Tyson grinned, leaning back against the wall. "It was the first step." He paused, letting the suspense build for a moment. "How much do you think I pull in for an illusion show?"


    Jubilee shrugged, hazarding a guess. "A couple thousand dollars?"


    Tyson made a negative buzzer sound, shaking his head. "Even after paying everyone and taxes, etc., it''s over a hundred thousand dollars."


    Jubilee''s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock. "Per show?!"


    "Yup," Tyson confirmed smugly. "Plus, I had several hundred million dollars socked up beforehand."


    "So you''re like, rich, rich? Okay. What about it?" Jubilee stared at him, trying to process this new information.


    Tyson''s expression grew serious as he regarded Jubilee. "I invested the money using some of the knowledge from my vision," he said. "I''m nearly a billionaire now." Jubilee waited, wondering what point he was driving at. Tyson continued, "So I bought a technology company... one that focused on identifying and hunting mutants."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in horror, "You bought an anti-mutant company? Tyson, why would you do that?" then understanding dawned. "To hunt Magneto?" she asked.


    His expression grew serious. "That''s part of it. The technology company I acquired created these automated drones called Sentinels. In the darkest future from my vision, the Sentinels became unstoppable hunter-killer robots, unleashed to wipe out all mutantkind." He paused, his eyes darkening at the memory of the beginning of Days of Futures Past. "They didn''t just target mutants already born. Their programming sought out any humans who might unlock the mutant gene, even generations into the future. It was a systematic genocide. They left the Earth a barren wasteland, with almost no humans or mutants left alive."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened in horror. "That''s awful! So by taking over the company..."


    "I''ve prevented that future from coming to pass," Tyson finished with a grim smile. "The Sentinels will never serve that genocidal purpose now."


    Jubilee let out a breath. "Wow. So you''ve already saved all mutants and most of humanity from extinction?"


    "Hopefully," Tyson said. "Don''t worry too much about Magneto being on my trail. Now, I don''t need to hunt him down. With Mystique aware of me, he has all the incentives and clues he needs to come for me. It''s become a race to see if I can finish my preparations and acquire the technology from the Trask acquisition before he arrives." He added, "Plus, not all bad came from this. I know Magneto might be bringing Wanda and Pietro, which I wouldn''t have realized if you hadn''t been bitten. They''re powerful, but during this whole mess, I secured allies that could counter them."


    "Who?" Jubilee asked.


    "The magic tutor I hired to get Amora''s blood. Her name is Agatha Harkness. She''s a witch and could serve as a counter to Wanda. And you told Jean not to join us yet, but she said she''d be coming once we were sure it was safe to be around you. Her telekinesis should be a hard counter to Pietro''s super speed. You can''t run if you''re not on the ground. That leaves Magneto, and I should have the Sentinels to deal with him shortly. If not, with Jean here, at least there''s a chance that she or I, with her power, could go toe-to-toe with Magneto. I''ve done it before, and I could do it again."


    Jubilee took in his words, processing the web of plans and contingencies Tyson had put into motion. She hoped his preparations for Magneto''s inevitable arrival would be enough when the time came. But she couldn''t resist teasing Tyson a bit, even as she was impressed by the extent of his scheming. "Well, look at you, Mr. Mastermind," she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I thought you were just bumming around the city with Spider-Man this past year, chasing after any pretty girl that caught your eye." She gave him a playful nudge. "Good to know you were using more than just your little head to make plans."


    Tyson scoffed, though his eyes held a glint of amusement. "Hypocrite!" he declared, pointing an accusatory finger her way. "If I recall correctly, earlier, you were the one trying to get me thinking with my little head, not my big one."


    Jubilee flushed slightly, caught in her own teasing words. "Alright, alright, point taken," she conceded, holding her hands up in mock surrender. Giving him a wry smile, she quipped, "You don''t really have a little head anyway. They''re both big."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Felicia arrived at the armory as the first rays of dawn crept through the high windows. She''d come prepared, wearing the form-fitting enhanced suit that granted her super strength without compromising her agility.


    Tyson held Jubilee firmly as Felicia approached the vault door. They all braced themselves as Felicia turned the heavy lock, unsure how Jubilee might react upon encountering a normal human for the first time since turning.


    To their relief, when the door swung open, Jubilee remained calm. There was no immediate attack, no uncontrollable bloodlust or aggression. She took a deep breath, noting, "Felicia smells good, but I don''t feel the urge to feed." She tilted her head, considering, "Tyson''s blood still holds more appeal."


    Felicia''s face was relieved that she didn''t have to fight off the vampire. "I''m so glad you''re okay, Jubilee," she said, her voice warm and sincere.


    Tyson released a breath he hadn''t realized he''d been holding, his grip on Jubilee''s arm relaxing slightly. They shared a look of cautious optimism.


    "What now?" Felicia asked, her gaze flicking between Tyson and Jubilee.


    Tyson''s expression turned thoughtful. "Now, we see what she can do."


    One advantage of House of M being a former armory was the abundance of space for large equipment. In the main arena, Tyson had enlisted Vanko to arrange an array of weights and obstacles for testing utilizing the Whiplash armor.


    Jubilee approached the weights. The cold metal of the barbell rubbed against her palms as she wrapped her slender fingers around it. With a grunt of effort, she lifted the reinforced, forged steel up and over her head. The weight plates clanged and clattered against each other in protest at the abrupt motion. She held the pose, then lowered the barbell and let it rest with a muffled thump against the padding on the floor. They steadily increased the weight with each repetition. It was incredible watching her petite frame display such power. She eventually topped out at a thoroughly impressive two tons.


    As Jubilee stepped back, Tyson took his turn at the makeshift strength testing station. His muscles flexed and corded beneath his shirt as he wrapped his large hands around an even heavier set of plates. With a look of intense concentration, he gritted his teeth and hoisted the tremendous weight off the floor. The barbell creaked alarmingly under the immense load, but Tyson held it aloft. His testing took longer, requiring more and more reps as the weight increments increased. The assembled group watched as he systematically pushed his altered physiology to its limits, the markers steadily climbing until the barbell held a staggering eight tons aloft. With a thunderous crash that shook the floor, he finally lowered the weight and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction at the results.


    Felicia watched in awe, her eyes wide as she witnessed the true extent of their abilities. "Incredible," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief.


    Tyson and Jubilee moved on to the next challenge with the strength tests complete.


    Speed.


    The outside of the arena provided a perfect track for them to push their limits.


    Tyson took his position at the starting line, his muscles coiled and ready. He knew from experience that he could move at highway speeds, and his enhanced physiology allowed him to reach around 60 miles per hour.


    Jubilee lined up beside him. "Ready to eat my dust?" she taunted, bouncing on the balls of her feet.


    "We''ll see about that, Jubes. Don''t count me out just yet."


    Felicia stood off to the side, a stopwatch in hand. "On your marks," she called out, her voice echoing in the vast space. "Get set... Go!"


    At her signal, both mutants exploded into motion. Tyson pushed himself to his limits and accelerated to his top speed. But even as he reached his peak velocity, he saw Jubilee pulling ahead. She moved like lightning, her form little more than a streak of motion as she tore around the track. Her vampiric speed was unmatched, leaving Tyson in the dust.


    In a matter of seconds, Jubilee completed a full lap, skidding to a stop beside Felicia. Tyson followed moments later.


    "Impressive," Felicia remarked, glancing down at the tablet. "Jubilee, you clocked in at over 150 miles per hour. Tyson, you hit your usual 60."


    "Guess being a vampire has its advantages. Super speed, super strength. I could get used to this. What''s next?" she asked eagerly, her gaze darting between Tyson and Felicia.


    Tyson''s expression grew thoughtful, his brow furrowing as he considered their options. "Vampires are supposed to be able to enthrall others," he mused, his voice low and contemplative. "Particularly those they''ve bitten."


    Jubilee''s face lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across her features. "Ooh, I can make you do what I want?" she purred, her eyes glinting with a hint of playful malice. "Sounds good. Let''s test it."


    She fixed her gaze on Tyson, her dark eyes boring into his with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. They stared at each other, seconds ticking by in a silent battle of wills. Tyson could feel the pull of her influence, a subtle pressure at the edges of his mind, but he fought against it, his mental fortitude pushing back against the intrusion.


    After what felt like an eternity, but was in reality only a few moments, Jubilee spoke, her voice laced with a commanding tone. "Hop on one leg," she ordered, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.


    Tyson''s face scrunched up, the compulsion to obey her command warring with his sense of self-control. He could feel the urge to comply, to surrender to her will, but he shook it off, his mind clearing as he reasserted his autonomy.


    "I felt it," he admitted, his voice strained with the effort of resistance. "The compulsion to do as you said. But I was able to fight it off."


    "Now bite him and try again," Felicia suggested. Jubilee raised an eyebrow. Felicia elaborated, "Just to be thorough. If the legends say they can control those they''ve bitten, we need to see what happens if you bite him and immediately try to command him."


    "No harm in trying," Tyson agreed, tilting his head to expose his neck.


    Jubilee leaned in, her fangs extended, and she sank them into Tyson''s jugular, drawing deeply.


    He let out an involuntary moan, his eyes fluttering closed.


    Felicia''s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn''t realized he would seem so affected by the bite. The sight stirred something unexpected within her. Curiosity, a hint of arousal at how he seemed to enjoy it, and a twinge of jealousy she hadn''t anticipated.


    Jubilee pulled back, licking her lips. Her gaze shifted to Felicia. "You smell good too, kitty cat. Like vanilla and jasmine. I wouldn''t mind a taste."


    Felicia felt a flush creep up her neck, caught off guard by Jubilee''s words. Quickly holding her hands up placatingly, she said, "Down, girl," chuckling and shaking her head. Clearing her throat, she instructed, "Try and control him now," her voice slightly huskier than before.


    Jubilee turned back to Tyson, who seemed to be shaking off the effects of the bite. She fixed him with an intense stare, her voice taking on a commanding tone. "Tyson, do a handstand."


    To everyone''s surprise, Tyson moved almost immediately. He bent forward, placed his hands on the ground, and kicked his legs into a perfect handstand.


    "Incredible," Felicia breathed, watching in fascination. "It worked this time."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened, excitement and concern flashing across her face. "I can feel it," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "It''s like there''s a connection between us now, a thread I can tug on to make him do what I want."


    Tyson remained in the handstand position. After about a minute, he suddenly dropped back to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Whoa," he muttered, blinking rapidly. "That was... intense. I could feel your command, Jubes. It was like my body was moving on its own."


    "That was about a minute, I''d say," Jubilee replied, still surprised by her newfound power. "After that, I could feel the connection start to weaken."


    Tyson nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it was like a fog lifting from my mind. I suddenly realized what I was doing and was able to break free of it."


    Felicia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Interesting. So, the compulsion is strong but short-lived. That could be useful in certain situations, but knowing it has limits is good."


    Jubilee nodded thoughtfully, her brow furrowing as she considered the implications of her new vampiric abilities. "And Tyson has resistance to psionics," she mused. "He was braced for me, guarded against any mental intrusion. If I had caught him off guard, or if he had willingly opened his mind to me and my suggestion..."


    She trailed off, her eyes distant as she imagined the scenario. "I think it would last much longer. If Tyson consciously lowered his defenses and allowed me access, perhaps indefinitely."


    Tyson announced. "My turn."


    The bustling streets of New York City suddenly replaced the arena around them. Towering skyscrapers loomed overhead while honking cars and chattering pedestrians filled the air. It was a perfect replica, down to the smallest detail.


    Felicia blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in scenery. She looked around, taking in the sights and sounds of the illusionary cityscape, before refocusing her attention on Tyson and Jubilee.


    Jubilee, for her part, seemed utterly unaffected by the change. She glanced around, a bored expression on her face, before turning back to Tyson with a raised eyebrow. "Are you doing anything?" she asked, her voice flat and unimpressed.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Tyson chuckled, shaking his head. "Yes," he confirmed, "My illusions don''t affect you in the slightest."


    Jubilee sighed, a hint of disappointment creeping into her tone. "No more Naruto then," she lamented, referring to the times Tyson had used his illusions to mimic the anime.


    Tyson''s expression grew serious, the playful atmosphere evaporating as he considered their next steps. "I think that''s it as far as strengths go," he said, "Now it''s time to test your weaknesses."


    Jubilee winced, a flicker of apprehension crossing her features. She knew that this was a necessary step, that they needed to understand the limitations of her new form just as much as they needed to explore its potential. But the thought of confronting her vulnerabilities made her uneasy.


    She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. "Okay," she said, "Let''s do it."


    They knew this would be a potentially dangerous part of their testing process. But they also knew that it was essential that understanding Jubilee''s weaknesses was the best way to protect her.


    Tyson, Felicia, and Jubilee left the arena behind. They headed to the executive lounge, a plush and well-appointed space. Vanko and his Whiplash suit would handle the cleanup, leaving the trio free to focus on the next phase of their investigation. As they entered the lounge, Felicia stepped forward with a small collection of items cradled in her arms. She handed the first one to Tyson, a simple necklace with a cross pendant dangling from its delicate chain.


    Tyson held it up. "Religious symbol first," he said.


    Jubilee raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Wait, I know the myths around that. Don''t you have to be a believer for religious symbols to work on vampires?"


    Tyson shrugged, "Yeah, but last month, I met Thor. So, I know gods exist. If Thor is real, who''s to say that the Christian god isn''t?"


    He stepped forward, the necklace held aloft, its pendant swaying gently with each step. Jubilee instinctively stepped back, her body reacting before her mind could fully process the situation. Tyson halted, a look of concern crossing his features.


    She sighed, a mixture of embarrassment and unease in her voice. "It works. I don''t like the way it feels. At all. I know it''s stupid, but I want to get away when you come near me with that."


    Tyson nodded, handing the necklace back to Felicia. "Okay, we''ll move on."


    Felicia approached next, a string of garlic dangling from her fingertips. Jubilee recoiled, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "That smells horrible," she complained, her voice muffled as she held her breath.


    Despite her aversion, Jubilee held her hands out, allowing Felicia to tie the garlic string around her wrists. She pulled her hands apart, testing the strength of the bonds, but to her surprise, she could not tear the string. It was unusual, given the remarkable feats of strength she had demonstrated earlier.


    Tyson watched with fascination. "Garlic saps a vampire''s strength," he mused, "That one''s true too."


    Felicia untied the string from Jubilee''s wrists and carried the garlic behind the lounge''s bar. Tyson turned to Jubilee with a serious expression.


    "Okay, we''ll move on to the last test. I''m sure you know what it is."


    Jubilee nodded, her voice hesitant and small. "Sunlight."


    They all knew the stories of vampires bursting into flames at the first touch of the sun''s rays. She was a vampire now, a creature of the night, and the sun was the ultimate enemy of her kind. Would the sun truly reduce her to ash and cinders at the first touch of its light? Or was there some way to protect her, to shield her from its deadly rays? But first, they needed to know for sure. They needed to test the limits of her vulnerability, push the boundaries of her newfound nature, and see where they led.


    With a sense of trepidation, Tyson turned to Jubilee, his voice low and serious. "Are you ready for this?"


    Jubilee swallowed hard, her eyes wide and fearful. But beneath the fear was the spark of her indomitable spirit. "As ready as I''ll ever be," she said, "Let''s do this."


    Tyson, Jubilee, and Felicia approached one of the building''s east-facing windows. Felicia raised the shade a bit, allowing a clear sunbeam to cut through the dimness and cast a golden glow across the floor.


    Jubilee held her breath, bracing herself for the searing pain she expected to follow. But as the radiating light brightened the room, she felt... Nothing. No burning, no steam rose from her flesh, no agony coursing through her veins.


    Cautiously, she approached the window, extending a trembling finger towards the sunlight. She let the barest tip of her pinky touch the beam, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the inevitable.


    But still, nothing happened. Emboldened, Jubilee eased more of her hand into the light, watching in amazement as her skin remained unblemished and whole. She glanced at Felicia, who nodded and raised the blinds higher, flooding the room with the sun''s warm glow.


    Jubilee stepped fully into the light, her eyes wide with wonder as she basked in its radiance. "I''m fine," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "It doesn''t hurt at all."


    Tyson stared at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "How?" he asked.


    Jubilee proposed with budding understanding in her eyes, "It must be you."


    "Huh? Me?" Tyson asked, his confusion only deepening.


    "Think about it, Ty," Jubilee explained, her voice growing more excited with each word. "You smell so good to vampires. But you smell like sunlight and life. It can''t be a coincidence."


    "Fuck," he muttered, the implications of Jubilee''s words sinking in. He forced a smile, trying to focus on the positive. "This is great for us. For you."


    "Damn, I''m like immortal, immortal. If sunlight can''t kill me, what does that leave? Silver and decapitation?" Jubilee''s expression sobered as she processed the implications of his words. "This isn''t so great for you?" she finished, her voice tinged with concern.


    "I''m happy that you won''t have to live your life in the darkness," he said, "But if the vampires ever found out my blood would let them walk in the daylight, they''d string me up and turn me into a never-ending blood bank."


    Felicia nodded, her expression grim. "That would be bad for humanity," she agreed.


    Tyson turned to Felicia, a thought occurring to him. "Did Blade, that vampire hunter, ever come back or call?" he asked hopefully.


    Felicia shook her head. "No, he didn''t."


    Tyson frowned, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I don''t have a way to get in touch with him. I don''t know where he''s working out of, and I was more concerned with keeping him away from Jubilee than finding out." he paused, considering their options. "Actually, I don''t know if telling him about this would be a good idea. He would probably try to kill me again to keep the vamps from getting to me." Turning to Jubilee, he searched her face. "If it''s my blood that makes you able to walk in the sunlight, that means you''re stuck with me. Are you okay with this?"


    "Tyson, are you asking if I''m okay spending the rest of my life with you?" She took a step closer, wrapping her arms around him. "When I was bitten, I asked if you''d want to get married, and we sorta did. Now it sounds like we''ve bound ourselves for life."


    Tyson''s lips puckered at her statement. Jubilee laughed, the sound light and carefree despite the weight of their situation. She leaped into his arms, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "I''m okay with this," she said, her voice soft and sincere. "I''ll stay with you until the end of my second life."


    Felicia watched the exchange with a smile, her heart warmed by their genuine affection. "I''m happy for you two," she said, her voice tinged with wistfulness.


    Jubilee glanced at Felicia, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her features. She knew Tyson and Felicia had an interesting, simple, yet complicated relationship. But Felicia had been supportive throughout this ordeal, accepting everything with grace and understanding. But as she thought about it, her expression shifted into a frown.


    Noticing the change in her demeanor, Tyson tilted his head in concern. "What''s wrong?" he probed.


    "What are we going to tell Illyana?"


    Tyson''s expression sobered at the question. It wasn''t just Jubilee''s death and resurrection as a vampire that they had to contend with. Now, she was bound to him by his blood. And then there was the matter of his secrets, the knowledge of the future that he had shared with Jubilee in the quiet moments of their confinement. She knew everything, the full extent of the coming events. Events that Illyana was still blissfully unaware of. Tyson mulled over the possibilities and potential consequences. He trusted Illyana with his secrets and didn''t want to jeopardize her trust. But at the same time, he couldn''t shake the feeling that some truths were better left unspoken, at least for now. Illyana was far away, and they wouldn''t reunite for another year. Adding the weight of his future knowledge seemed wrong since she''d be unable to help in the upcoming fight.


    He glanced at Jubilee, seeing the same conflicted emotions across her features. "We''ll figure it out," Tyson said at last. Felicia, too, was unaware of his future knowledge, so he said, somewhat cryptically, "We''ll find a way to tell her what she needs to know when the time is right. But for now, we focus on the present."


    Jubilee nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her features. She leaned into Tyson''s embrace, drawing strength from his presence and unwavering support.


    Tyson suggested, "Why don''t you call Illyana and Jean? You guys can talk. I''ve got a call to make myself. Our conversation last night made me realize that there are some moves I need to make."


    Jubilee climbed out of Tyson''s arms, pulled out her phone, and stepped into the hallway. She stared at the phone in her hand, her finger hovering over Illyana''s number. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She dreaded this conversation, but putting it off longer would only make things worse. Illyana was her friend and deserved to know the truth. Her hand trembled as she hit the call button. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as she raised the phone to her ear. It rang once, twice, three times before Illyana''s familiar voice came on the line, filled with warmth and concern.


    "Jubes! I''ve been so worried. Are you okay? Is Tyson okay?"


    Jubilee swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. "Hey, Illy. I have something I need to tell you. Something important."


    There was a pause, a beat of silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. "What is it? What did he do?" Illyana asked, her tone shifting from warm to wary.


    Jubilee closed her eyes, steeling herself. "It''s not Tyson, he''s fine. We stopped him before he did anything bad. But Illy, I died."


    Another pause, longer than the first. Then Illyana sighed, "So, Tyson was going to kill someone for you. I presume you stopped him, or he failed. You said you died, which means now you''re a vampire. There are some texts here on vampires. I read through them all when you told me what happened. It doesn''t sound so bad, but it''s manageable minus the burning in sunlight."


    Jubilee choked out a laugh, her voice cracking with emotion. "That''s the thing I need to tell you about." She took another shaky breath. "It''s a long story, but the short version is that Tyson''s blood is special. When I turned, I drank from him. His blood, we think, changes things. Made me different."


    "Different, how?" Illyana asked bluntly.


    "I can walk in the sunlight. We''re kind of stuck together now. Without him, I won''t be able to go out during the day."


    Silence hung heavy on the line, broken only by Illyana''s soft breathing. "I don''t understand," she said at last.


    Tears prickled at the corners of Jubilee''s eyes. "I''m so sorry. I was afraid to call you because I was scared of what you would think, of how you would react. I don''t want to hurt you."


    "Hurt me?" Illyana echoed with a bitter laugh. "Jubes, you died. How could anything hurt more than that?"


    Jubilee winced, Illyana''s pain cutting her to the core. "I''m sorry, Illy. I''m so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen."


    "I don''t understand why you were afraid of how I''d react," Illyana said softly.


    Jubilee hesitated, struggling to find the words. "Tyson... he tried so hard to save me. I care about him. And now, with this bond between us. I just don''t know."


    Illyana was quiet for a long moment, the weight of Jubilee''s words sinking in. "I asked him to take care of you, and he promised he would," she said.


    "I know," Jubilee whispered, "And I''m sorry for dumping it all on you like this. But I needed you to know the truth, Illy. I needed you to understand."


    "I do," Illyana said, "Or at least, I''m trying to. I need you to promise me something."


    "Anything," Jubilee said without hesitation.


    "Promise me that you won''t shut me out," Illyana said fiercely. "Promise me that you''ll talk to me. Let me be there for you no matter what happens. And the same with Tyson. Don''t let him shut me out again. I love him, but I love you too, you know. You were there when I needed you, and I''m here for you. Chicks before dicks, right?"


    A sob caught in Jubilee''s throat, overwhelmed by the depth of Illyana''s loyalty. "I promise, Illy. I promise. And sisters before misters sounds so much better."


    Illyana scoffed, and Jubilee felt a weight lift from her shoulders. There was still the burden of Tyson''s secret knowledge, but that was his to share. She had Illyana''s understanding and support for now, which was enough.


    "I love you, Illy," Jubilee said, pouring all her heart into the words.


    "I love you too, Jubes," Illyana replied. No matter what happens, no matter what you''ve become, that will never change. We''ll get through this together, all of us¡ªyou, me, and Tyson. We''re family, and family sticks together."


    Jubilee smiled through her tears, grateful beyond words for the fierce, loyal, loving friend she had in Illyana Rasputin.


    As the call ended, Jubilee felt a sense of peace wash over her, the knots of tension and fear slowly unwinding. She had Illyana''s love and support, Tyson''s strength, and now she needed to call another member of her chosen family. The emotionally draining conversation with Illyana was behind her, so she pulled up the next number, hit the call button, and raised the phone to her ear.


    It only rang once before Jean''s warm, familiar voice filled the line. "Jubilee! I''ve been so worried about you. Is everything okay?"


    Jubilee couldn''t help but smile at the genuine concern in Jean''s tone. "Hey, Jean. I''m fine. Well, mostly."


    "Mostly?" Jean echoed, a hint of worry creeping into her voice. "Tell me everything that happened."


    Jubilee felt a rush of gratitude for Jean''s calm, compassionate reaction. "It''s a long story, but the short version is that I died and rose as a vampire. Tyson''s illusions no longer work on me, and now we can touch. And his blood, it''s special. It lets me walk in the sunlight, even as a vampire."


    "Tyson''s blood?" Jean asked, curiosity and fascination lacing her tone. "That''s incredible. I never knew he had that kind of power."


    "Neither did I," Jubilee admitted with a small laugh. "But it means I''m not all broody and angsty like I expected to be. I can still go out during the day."


    "That''s wonderful, Jubes," Jean said, and Jubilee could hear the smile in her voice. "I''m so glad you have that, at least. I can''t imagine how hard this must be for you."


    Jubilee felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, touched by Jean''s empathy. "It''s not easy," she confessed, her voice wavering slightly. "But having friends like you, knowing you''ve got my back... makes it easier."


    "Always," Jean promised. "We''re all here for you, no matter what."


    Jubilee sniffed, wiping away a stray tear. "Thanks, Jean. That means more than you know."


    "Of course. I''ll let everyone know that you''re doing well." Jean said warmly. "Now, when can I come visit you? I need to see for myself that you''re okay and give you a big hug."


    Jubilee laughed, the sound watery but genuine. "I''d love that. I''ll talk to Tyson and see when would be a good time. I''ll text you later, okay?"


    "Sounds perfect," Jean agreed. "And Jubes? I''m proud of you. You''re handling this with so much grace and strength. You''re amazing."


    Jubilee felt a blush heating her cheeks at the praise. "I don''t know about that," she mumbled, embarrassed but pleased.


    "I mean it, Jubes. You''re one of the strongest, most resilient people I know. You''re going to get through this, and you''re going to thrive. I believe in you." Jean said sagely.


    Jubilee''s heart swelled with affection for her friend, her sister in all but blood. "Thank you, Jean. I love you, you know that?"


    "I love you too, Jubilee," Jean replied, her voice warm and sincere. "Always and forever. Now, get some rest, okay? I''ll be waiting for that text."


    "You got it," Jubilee promised. "Talk to you soon."


    As the call ended, Jubilee felt a sense of peace settle over her. Talking to Jean and feeling her unwavering support and love had been a balm to her soul. She''d already faced her ''death,'' and it revealed beyond certainty to Jubilee that she had an incredible network of friends and chosen family who would be with her every step of the way. With Jean''s compassion, Illyana''s fierce loyalty, and Tyson''s steadfast presence, Jubilee felt like she could face anything.


    She slipped her phone back into her pocket. Now, where had Tyson gotten off to?


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    As Tyson strode towards the lab, he pulled out his phone. The line clicked, and a deep, smooth voice filled Tyson''s ear. "Mirage. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"


    Tyson couldn''t help but smirk at the cordial tone. Wilson Fisk was ever the businessman.


    "Fisk. I need your help."


    "Of course," Fisk replied, "What can I do for you, my friend?"


    "I need to get in touch with someone. An arms dealer or smuggler named Ulysses Klaue."


    There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, and Tyson could almost hear the gears turning in Fisk''s mind. "Ulysses Klaue," Fisk repeated, his voice thoughtful. "The name is familiar, but I can''t say I''ve had any direct dealings with the man."


    "I didn''t expect you would have. He''s not exactly your usual type of business associate."


    Fisk chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "No, I suppose not. But I''m curious, Mirage. What do you want with this man?"


    "He is an arms dealer and has a particular, rare resource that I''m looking to purchase," Tyson said.


    "I see, of course," Fisk agreed, his voice smooth as silk. "I understand completely. And I''m happy to help, Mirage."


    Tyson added, "Great. When you find Klaue, tell him I''m willing to pay his asking price for the metal. It''s called vibranium. Oh, and Fisk, make finding him your priority, please."


    "Consider it done," Fisk promised. "I''ll be in touch, Mirage. And do give my regards to your lovely assistant."


    With that, the line went dead. Tyson slipped the phone back into his pocket and then pushed open the door to the lab. Jubilee and Felicia caught up, and he held the door open for them. As they entered Dr. Connors'' lab, they found the brilliant scientist hunched over his workbench, with his eyes focused on the array of samples and data spread before him.


    Connors looked up at the sound of their footsteps, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Tyson, Ms. Hardy, Ms. Lee, good to see you all. What can I do for you?"


    Jubilee stepped forward, her posture relaxed but her eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "Here for my checkup, Doc," she said, her voice carefully casual.


    Connors''s gaze flicked between the three of them. "Were you able to stop the transformation... or?" He trailed off, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. The scientist''s expression softened, sympathy and understanding etched into the lines of his face. "I''m sorry to hear that," he said gently. "But it''s good that you''re still up and about. I assume you''re here for some answers."


    Tyson nodded, his eyes meeting Connors with a fierce intensity. "We need to know what we''re dealing with, Doc."


    Connors nodded, his mind already working. "Of course. Let''s get another sample and see what we can see." He gestured towards a chair, and Jubilee sat down, rolling up her sleeve for the blood draw.


    As Connors prepared the needle, Tyson''s gaze wandered around the lab, taking in the samples and chemicals that lined the shelves and filled the refrigerators. It was a veritable goldmine of superpowers, a collection he had carefully curated over the months. There were samples of his blood. Bags of Bruce Banner''s blood that had been taken from Dr. Sterns. Cindy Moon''s samples, which Tyson stole from the clutches of HYDRA. Plus, Peter Parker''s blood was collected during his hospital stay after the imposter attack.


    But it wasn''t just blood samples. The lab also held an array of serums and formulas, each with great potential. There were the Goblin and Lizard formulas from Oscorp, which Tyson and Felicia had stolen on their date. Then there were the early iterations of the super-soldier serum, which Felicia picked up from the vaults of Camp Lehigh after graduation.


    Tyson considered all the possibilities, the potential for good and for ill, that lay within these walls. In the right hands, these samples and serums could change the world and give rise to a new generation of heroes. But the thought of it falling into the wrong hands made his blood run cold.


    "What do you need from us, Doc?" Tyson asked.


    Connors'' eyes glinted at the thrill of the scientific challenge mingling with the weight of responsibility. "A little bit of time," he said simply. "I''ll do everything in my power to find answers, but I need you to trust me, to let me do my work."


    Tyson nodded, his hand finding Jubilee''s and reassuringly squeezing it. "You have it, Doc. Whatever you need."


    "Then let''s get started."


    Connors turned to his newest samples, pulled out an eyedropper, and placed drops on various slides and papers for examination. He hunched over his workbench, focusing intently on the blood samples before him. Tyson, Jubilee, and Felicia stood nearby, watching the brilliant scientist as he worked.


    "Felicia replayed for me that conversation between you and Blade," Connors said, his voice distant as he peered through the microscope. "Looking at Jubilee''s first blood sample, there are traces of ''green stuff'' throughout. I apologize for lacking proper scientific terminology, but I''ve never seen anything like this. It appears to be the ichor that Blade mentioned."


    He straightened up, his brow furrowed in thought. "Interestingly, a portion of her blood cells are biconvex."


    Tyson leaned forward, his eyes sharp with interest. "What does that mean in a physiological context?"


    "Human red blood cells should be biconcave disks. Think of them like donuts with the hole in the middle dipping in but not going all the way through. As I saw in Jubilee''s sample, Biconvex is shaped more like a stereotypical flying saucer. It shouldn''t be possible in blood samples." He paused, his gaze flicking back to the microscope. "Also, the red blood cells are hypochromic. They lack the red color, likely because they lack hemoglobin. To simplify, if this ichor causes the body to produce these unusual red blood cells, it explains why vampires need to drink blood. Since their blood can''t transport oxygen, they''d need regular injections of blood that contain hemoglobin. At least that''s my current theory."


    Tyson''s brow furrowed, his mind racing with the implications. "Wouldn''t the blood just be digested like anything else a person eats? How would it get directly into the bloodstream?"


    "A great question. My best guess? Maybe ichor adjusts the digestive process. Perhaps the digestive juices somehow get altered to avoid breaking down red blood cells, allowing them to be absorbed in the small intestine. I couldn''t be sure without extensive testing on a live vampire." He waved a hand as if dismissing the thought. "Though interesting, I don''t think that''s particularly relevant."


    "One relevant thing. Jubilee drank my blood, and now she isn''t vulnerable to sunlight anymore. Any theories on that?"


    Connors was silent momentarily, his eyes distant as he considered the question. "Perhaps..." he said, at last, his voice hesitant. "Looking at Jubilee''s current sample was confusing until you added that tidbit. In the body, heme is an essential constituent of hemoglobin. To produce heme, the body requires porphyrins. Because, presumably, Jubilee''s and vampires'' bodies aren''t producing heme, there''s a buildup of these porphyrins, which is toxic to the body."


    "But here''s the kicker¡­ The main symptoms of porphyrin buildup are light sensitivity and a rash when exposed. I''m not sure how in vampires this reaction jumps from having a rash to rapid burning in sunlight¡­"


    Connors turned his gaze to Tyson, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "But that leads me to your blood. Something I''ve known for a while is that you have an abnormal blood type. Typical blood typing is A, B, AB, or O. Your blood is Type-E. Something only ever clinically observed one time, by a researcher in Canada working with the military."


    He began to pace, his mind whirring with possibilities. "Different blood type antigens can have a relative effect on hormone receptors. It was documented that Type-E blood increased a-melanocyte stimulating hormone, which in turn drives melanogenesis, causing skin darkening."


    Tyson''s eyes widened, a flash of realization crossing his features. "After she drank my blood, Jubilee''s skin returned to its normal color."


    Dr. Connors clapped once, a grin spreading across his face. "There''s our answer. Melanin. It functionally serves as protection against UV radiation. Thereby protecting Jubilee from the vampire''s daylight weakness."


    "So, what does this mean, Doc? Do you know how to cure me?"


    Connors'' expression softened, sympathy etched into the lines of his face. "I''m afraid it''s not that simple. But since Tyson''s blood can mitigate the effects, I may be able to discover other methods that may give you a chance at a more normal life."


    Tyson''s hand found Jubilee''s, his fingers lacing with hers in a gesture of silent support. "We''ll figure this out, Jubes," he promised.


    Jubilee said. "I want you all to know I''m okay with this. I don''t want to change, so do all the research you want, Doc, but even if you had a cure, I wouldn''t take it."


    Dr. Connors smiled, "I have no doubt we''ll find answers. I''ll keep working, keep searching. I already have some ideas, perhaps stimulating the liver to help remove the porphyrins. Regardless, I won''t give up until we''ve found a way to help you, Jubilee."


    "What other projects are you working on, Doc?"


    Dr. Connors leaned back in his chair, steepling his long, slender fingers together as he regarded Tyson thoughtfully. "Well, I have quite a few irons in the fire, as they say," Dr. Connors replied. His voice was warm, almost fatherly, as he addressed the young man. "I compared the samples of goblin serum and the incomplete version of the super soldier serum," Connors said, his voice filled with excitement. "Even though they were created decades apart, their chemical composition is remarkably similar."


    "Both serums are quite different in structure from the Lizard serum I created, however. I did notice some compositions that were similar throughout all three. One compound was shared between the earlier versions of the Lizard serum and the other two serums. I believe now that it''s this compound that causes the mental instability leading to insanity."


    Tyson had seen firsthand the devastating effects of the goblin serum, the way it had twisted Norman Osborn into a monster.


    Connors continued, his voice taking on a note of pride. "With the Lizard formula, after months of fine-tuning, I was able to fix this deficit by substitutions from lizard DNA I used in my serum. Part of the problem, I think, is that the incomplete super soldier and goblin serums have no mechanism for fixing this deficit."


    He turned to the screen displaying Dr. Banner''s blood analysis. "In the case of Dr. Banner''s blood, we see a different story. While I don''t have the serum he was injected with to compare, my best guess is that Dr. Banner''s team used gamma rays to stabilize theirs, like how I used lizard DNA to stabilize my serum. The outcome was a far greater effect of the serum. While Dr. Banner wasn''t driven insane, the serum-induced transformation had its mental toll along with its physical change."


    Dr. Connors leaned forward, his eyes blazing with the fire of discovery. "I hypothesize that some other catalyst was missing from the super soldier that stabilized it. Whatever that catalyst was, without it, the serum is doomed to drive any that take it into insanity."


    Tyson''s eyes widened, a flash of realization crossing his features. "Vita Rays," he mumbled, almost to himself.


    Dr. Connors heard him and, assuming he was asking a question, launched into an explanation. "Vita Rays or Vita Radiation is an exotic energy type not found commonly on Earth. The only way I know of to create Vita Radiation is through Nitramene, a chemical created by Howard Stark."


    Tyson spoke up. "Dr. Banner used gamma radiation in his experiment, but I know that the original super soldier serum used Vita Radiation."


    Connors paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered Tyson''s words. "Not sure how you could know that, but theoretically, it could work. Gamma radiation shares some similarities with Vita Radiation. Using it as a substitute would be within reason."


    Tyson pressed on, his mind already racing ahead. "Two questions. If I got you Nitramene, could you create enough Vita Radiation to stabilize the serum?"


    "Almost certainly... that or blow up the building."


    Tyson raised an eyebrow, thinking Connors was joking. The scientist''s expression remained deadpan.


    He wasn''t.


    Swallowing hard, Tyson asked his second question. "Could you substitute another creature''s DNA with the lizard''s DNA and create an alternate ''lizard formula''? Like, say, a spider formula?"


    Connors leaned back, his mind whirring with possibilities. "Probably. If you''re thinking about the other blood sample you brought me, I can''t do it with something like that, nothing too human-like. A monstrous mutant''s blood might be the closest thing to a human that would work. A spider might as well, but no guarantee the subject would end up like Spider-Man. It''s more likely they''d end up a man-spider if you get what I''m saying," Connors finished, chuckling at his little joke.

 Arc 6 - Ch 14: A Blade in Hand

    Chapter 81


    Arc 6 - Ch 14: A Blade in Hand


    Date: Tuesday, June 28, 2011.


    Location: Four Seasons Downtown, Manhattan, New York


    Tyson and Jubilee departed the Four Seasons hotel in downtown Manhattan, heading toward Chinatown. Tyson had avoided that neighborhood since the altercation with the Hand ninjas after leaving a training session at Chikara Dojo in February. He considered taking his motorcycle for the trip but decided against it. It was a lovely day, and Jubilee would enjoy traveling on foot; besides, they could both run faster than traffic if needed. Tyson remained unsure whether to confront Colleen or feign ignorance, but he knew he needed to check in with his sensei regardless. It had been four months, long enough for an average human to heal from the injuries he''d sustained. Plus, this outing presented an opportunity for Jubilee to venture out in public among groups of people to gauge how she fared. The pair set off eastbound. Chikara Dojo was only about a mile from the Four Seasons.


    The route meandered indirectly due to the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge crossing their path, so they headed south along Frankfort Street, passing under the promenade. They found themselves strolling down the sidewalk adjacent to Murry Bergtraum High School.


    Jubilee''s bright yellow jacket and bubbly personality had returned in full force. Tyson glanced at her, noting how she looked around with curious eyes as if seeing the city for the first time. Which she nearly was, thanks to her enhanced vampiric senses. He couldn''t help but smile at her enthusiasm and how she seemed like her old self again.


    "Nice day for a walk," Jubilee remarked cheerfully, her tone light.


    "Yeah, it is," Tyson replied, trying to focus on the positives.


    As they crossed the street, Jubilee glanced his way. "Are you worried about seeing your sensei again?"


    Tyson hesitated before shrugging. "A little. Still trying to figure out what to say¡­. Hey, I know about the ninja group you''re a part of that targeted me to test me. It seems like a terrible cold open."


    Jubilee nodded sympathetically. "Well, whatever happens, you know you''ve got me. We''re a team, right?" She mimed punching and kicking as they walked, "I might not be a ninja, but I''m super fast and can throw explosions. Together, no one can beat us!"


    Tyson chuckled, feeling some of his concern fade away. "Right. Team Jubilee and Tyson."


    They stood at the corner, waiting for the walk signal, when a familiar figure caught Tyson''s eye to the north. A tall, broad-shouldered black man wearing a black leather trench coat strode down the sidewalk with a visible sword in a back-mounted scabbard. Not too many people fitting that description walked the streets of lower Manhattan.


    Blade.


    Tyson had crossed paths with the vampire hunter twice before. First in the nightclub after the blood rain and a second time when Blade came searching for Tyson at the House of M.


    He had considered trying to contact the dhampir, but he lacked any means. Tyson glanced at Jubilee. Thanks to the regenerative properties of his blood running through her veins, she could withstand sunlight despite being turned into a vampire. Still, Tyson hesitated to bring Jubilee anywhere near Blade. But he knew his illusions would fool the dhampir if needed. Tyson could cover Jubilee''s escape if things went south. Plus, he doubted a random opportunity to cross paths with Blade would present itself again.


    So, instead of crossing east with the light, Tyson gently guided Jubilee north toward the entrance of James Madison Plaza, where Blade had just ducked inside. Tyson kept his senses on high alert as they approached, ready to react to any confrontation.


    Jubilee looked at Tyson, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "Why do you seem so on edge all of a sudden?"


    Tyson hesitated before answering. "I just caught sight of Blade up there. We can''t pass up what might be our only chance to make contact. Just stay close and follow my lead if things get hairy. Worst case, I can throw up some illusions to cover your escape back to the hotel."


    Jubilee nodded, her previously cheerful demeanor replaced by caution. She scanned their surroundings, eyes peeled for any potential threats. As they entered the small park, Tyson spotted Blade near the central fountain, locked in a standoff with a pale, well-dressed man holding a young child somewhat threateningly in his arms.


    Tyson recognized the pale vampire instantly. "That''s Deacon Frost, a vamp." he said in a low voice, "I saw this confrontation in my vision. Frost will throw that girl into the path of an oncoming bus to distract Blade. Then he''ll try to escape while Blade chooses between pursuing him or saving the girl."


    Jubilee''s brown eyes widened in surprise as she studied Deacon Frost. "How can he be out in broad daylight?" she asked.


    "Sunscreen," Tyson replied with a derisive sniff.


    "What a poser," Jubilee mocked. "What''s the plan?"


    "I don''t want you intervening in the fight." he said, "Blade uses silver bullets and a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later. One stray projectile could kill you permanently."


    "So what''s the plan?"


    "When Frost throws the girl, you zip in with your super-speed and catch her before the bus hits her," Tyson said. "I''ll try to stop Frost, though he may be too fast for me. I''m going to move a little closer. Watch Frost closely for when he throws the girl. That''s your signal."


    "Since I started hanging out with you, my life sure has taken a morbid twist." She commented, only partly joking.


    Tyson edged closer, cloaking himself in an illusion to conceal his presence from Blade. He feigned nonchalance as he moved, not wanting to draw Frost''s attention. Tyson knew better than to approach too near, as the scent of his blood could easily entice the vampire.


    Frost held a young girl captive, grinning wickedly at Blade. "We wouldn''t want our little friend here to end up plastered on the back of a milk carton, now would we?" Frost''s voice dripped with malicious amusement, savoring the moment. Blade reluctantly lowered his hand, eyes wary and watchful. Frost inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of life around him. "Beautiful day, isn''t it?" he taunted.


    "How can you be out here?" Blade asked confused.


    "I dabble in pharmaceuticals and medical research," Frost replied smoothly. "We''ve developed a type of sun-blocker using octyl salicylate and a few other ingredients." He touched a finger to his cheek, rubbing the pale lotion between his fingers. "It''s not very effective in direct sunlight, but it''s a start. The goal, of course, is to be like you, the ''Day-walker.''"


    Blade''s eyes narrowed with skepticism. "I don''t buy it."


    "Why not?" Frost countered. "The future of our race flows through your veins. You have the best of both worlds, Blade. All of our strengths and none of our weaknesses."


    "Maybe I don''t see it that way," Blade responded flatly.


    "Oh, back to pretending we''re human again, are we?" Frost''s tone turned mocking. "Spare me the Uncle Tom act. You can''t keep denying what you are. You''re one of us, Blade. You always have been."


    "You''re wrong," Blade stated firmly.


    "Am I?" Frost challenged. "You think the humans will ever accept a half-breed like you? They can''t. They fear us because we''re superior. They cower because, in their hearts, they know their race has become obsolete."


    Frost regarded the passing street vendors with unveiled contempt. "Look at them," Frost said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Just an endless herd of cattle stampeding blindly toward the slaughterhouse."


    With a sneer, Frost lifted a silver flask to his pale lips and took a long swig of blood. He smacked his lips with relish and sighed contentedly. "Refreshing," he quipped, then offered the flask to Blade. "Care for some? I can tell by your expression it smells simply mouthwatering. Pungent, with just an irrepressible hint of iron."


    Blade''s stony expression did not change. "Pass," he stated flatly.


    "You sure now?" Frost persisted. "I tapped a newborn for this batch. You won''t find a vintage sweeter than that."


    It took every ounce of Blade''s formidable self-control to restrain himself from attacking Frost then and there. The vampire sensed the carefully leashed violence simmering within the other man and pressed one long, sharp thumbnail against the child''s vulnerable jugular. The little girl whimpered in fear.


    "Tell me honestly. Do you get the same visceral thrill from that pasteurized piss serum of yours?" He noted the tightening of Blade''s jaw and laughed. "Surprised I know about your serum? You shouldn''t be. I know everything about you, Daywalker. You can''t keep walking this razor''s edge forever, Blade. The day is coming, and soon, you''ll have to choose a side. Our kind or theirs. If I were you, I''d take care not to end up on the wrong end of the fang."


    A single bead of sweat ran down Frost''s neck, washing away a small patch of the sun-blocking cream he wore. The exposed flesh instantly blackened and blistered. "Looks like your mascara is running," Blade commented evenly.


    "Love to continue this little chat, but..." Frost began as he started to rise.


    "You''re not going anywhere," Blade interrupted, his voice low and dangerous.


    "Watch me," Frost growled.


    His eyes flickering toward the street was the only warning before he hurled the young girl directly into the path of the oncoming city bus. Before her small body could collide with the flimsy vendor''s stall or reach the busy street, Jubilee was there in a flash, catching the child safely in her arms.


    Blade swiftly drew his Modified Mack 11 from its holster and fired three thunderous shots at the vampire. Frost dodged the bullets, then turned and dashed away from the park, moving almost too fast for the human eye to follow. Tyson rushed to intercept the fleeing vampire, but Frost''s supernatural speed proved too great.


    Unable to close the distance, he held his hand out and flexed his will. The Uru dagger appeared within. Tyson''s fingers tightened on the mystical weapon''s hilt as he brought it around in a sweeping arc and hurled it at Frost''s retreating form. The enchanted dagger tumbled end over end through the air, but the vampire dodged at the last possible second, the blade sinking harmlessly into a nearby tree trunk with a solid thunk.


    Blade continued firing round after sizzling round at the fleeing Frost, who twisted and dodged, his speed allowing him to narrowly evade the gunfire. But Tyson had already anticipated Frost''s movements. With a flick of his wrist, another glimmering Uru dagger materialized in his grip. In a single fluid motion, Tyson hurled the weapon again. This time, the enchanted dagger buried itself into Frost''s shoulder with a meaty thunk.


    The vampire let out an agonized hiss, crashing sideways into a brick building as he desperately tried to escape. Frost stumbled, his supernatural grace momentarily failing as he struggled to wrench the mystical dagger from his back. Dark blood oozed from the wound. Seizing the opportunity, Blade fired another shot, the UV round passing mere inches from Frost''s head as the vampire lurched forward.


    Tyson watched, muscles coiled and ready to conjure more daggers. But the gravely injured Frost, now bleeding profusely, managed to lurch into a nearby alley, disappearing from view into the shadows.


    Blade''s gaze followed the vampire''s hasty retreat for a moment before he turned to Tyson, his craggy features set in a look of grudging respect. "Nice throw," Blade muttered in his gravelly baritone. "But I''m not letting that fanger get away." He glanced over at Jubilee, who was gently comforting the frightened girl they had just rescued.


    "We got the girl. Go get him, Blade!" Tyson called out encouragingly. As Blade took off after the wounded Frost, Tyson held out his hand, and the Uru dagger reappeared in his grip. Tyson wondered if the temporary mystical copy he had conjured was still embedded in Frost''s back. If not, Blade would have an easy trail of blood to follow.


    Jubilee stayed with the frightened young girl, wrapping a comforting arm around her slender shoulders. Her voice was gentle and soothing as she helped the child find her parents, who had been frantically searching the park for any sign of their beloved daughter. Once Jubilee safely reunited the girl with her distraught but overjoyed family, she scanned the area for any trace of Blade. But the formidable vampire hunter had not returned after pursuing the wounded Frost into the surrounding city.


    After waiting nearly twenty minutes without sign of Blade''s return, Jubilee remarked, "Looks like he''s not coming back anytime soon."


    Tyson shrugged, "We should head to Chikara Dojo. No use waiting around here."


    Together, they set off, leaving the small park for the dojo. As they walked, Jubilee''s eyes sparkled with excitement, "That was so intense!" she exclaimed, "I mean, it was terrifying but also crazy thrilling!"


    Tyson chuckled as his nerves finally settling since the danger had passed. "Yeah, it really was," he agreed, smiling at her infectious enthusiasm, "You were amazing out there, Jubes. You saved that girl''s life."


    Jubilee''s cheeks flushed slightly at the praise. "Yeah, I really am a hero now, aren''t I?" she replied, beaming with pride. "And that magic dagger is so cool!" Her tone was filled with admiration as she glanced at the ornate blade strapped to his belt. "Does it have a name yet?"


    Tyson shook his head. "Nope. You want to give it one?" he offered.


    Jubilee''s eyes lit up at the prospect. "Ooh, how about Sting?" she suggested eagerly.


    "Too clich¨¦," Tyson dismissed with a wave of his hand.


    "Hmm...Dragonfang?"


    "Name''s already taken," he informed her.


    Jubilee hummed thoughtfully as they continued onward. "Well, you got it from the trickster god Loki, and you''re an illusionist. Maybe something tied to that theme..."


    Together, the two friends made their way toward the dojo, with Jubilee enthusiastically calling out potential names for the Uru dagger sheathed at Tyson''s back.


    Tyson and Jubilee strolled down the street. "I think I prefer the single-word names best," Tyson commented, glancing sidelong at his enthusiastic companion. "It''s a dagger, not a sword, so it should have a short name."


    "Okay. How about Glamour?" she suggested eagerly as her mind rifled through possibilities.


    Tyson pursed his lips, considering. "Kinda like that," he conceded after a moment.


    The teenage girl was practically bouncing on her toes now, thrilled to be helping name the powerful artifact. "Oooh, since your show is called House of M and your name is Mirage, you should name your weapon something that begins with M, too!" She thought for a second, her brow furrowing in concentration, before suggesting, "Malice, Meddle... No wait! I''ve got it!" She paused dramatically, holding up a finger, then delightedly exclaimed, "Muse!"


    Tyson rolled the name around in his mind, tasting it, feeling its shape on his tongue. A slow smile spread across his face. "I love it," he declared. Jubilee let out a whoop of excitement, pumping her fist in triumph at finding the perfect name for the Asgardian dagger. Together, the two friends made their way toward the dojo, Tyson now with the newly christened Muse sheathed comfortably at his back.


    He held open the door to the dojo for Jubilee, the chimes announcing their arrival into the quiet space. No classes were in session, and the mats were empty. Colleen emerged from the back room at the sound, her face reflecting relief at the sight of Tyson.


    "Tyson," she asked hesitantly, "are you alright? I haven''t seen you in months."


    "I''m sorry about that," Tyson apologized. "The last time I was here, I fought with some locals after class. I wasn''t able to come back for a while."


    Colleen''s expression became visibly conflicted. Of course, she knew what had happened. She had watched as Bakuto tested Tyson that night. The young man had always paid her in cash, so she had no address to follow up on his absence or injury.


    "But I was hoping to continue my training," Tyson added.


    Colleen frowned, clearly wrestling with whether she should accept Tyson as a student again. The Hand''s interest in him had put the young man in danger. She had spent the last few months sick with worry, conflicted about what to do regarding the Hand and the dojo. Tyson''s disappearance had become an issue she didn''t have to face immediately. With him standing before her, the problem felt real and present again.


    "I don''t know that our previous arrangement is appropriate anymore."


    Tyson''s face fell. "If this is about the fighting, I promise I tried to de-escalate things. Those guys wouldn''t back down. I don''t think they''d target me here, but I understand if you don''t want me bringing trouble to the dojo." He glanced over at Jubilee, then met Colleen''s eyes again, his pleading. "I just want to get stronger, to protect the people I care about." He motioned towards the girl he had brought. "I was also hoping you''d train some of my friends too. I''d pay the same fee for them. But if you can''t train me, I understand."


    Colleen''s expression softened as she took in Tyson''s words and the way he looked at the young girl with him. Tyson could see the conflict in Colleen''s eyes as she weighed her words carefully before speaking. "It''s not that I''m worried about you bringing trouble to the dojo," she finally admitted, her voice tinged with concern. "I''m more concerned that continuing to come here could put you in danger."


    Her admission took Tyson by surprise. He hadn''t expected her to forbid him from returning out of concern for his safety. Glancing over at Jubilee, Tyson came to a decision.


    "I appreciate your concern," he said earnestly, "But if I can prove it''s unfounded by beating you in a spar, will you at least hear me out?"


    Colleen''s eyebrows shot up in curiosity at his bold proposal. She studied him for a long moment as if gauging his determination before finally inclining her head in agreement. "Alright, Tyson," she said, "Let''s see what you''ve got."


    Colleen and Tyson faced each other in the center of the polished wood floor, the afternoon light filtering through the tall windows. Colleen settled into a fighting stance, her feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, hands curled into loose fists. Her eyes narrowed with a laser focus on her opponent as her body tensed in readiness.


    Colleen launched forward, aiming a quick jab towards Tyson''s midsection to test his reactions. But Tyson moved with unnatural speed, effortlessly twisting his torso out of the path of her strike. Colleen pressed her attack, throwing punches and kicks in quick succession, but Tyson evaded them all. She ground her teeth in frustration as her strikes met only air. Tyson''s evasive defense left her unable to land a single blow. Before she could regroup, he flowed around her guard and tagged her ribs with a gentle, stinging slap. She blinked in surprise at the unexpected counterattack. It was clear he had become much faster since their last match.


    Colleen reset her stance, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet. A bead of sweat trailed down her temple as she reassessed her opponent. She would need to adapt if she hoped to penetrate his defenses.


    Tyson''s smile broadened, his mismatched eyes alight with excitement. "Ready for round two?" he asked, beckoning her forward. She let out a slow breath, then launched at him again, determined to wipe the grin off his face.


    He effortlessly dodged another of her attacks. No matter how quickly she struck or fiercely she lunged, he slipped away like smoke.


    In the second round, she had fared no better against his speed. Each jab met only air as Tyson sidestepped with the fluidity of flowing water. He turned her momentum against her, using subtle shifts of weight and angle to redirect her energy away from him.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    In the third round, Colleen pulled out all the stops, throwing her full strength into the offensive. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could not seem to lay a finger on her elusive opponent. Tyson moved with unnatural grace, gliding just out of reach no matter how she tried to corner him. His smile remained infuriatingly fixed, his mismatched eyes dancing with amusement.


    Colleen stood panting as the third round ended, sweat beading her brow. Frustration and reluctant admiration warred within her. Tyson remained calm and composed, looking for all the world as if they had just shared a pleasant stroll rather than an intense sparring match.


    "I think I''ve proven my point," he said gently but with a mixture of respect and playfulness coloring his tone.


    Colleen let out a long breath, schooling her features as she nodded. "I suppose you have," she admitted. "You''ve become much stronger."


    From the sidelines, Jubilee burst into enthusiastic applause. "Good fight!" she cheered.


    "So, will you agree to hear me out?" he asked Colleen hopefully.


    Colleen considered him for a moment, then nodded. A genuine smile broke through despite herself. "Alright, Tyson," she conceded warmly. Let''s talk." She was impressed by his improvement and curious to hear what he had to say.


    Tyson gestured toward the door, wary of potential surveillance devices hidden in the dojo. He led Colleen and Jubilee out for a walk back to the park where they had encountered Blade earlier. The park was only a few blocks away, and Tyson would be able to keep watch for the vampire hunter''s possible return.


    Jubilee bounced beside them as they strolled down the sidewalk and introduced herself with a bright smile. "Hi, I''m Jubilee," she said enthusiastically. "I''m a big fan of ninjas!"


    Colleen''s expression lightened at the girl''s enthusiasm. "Well, it''s nice to meet you, Jubilee," she replied warmly. "And I''m glad you like ninjas. It just so happens I know a thing or two about them."


    When they reached the peaceful grounds, Tyson glanced around, scanning for any sign of Blade. Satisfied the vampire hunter had not returned, he turned to Colleen, ready to discuss the matter that had brought them there. The tranquil surroundings seemed like a good place for serious conversation, and the three of them settled onto a bench, prepared to talk openly without fear of eavesdroppers.


    Tyson carefully weighed his options. He did not want to manipulate Colleen''s mind and force her to trust him, but he could not reveal the whole truth about his abilities. A half-truth seemed the best path forward.


    "I know you''ve wondered where I''m getting my money," Tyson began, his voice low and earnest. He noted the concern furrowing her brow. "It probably seemed suspicious for a high school student with no family to have the cash I do suddenly."


    Colleen nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Tyson''s face. She remained silent, letting him speak.


    "I''m not involved in anything illegal like selling drugs. I''ve been working a security job that pays very well. My employer took notice of how much I''ve improved under your training. He wants to hire you to teach the rest of his staff martial arts."


    At this, Colleen leaned back slightly, skepticism returning to her expression. "And who exactly is this generous employer of yours?" she asked pointedly.


    Tyson hesitated, carefully considering his response.


    "The superhero Mirage," Tyson finally answered, watching Colleen closely for her reaction.


    Her eyes widened in surprise. Whatever employer she had imagined, a superhero was not it. "Mirage?" she echoed in disbelief.


    Tyson nodded, maintaining steady eye contact. "Yes. Mirage thinks your skills would make you the perfect trainer for his team."


    Colleen Wing looked at Tyson, scrutinizing him for the first time in months. She noticed his wild hair and muscular build, recalled the tight black suit he often wore during training, and focused on his mismatched blue and green heterochromatic eyes. And she gasped in realization.


    "It''s you. You''re Mirage," she breathed, her eyes widening in shock.


    Jubilee laughed, pointing at Tyson. "Busted!"


    Tyson chuckled. "Yeah, I did drive things a little too close to home there." He met Colleen''s gaze with a sheepish grin. "You got me, sensei."


    Colleen sat back, stunned. She''d been worried about him all these months, and here he was, not just alive and well, but a superhero. She leaned forward, her brow furrowing. "Were you hurt badly by the ambush?"


    Tyson shook his head. "No. I would''ve come by sooner, but I''ve been busy. And it just happened to line up with an appropriate amount of time for me to heal."


    Colleen thought about how often she''d seen Mirage in the news recently. The pieces were falling into place. "I see," she said, still mulling things over.


    After a moment of silence, Colleen took a deep breath. "I can''t instruct you any longer, nor can I instruct your employees," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret.


    Tyson frowned. "Why not?"


    Colleen hesitated, then decided to be forthright. "The people who attacked you are a group known as the Hand." Tyson raised an eyebrow, surprised at her forwardness. He hadn''t expected her to volunteer such information. She continued, "They were testing you. They think you''re the Black Sky."


    Tyson took the opening to hopefully gain some clarification. "What is the Black Sky?"


    Colleen glanced around the park, making sure no one was within earshot. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "The Black Sky is a prophecy for one destined to lead the Hand."


    He had known about the Hand and recalled them mentioning the Black Sky but didn''t know what it meant. "And they think I''m this... Black Sky?"


    Colleen nodded solemnly. "That''s why I can''t continue training you. The Hand are dangerous, Tyson. More dangerous than you can imagine."


    Jubilee spoke up. "But if they''re so dangerous, doesn''t that mean Tyson needs more training, not less?"


    "It''s not that simple. The more I train him, the more skilled he becomes and the more attention he''ll draw from the Hand. They''ll see it as confirmation of their beliefs."


    "But I''ve already drawn their attention. Wouldn''t it be better if I was prepared to face them?"


    Colleen sighed, conflict evident in her eyes. "It''s not just about physical preparation. The Hand has ways of getting into your head, of manipulating you. The better you become, the more they''ll want you."


    "So, tell us more about the Hand. What exactly are we up against?"


    "The Hand is an ancient organization, older than you can imagine. They''ve been pulling strings behind the scenes for centuries, manipulating events to suit their needs."


    "What do they want?" Jubilee asked, her earlier excitement tempered by Colleen''s serious tone.


    "Power, influence, immortality," Colleen replied. "They seek to control everything from the shadows. And they believe the Black Sky is key to achieving that goal."


    "But why me? What did they learn from their ambush that makes them think I''m this Black Sky?"


    "The Black Sky prophecy is an ancient belief held by the Hand. They believe that a warrior of unparalleled skill and potential will arise, one who can lead them to ultimate power and domination. The prophecy speaks of a fighter with physical prowess and a unique connection to the mystical forces that the Hand seeks to control," Colleen continued. "They believe this individual will be able to harness and channel these forces in ways even the most skilled Hand members cannot."


    "But how do they know who this Black Sky is supposed to be?" Jubilee asked.


    "That''s the thing," she explained. "They don''t know for certain. The Hand is constantly searching and testing potential candidates. They look for signs, for individuals with extraordinary abilities or potential." her expression grew more serious. "You faced multiple trained members of the Hand. You were unarmed, outnumbered, and caught by surprise. Yet, you held your own and managed to defeat them."


    Tyson nodded slowly, recalling the fight that had unfolded that night. He had relied mostly on his combat training, but it must have seemed like an impossible feat to the outside observer.


    "To the Hand," Colleen continued, "this display of skill and raw potential was a significant red flag. It aligned with many traits they believe the Black Sky should possess. Exceptional combat prowess, adaptability, and the ability to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds."


    "But that doesn''t mean Tyson is this Black Sky, right?"


    Colleen shook her head. "No, it doesn''t. The Hand has had many candidates, and none have proven to be the true Black Sky. But that doesn''t make the situation any less dangerous."


    Tyson had known the Hand was interested in him, but he hadn''t realized the extent of their beliefs or the potential consequences of their attention.


    "What exactly does the Hand do with these candidates?"


    Colleen''s expression darkened. "They test them, push them to their limits," she explained. "If a candidate shows promise, the Hand will attempt to bring them into the fold, to mold them into the leader they believe the Black Sky should be."


    "And if the candidate refuses?"


    "Then the Hand will do whatever it takes to either control them or eliminate the threat they pose. They cannot risk a potential Black Sky falling into the hands of their enemies or becoming a force that opposes them."


    Jubilee''s eyes widened as a realization struck her. She turned to Colleen, her voice filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. "Wait a minute. If they knew about Tyson''s illusions, wouldn''t that make them think he was the Black Sky even more? I mean, it''s an extraordinary ability, almost mystical."


    Colleen nodded emphatically, her expression grave. "Exactly. It''s why I can''t train you," she said, directing her words to Tyson. "I can''t be anywhere near you. They''d use me to stay close to you, to bring you in. When we first met, I wouldn''t have thought twice about it, but after the callous way they tested you, who knows what else they''d do."


    "Don''t worry, teach. I can handle more than a few ninjas."


    "Even still, I''m not going to put you in that kind of danger. You''re a good man. And now that I know who you are, I see how much good you''ve done."


    "You''ve demonstrated you can fight. Your technique isn''t perfect. It never was. You aren''t a natural fighter." She paused, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. "But you have enough of a base that you can build from it without me. I always aimed to create that base." Colleen''s eyes met Tyson''s meaningfully. "And you did that with all the hours and hard work you put in. Keep training, and you''ll keep growing. You spent more time in the dojo than anyone. You can train your people. You don''t need me."


    Tyson felt a twinge of disappointment settle in his chest. Despite his desire to continue training with Colleen, he understood why she wanted to distance herself. The Hand''s interest in him didn''t pose a threat to himself, but it might to those around him. After a moment of contemplation, Tyson nodded, accepting her decision.


    He stood and bowed deeply to Colleen.


    "Thank you for your instruction," Tyson said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. As he straightened, he met Colleen''s gaze once more. "If you ever need my help, you''ll know where to find me."


    Jubilee watched the exchange with a hint of sadness. She could see the respect between Tyson and Colleen and remained quiet.


    Colleen stood as well, returning Tyson''s bow with equal respect. Her eyes shimmered with a hint of moisture, but her voice remained steady. "You''ve come a long way, Tyson. I''m proud of your progress and the man you''ve become."


    Jubilee decided to lighten the mood. She bounced on her toes, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "So, Tyson, does this mean I get to be your new sparring partner? I promise I won''t go easy on you!"


    Tyson couldn''t help but chuckle at Jubilee''s infectious energy. "I don''t doubt it for a second," he replied, grateful for the momentary distraction.


    Colleen smiled at the exchange, appreciating Jubilee''s attempt to lift the mood. She turned to the young mutant. "Take care of him. And make sure he doesn''t slack off on his training."


    Jubilee gave Colleen a mock salute. "You can count on me, sensei!"


    "Stay safe, Tyson. And remember, the Hand is always watching. Be careful."


    With those final words of caution, Tyson and Jubilee began to walk away. As they made their way through the park, Tyson felt a chapter of his life closing behind him. The training with Colleen had been a constant in his life at Midtown, a foundation upon which he had built so much. Now, he would have to forge ahead on his own.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Blade stepped back into his workshop. Frustration etched on his face after losing track of Frost. Some familiars had run interference, leaving him chasing a decoy into the night. As he entered the dimly lit room, he immediately sensed something was off. The place was ransacked; their tools and equipment were strewn about haphazardly, and furniture overturned.


    Moving cautiously, Blade scanned his surroundings. Then he noticed a body slumped against some lab equipment with blood pooled beneath it. He pulled down the collar and saw the tattoo on the back of the neck.


    It was the mark of a vampire''s familiar.


    Blade''s expression hardened, and he pulled out one of his Mac 11s, moving forward with caution. As he entered the central part of the lab, he stopped dead in his tracks.


    There was a bedsheet covering the chair with a blood stain. Blade approached and couldn''t bear to look at the sheet as he removed it, knowing what he would find.


    Whistler, his mentor and closest ally, was sitting motionless. It was clear he had been tortured. His face was battered and swollen, his clothes were torn, and everything was soaked with blood. The sight hit Blade like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, his resolve faltered.


    "Whistler..." Blade muttered.


    In response to Blade''s voice, a faint moan escaped the dying man''s cracked lips.


    Blade grabbed some gauze, and gently, he dabbed at the blood that covered Whistler from his various wounds and lacerations. But then Blade saw them.


    Two ragged puncture marks along Whistler''s throat, still oozing blood.


    "Jesus, Whistler, what did they do to you?" Blade muttered, his voice choked with emotion.


    Whistler opened his eyes, struggling to speak through split and swollen lips. "Frost took her¡ª" he began, his voice a hoarse whisper. He spasmed and coughed, fresh blood bubbling up as he winced in pain.


    "Don''t try to talk," Blade urged, his eyes filled with worry as he went through the motions of cleaning the wounds, though he knew they were fatal.


    "Listen to me," Whistler insisted. "The disk, we decoded it. Frost is trying to trigger a fucking vampire apocalypse. There''s some vampire god he''s trying to resurrect. La Magra."


    Blade''s jaw tightened at the name.


    "A dozen purebloods, one from each sect. La Magra''s vessel gets all their uniqueness," Whistler continued weakly. "But, you''re the key. He needs your blood. The blood of the daywalker. You''re the chosen one. Listen, Blade, you can''t go after him."


    "Bullshit," Blade spat out angrily.


    "If Frost gets his hands on you, it''s all over. The vamp god will have no weaknesses. Humans will turn to vamps just being in its presence. There''ll be armies of the motherfuckers," Whistler claimed before wincing again in pain as Blade continued trying to stop the bleeding.


    "You have to...finish me off. Don''t let me come back as one of them."


    "No, we can treat the wounds..." Blade started to argue, but Whistler was already shaking his head weakly in refusal.


    "It''s too far gone. You know that," Whistler reminded him solemnly. "Give me your gun."


    "No," Blade said adamantly.


    "Give me the goddamned gun."


    After a pause, Blade reluctantly pulled out his gun and placed it in Whistler''s trembling hand.


    "Now walk away, you stupid son of a bitch," Whistler ordered weakly.


    Blade didn''t move, his hand still over Whistler''s, holding the gun steady. "Walk the fuck away," Whistler said again, more firmly this time.


    Blade finally turned and walked away, making it less than a dozen paces before the gunshot echoed behind him.


    As Blade walked away from the final moments of his only friend, his gaze caught on a camcorder resting nearby, labeled, "PLAY ME." Suspicion flared, and he reached for the device, knowing in his gut that Frost had left him a final mocking gift.


    He cued the tape, and Frost''s smug face appeared on the tiny built-in screen. "Hello, Blade. By the time you watch this, Whistler will no doubt be winging his way to Heaven, thanks to your capable hands." Frost touched a deep gash that ran across his cheek. "If it makes any difference to you, he put up quite a fight."


    Frost''s icy blue eyes glinted with malice. "Now, I''m sure you''re wondering about Ms. Jansen''s well-being. She''s alive and kicking, or ''ambulatory,'' as they like to say in the trade." His grin widened, revealing the points of his fangs. "Whether or not she remains so is entirely up to you."


    Leaning in close to the camera, Frost whispered, "I''ll make this as easy as possible for you, Blade. You can find us at the Edgewood Towers. We''ll be waiting with bated breath."


    The tape cut to static. Blade stared at the black screen, jaw clenched, barely containing the tidal wave of rage surging through him. With a roar of anger, he hurled the camcorder against the concrete wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces of broken plastic.


    Blade stood alone in the workshop, methodically preparing for the coming battle. The pungent smell of molten silver filled the air as he cast bullets. Row upon row of syringes filled with EDTA, an anti-coagulant that would cause vampires to explode, lay assembled before him.


    Pausing in his work, Blade closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, seeking to center himself. In the stillness, his thoughts turned to his mentor, Whistler. The old man was dead at the hands of Deacon Frost. Though he tried to shut it out, the hollow ache of that loss throbbed within his chest. Whistler had always watched his back, pulling his ass out of the fire more times than Blade cared to recall. Without the cantankerous old hunter at his side, this fight felt like a suicide mission. Blade was no fool. He knew Frost likely had dozens of vampires awaiting him, and to walk into such a deathtrap alone was madness. As much as it galled him, Blade needed help. Those he trusted enough to guard his back against vampires were few and far between.


    Blade considered his options, but none inspired confidence except, perhaps, for the young mutant he had encountered at the nightclub, the one who called himself Mirage. Blade had mistakenly tried to kill him, not realizing the kid was something else. With his girlfriend, Mirage had proven himself capable against vampires, displaying powers unlike anything Blade had seen. And he had offered his aid if needed. It wasn''t an ideal choice, but Mirage may be Blade''s only hope for surviving this fight.


    Rising from his meditation, Blade began loading his weapons with smooth, practiced motions, the clicks of metal sliding home echoing through the workshop. With Whistler''s memory burning fierce in his heart, Blade steeled himself to recruit new allies and confront the vampire who had taken everything from him. Frost would pay for what he''d done. Blade would see to it personally.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Blade surveyed Frost''s penthouse through a pair of binoculars from his vantage point on the roof of a building across the street. The windows were darkened by polarized glass, blocking out the harsh rays of the afternoon sun and making it abundantly clear that this luxurious dwelling served as a vampire''s lair.


    Lowering the binoculars, he hefted an air-launcher rifle into position and took careful aim. With a swift, precise motion, he fired. The iron spike, trailing a thin but sturdy steel cable, rocketed through the air before sinking firmly into the concrete fa?ade of Frost''s penthouse.


    Blade quickly secured the rope, anchoring it firmly to the roof''s safety railing. He slipped a small pulley over the taut cable, grabbed the two attached handles, and leaped off the roof''s edge. With a sudden whoosh, he slid towards Frost''s penthouse, suspended twenty stories above the busy street below. The wind rushed past his face as he closed in on the building.


    Releasing his grip on the handles a mere second before reaching the windows, Blade''s momentum carried him crashing through the glass in a spectacular shower of shards that rained down on the polished marble floor.


    A shrill alarm immediately rang out, echoing within the expansive penthouse. Bright sunlight streamed through the shattered window, causing two vampire guards caught unprepared in the sudden swath of light to let out agonized shrieks as they burned to ash before Blade''s eyes. He climbed swiftly to his feet, his stance ready for action, his senses on high alert.


    A third vampire leaped at Blade with a feral snarl, but he spun with lightning reflexes, flipping the attacker over his shoulder and sending him straight through one of the other windows in a burst of shattered glass. Blade swiftly unsheathed his sword, the well-worn leather grip fitting comfortably in his palm, and strode with purpose down the hallway.


    To Blade''s right was the inner chamber with its ostentatious waterfall walls. As another vampire rushed towards him, fangs bared, Blade readied his sword in anticipation.


    "You think I''m afraid of that toothpick of yours?" the vampire sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.


    "You should be," Blade responded, "I''ve made some improvements."


    With that, Blade thrust his obsidian sword forward in a blur, the sharpened point piercing deep into the vampire''s chest. The creature let out an agonized shriek as he flew apart in a fine ash mist, atomizing before Blade''s eyes with a loud "FWOOSH!"


    Blade continued his relentless advance down the hallway, ready to destroy anything in his path.


    Blade stalked forward, his boots echoing on the cold concrete floor. Up ahead, he spotted a set of imposing steel doors sealed by an electronic time lock. Without hesitation, he swiftly drew his Mack 11 and aimed. The gun bucked in his grip as he fired, the heavy magnum rounds blasting away the lock mechanism in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. Not slowing his advance, Blade stepped up and slammed his shoulder into the doors, forcing them open with a resounding metallic screech.


    Beyond lay Frost''s private sleeping chamber, a stark, windowless room. The futuristic coffin resembled a cross between a high-end bed and a hyperbaric pod. Gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, Blade grabbed the lid and wrenched it upward with a grunt of effort. The heavy lid rose with a pneumatic hiss, billowing frigid mist into the vampire hunter''s face.


    As the mist cleared, Blade tensed, ready to plunge his sword downward into the revealed occupant. But it was not Deacon Frost lying motionless beneath him. Instead, to Blade''s utter shock, it was his mother, Vanessa. Though thirty years had passed since their last fateful encounter, she appeared unchanged - vibrant, beautiful, and full of life. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Blade''s stunned gaze.


    "Eric," she whispered, using his birth name.


    Blade gasped, momentarily frozen. "Mother...?"


    He stared in disbelief as Vanessa stepped towards him. "I''ve missed you so much, Eric," she murmured, her voice filled with longing. "You have no idea what I''ve been through or how much I''ve wanted to see you again after all these years."


    He faltered at the incomprehensible sight before him. His mother was dead, slain by a vampire decades ago. Yet here she was, seemingly alive, reaching out to him with a look of maternal love and affection.


    In an instant, her expression changed, revealing fangs. With a vicious snarl, she struck, brutally raking her claws across Blade''s face and knocking the sword from his grasp.


    Before Blade could react, three black-clad vampires entered the room, emerging from where they had been waiting in ambush outside. Each armed with a cattle prod, which they fired simultaneously at the stunned vampire hunter.


    Blade gritted his teeth as he was attacked from all sides, electricity coursing through his muscular frame. He collapsed in a heap, muscles spasming from the paralyzing shocks. Struggling, he lifted his head, looking up at Vanessa with disbelief and pain. "But you...died..." he whispered hoarsely.


    Vanessa''s smile was hellish, her eyes glowing with malice. "Deacon brought me back," she said.


    "Fight him, Mother," Blade pleaded through gritted teeth, his voice strained.


    Deacon Frost appeared by Vanessa''s side as if on cue, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the nape of her neck. She leaned into him, an act of intimacy that turned Blade''s stomach.


    "She can''t fight me," Frost said smugly. "She''s one of my thralls now. Nothing more than a puppet on a string." He looked at Vanessa with a twisted smile. "You love me, don''t you, Vanessa?"


    "Yes," Vanessa replied hollowly, her will bent to his.


    Deacon Frost greedily kissed Vanessa, savoring her submission as a thrall under his control. Then he turned his attention to the helpless Blade lying on the floor.


    Blade struggled futilely. "Please¡ª" he whispered, desperation filling his voice.


    "Listen to your father, Eric," she said in an eerily calm tone. "It''s going to be a better world."


    Blade stared at Vanessa in disbelief, his mind reeling from her words.


    "Don''t look so surprised, Blade," Frost mockingly said as he gazed down at his helpless foe. "You''ve spent your life hunting for the vampire who sired you. Well, you can rest easy now. You''ve found him." He gripped Blade''s chin and forced him to meet his taunting eyes. "Daddy''s here."


    Blade''s eyes widened in shocked realization, Frost''s words hitting him like a physical blow. Frost laughed, clearly relishing the anguish on Blade''s face as the truth slammed into him. Frost''s mocking words echoed in his mind, each a dagger to his soul. Years of questions and torment led to this moment.


    "It''s true, Blade. You''ve got my blood running through your veins. Thirty years ago, I came across a woman walking home alone on a moonlit street." His tongue flicked out, caressing his fangs. "That was the night I tore into your mother''s throat and made you what you are."


    Blade trembled with rage, straining against his bonds. To come so far, after so much struggle and sacrifice, only to find his sire was the monster he had devoted his life to destroying. Frost''s laughter rang in his ears, compounding his anguish. The day of reckoning had arrived, but not as Blade had imagined. Now, he could only stare into the eyes of the vampire who had created him, and now, defeated him.


    Then Frost raised the cattle prod and sent another agonizing jolt of electricity through Blade''s body until he lost consciousness.


    Frost stood triumphantly over the dhampir''s motionless form with a wicked smile.

 Arc 6 - Ch 15: La Magra

    Chapter 82


    Arc 6 - Ch 15: La Magra


    Date: Tuesday, June 28, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    Blade had just left the House of M. Tyson had invited the dhampir inside and listened to his proposal for a temporary team-up. Of course, Tyson agreed. Blade knew Frost needed his blood, and the hunter had a plan.


    A forward assault on Frost''s penthouse.


    If Blade could take out the vampire, that would be great. If not, when Blade was captured, Tyson would be the cavalry.


    After Blade''s departure, Tyson set his own plans in motion. He gathered the members of the House of M in the executive lounge. Connors, Jubilee, Felicia, and Vanko all turned their attention to their leader, noting his grave expression.


    "Blade informed me of the location of his previous headquarters," Tyson explained. "It was overrun by vampires earlier."


    He turned first to Jubilee and Vanko. "I need the two of you to head there right away. Salvage anything and everything that wasn''t destroyed in the attack." His gaze lingered on Jubilee. "Blade''s mentor, an older man named Whistler with white hair, was bitten during the raid. Blade presumes he is dead, but I am not so sure. If you find him, bring him back here immediately." Vanko grunted in acquiescence. Next, Tyson addressed Connors and Felicia. "Doc, I''ll need you to draw a substantial amount of my blood. Stockpile it for Whistler in case he has turned, as well as reserves for Jubilee and possibly even Blade himself."


    Finally, he regarded Felicia. "I know you already have your hands full, but I''ll need you to coordinate everyone''s efforts. After Blade''s base is stripped, anonymously call the cops and let them deal with the bodies of the familiars."


    "Consider it done," Felicia assured.


    Jubilee''s expression turned indignant, her lips pursing into a slight pout. "Are you sure you don''t want me for backup as well?" she asked. He could tell from her tone that she wanted to participate more actively in the impending action.


    "I need someone here to contain Whistler, just in case things go awry," he replied, "You''re the only one who could go toe to toe with a vampire. Plus, once Blade starts flinging silver around, I don''t want you anywhere near the area. We also can''t risk the vampires realizing there''s a second ''daywalker'' in play."


    Jubilee crossed her arms, looking mildly miffed. Her expression was one of reluctant acceptance. "Fine," she muttered after a moment, the word emerging almost as a grumble.


    "I will come back in one piece. You have my word," he promised, infusing his voice with utter sincerity. "The plan is solid, and I can see everything working out."


    Jubilee''s frustration evaporated slowly in the face of Tyson''s confidence. She understood the hidden meaning in his words, being the only one privy to his vision of the future. She knew when he said he''d ''see'' everything working, he meant it, literally, referring to his visions.


    "But if I''m supposed to pull Blade''s ass out of the fire, there''s no harm in having you as backup to pull out mine," he acquiesced. "Just in case."


    Jubilee''s eyes lit up at his words.


    "When Whistler is secured in the vault, leave some of my blood with him and a note explaining the situation," he instructed. "Then you can come back me up." Tyson addressed the others who had gathered. "Once Jubilee leaves, the rest of you suit up, just in case. Vamps are sneaky and fast. Everyone needs to stay on guard until I return. Got it?"


    Everyone murmured their agreement and understanding.


    "Alright!" Jubilee exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels in excitement. "Let''s get to work."


    Tyson sat still as Connors drew bag after bag of his blood. The mutant was an endless font, his veins supplying an impossible volume that left the doctor bewildered. No matter how much blood Connors siphoned away, more continued to flow freely from his arteries.


    Connors pondered the medical impossibility as he worked. Where was all this blood coming from? Tyson was a big man, but he didn''t have vast stores of fat to convert to resources. His physique was all muscle and sinew, with barely any excess. Yet the bags kept filling, Tyson''s pallor never faded, and his pulse remained steady. It made his mutant ability seem almost mystical in origin, as if some supernatural force was fueling the neverending blood supply.


    Tyson observed the doctor''s deepening frown, the confusion in his eyes as he sought a scientific explanation. But the workings of Tyson''s mutant gift were beyond conventional understanding. His biology seemed to operate by different rules, defying rational bounds.


    Once satisfied with the amount collected, Connors nodded and stepped back.


    "That should be sufficient for now," he said.


    Tyson rolled down his sleeve and stood up from the exam table. "Appreciate it, doc."


    Jubilee and Vanko had already departed, heading to Blade''s base. Tyson headed in a different direction, intending to follow Blade at a distance and serve as overwatch.


    Tyson parked his motorcycle a block away from Edgewood Towers, keeping a cautious distance as he observed the imposing high-rise. The Tower, otherwise known as The Edge, was on the west side of Manhattan, in Hudson Yards, only about 2 miles from House of M.


    Pulling out his phone, Tyson tapped into the live feed from the bodycam they had outfitted on Blade''s armored vest. Tyson watched the feed with grudging admiration. Not only was the dhampir an engine of destruction, with his skills honed by decades of hunting the vampires, but his dramatic entry had left Tyson taking notes.


    Blade had already breached the building''s defenses. Subtlety was not the dhampir''s style. As Tyson approached, he couldn''t help but admire the scene.


    The vampire hunter had burst through the window, shattering the glass by swinging from an adjacent building on a makeshift zipline.


    Tyson watched as Blade confronted what he expected to be Deacon Frost. Instead, the dhampir found his mother, Vanessa. The revelation caught Blade off guard, and before he could react, he was ambushed from behind, quickly overwhelmed and captured by Frost''s minions. Tyson remained in his position, not moving to help but sticking to their agreed-upon plan. If Blade was unsuccessful in taking down Frost, Tyson would wait and track their location, ensuring they could still stop the ritual to raise La Magra, the Blood God.


    Tyson watched as Blade was dragged out unconscious, along with a human woman, and carelessly tossed into the back of a van. He wanted to leap into action, but he held back. Now was not the right time to strike. Patience was needed if they hoped to prevent La Magra from being unleashed.


    As the van pulled away, Tyson inhaled deeply, catching its scent. He knew to follow from a distance, maintaining a safe buffer between them. Calling upon his heightened senses, Tyson stalked the van through the city streets. He abandoned his motorcycle in favor of running on foot. It was far more stealthy than the loud vehicle, and in city traffic, he was easily able to keep pace while maintaining an illusion that allowed him to go unnoticed by the civilians. Tyson never allowed the vehicle out of his sight or range of smell. Keeping his distance, he tracked the van''s path through Manhattan. His senses locked onto the vehicle like a predator after prey.


    Tyson listened through his earpiece to the conversation from Blade''s hidden camera as he pursued the van on foot. The woman, Karen, sounded concerned as she asked, "Are you all right?"


    "I''ve been better," came Blade''s weak reply, pain evident even through the tiny speaker.


    Tyson slipped between honking taxis, focused wholly on the white van ahead. He tuned out the sounds of the city, listening only to the conversation within the vehicle.


    "How long have we been driving?" Blade asked.


    Karen''s reply was tinged with confusion. "I don''t know. I woke up just before you did." She crossed the van, her pretty face creased with worry as she evaluated the dhampir''s condition. "Is it bad?" she asked softly.


    Blade said, "I''m healing, but it''s been too long since I had my serum. The hunger is beginning to set in." He grit his teeth, trying to ignore Karen''s closeness and her scent. "If we get out of this alive, maybe I''ll take that miracle cure of yours."


    Tyson halted his pursuit as he processed Blade''s words. He''d forgotten this part of the movie. Karen was a doctor. He remembered that she''d been the one to determine that EDTA, an anticoagulant, would pop vampires like balloons if they were injected with it. But she''d also somehow developed a cure for vampirism.


    Karen hesitated at Blade''s admittance. Her expression was conflicted as she looked away as if wrestling with an awful truth.


    "It won''t work on you," she finally admitted.


    Blade''s sharp frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"


    Karen forced herself to meet his gaze. Her lovely eyes swam with grief. "Your condition¡¯s congenital. The genetic mutations occurred in utero. All the other victims contracted vampirism after birth." Blade stared, stunned by the cruel irony. "I can''t cure you, Blade. I cured myself, but I can''t cure you. I''m so sorry."


    Tyson mulled over this new information. Once Blade dealt with Deacon Frost, perhaps the doctor Karen could be persuaded to share her cure. If it worked on those turned after birth, there was a chance it could help Jubilee.


    He would have to ensure Karen survived this ordeal.


    Finally, the van rolled to a stop at the intersection of Beaver and Broad streets in the Financial District. Broad Street was perpetually blocked against traffic, but there were men dressed as police who waved the van past the barrier. They must be vamps because they lifted the concrete barricades out of the way by hand and replaced them after the van entered. Broad Street was closed to traffic but open to pedestrians. But Tyson didn''t want to draw attention to himself, so he remained at the intersection. Even from the corner, he could see Blade and Karen being forcibly dragged out of the van by their captors. He watched them hauled towards a dark hole in the ground where Broad Street had been excavated.


    Instead of following, Tyson walked into the Starbucks at the corner and grabbed a seat. He pulled out his cell phone, intent on watching Blade''s bodycam footage. On the small screen, he saw Blade and Karen being pushed down into the hole. The name of the adjacent building came into focus in the video.


    The Bank of Erebus.


    Now underground, Blade and Karen were forcibly dragged through a series of ancient-looking tunnels by their vampire captors. The walls were constructed of marble-like stone. The tunnels were lit with strings of construction lights and bare hanging bulbs, all linked together by exposed wiring. The vampires must have set up this makeshift lighting system themselves. The walls were adorned with intricate, illegible symbols and runes.


    Blade and Karen were forced ever deeper into the bowels of the ancient bank, heading straight towards the heart of the structure where Frost and his vampire minions awaited their arrival.


    Frost turned to Karen and Blade with a serious look. He stood at the entrance to a vast chamber, one hand extended in a grand, welcoming gesture. "On the surface, this venerable building houses one of the city''s oldest financial institutions," he said, his voice smooth and self-assured. "For over two centuries, it has served our corporate needs admirably. But look below the fa?ade, and you''ll uncover a very different truth."


    They were forcibly marched forward until they stood at the precipice, peering down into the expansive space. A colossal, barrel-vaulted cathedral crafted from alabaster and marble stretched below them. The grandeur was undeniable.


    Frost''s smile turned smug as he watched Blade and Karen''s awestruck reaction. "Welcome to our hall of ancients," he purred, his voice swollen with pride. "We call it the Temple of Eternal Night."


    Despite the soaring arches and intricate carvings adorning its walls, the cathedral''s beauty was marred by the addition of recessed tombs lining its circumference. These ominous alcoves lent an eerie quality to the already imposing space.


    Blade and Karen were surrounded by the vampire elders, each a leader from their respective tribe, but they were also held captive by Frost and his minions. Deacon Frost looked around the space with an air of triumph, smugly smiling as he spoke.


    "Nice, isn''t it? Apparently, those geniuses up top forgot this place ever existed. Fortunately for us. I''m what you might call a student of history." Frost slowly strode over to Blade, "Why are we here, you ask?" He continued, anticipation dripping from every word. "This temple was built for one glorious moment. For tonight. For the Blood God."


    Without warning, one of Frost''s vampire henchmen approached Blade and punched him hard across the face. The forceful blow made Blade stagger, dropping him to his knees with a grunt of pain. He remained kneeling before Frost, seemingly dazed.


    Frost turned to the minion and said, "Thanks. He does look better on his knees."


    Tyson, sitting in a booth in Starbucks watching the feed, muttered, "Pause."


    The minion who held Blade''s sheathed sword in his hand passed it to Deacon. "Let''s see this sword of his," he said, a sneer twisting his pale features.


    The man dutifully drew the sword from its scabbard and handed it over. Frost grasped the hilt and sighted down the length of the gleaming silver blade, testing its balance and weight. Then, lowering it so the tip hovered at eye level with the kneeling Blade, he flicked his thumb over the sword''s security mechanism, disabling it.


    "I told you, Blade," Frost mocked. I know everything about you, down to the security measures on your sword."


    "Blade!" Karen cried out, her voice shrill with fear as she took an involuntary step forward.


    Frost cut her off, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look at his face. He can''t hear you, honey. It''s the Thirst, you see? It already has him firmly in its grip."


    Reaching down, Frost grabbed a fistful of Blade''s hair and wrenched his head up, eliciting a grunt of pain. Karen could only watch in horror as Frost continued to taunt the weakened vampire hunter.


    "How long has it been since you''ve had your serum, Blade?" Frost crooned. His words were soft yet barbed. "Twelve hours? More? You must be quite thirsty by now."


    Frost crouched down so he was at eye level with Blade, his pale face just inches away. "What does it feel like? Is your blood on fire? Are you burning up from the inside out? Give in to the Thirst, Blade. Embrace your true nature."


    One of the minions stepped forward and handed Frost the arm holster containing Blade''s vials of EDTA.


    "And what''s this we have here?" Frost held up one of the vials, the blue liquid glinting in the dim light. "Your precious serum?" He let out a mocking laugh, tossing the vial casually from hand to hand. "I don''t think you''ll be needing this anymore."


    "You should try it," Blade weakly goaded defiantly in his strained voice. "You might like it."


    Frost''s face twisted in disgust. "I prefer the real thing. In any case, I don''t think you''ll be needing these anymore." And with that, he callously tossed the vials over the edge into the yawning abyss below.


    Blade gritted his teeth, murderously glaring as he watched the last of his serum plummet into the darkness. Too bad. If Frost had taken the EDTA, Blade''s problems would''ve been solved. The vampire minions hauled Blade to his feet, holding him upright before their master.


    "It''s a shame, you know," Frost continued conversationally. "When I think about what you could have become. What you should have become. It''s the human side of you that''s made you weak. You should have listened to your blood."


    "Say what you want," Blade responded coldly, "but I promise you''ll be dead by dawn."


    The minion who had punched Blade earlier let out a mocking "Oooh," followed by raucous laughter. "He''s beaten, and he still talks like he''s the fucking boogieman."


    Blade was dragged forcibly from the chamber by Frost''s vampire minions, his feet scraping along the floor as he struggled against their grip.


    "Get all these fucks downstairs," Frost ordered, referring to the vampire elders with contempt. Then he approached Karen. "Don''t worry, sweetheart. We haven''t forgotten about you," Frost said in a sinister tone.


    In the Starbucks at the corner, Tyson stood from his table. The situation had reached a critical point, and he knew it was time to act. The chatter and aroma of the coffee shop seemed utterly incongruous with the dark supernatural events unfolding just down the block. As Tyson strode toward the door, a bright figure appeared just outside.


    Jubilee stood there in her signature vivid yellow jacket, "Am I late?" she asked.


    Tyson glanced up at the brightly-clad figure bouncing on her toes outside the coffee shop, a wry smile touching his lips. "Right on time, Jubilee. But we''re going to have to ditch the neon jacket for this mission - not exactly stealthy."


    "No problem!" Jubilee chirped, already shrugging out of the garish yellow coat to reveal darker clothes underneath. She held up the pair of blood bags clutched in her hand. "I came prepared for sneaky vamp mode."


    Tyson chuckled as he pulled two fox half-masks from his pocket. He tossed one to Jubilee, who caught it deftly. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with excitement as she secured it to her face.


    "Does this make me your trusty sidekick now?" she asked, an impish grin curving her lips. "Ooh, I''ll need a code name!"


    Tyson snorted, "You could be... Sparkles, the vampire." She dissolved into giggles at his joke. "Let''s get moving, Twilight. We''ve got work to do." With a jerk of his chin, Tyson set off down the sidewalk.


    "Wait, seriously, Ty, I kinda like the name ''Twilight,''" Jubilee said as she skipped to keep pace beside him.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    A cold, oppressive atmosphere permeated the room. Blade stood helpless and weakened, strapped into a stone sarcophagus in the center of the chamber ringed by ancient stone walls. Around him stood a half dozen vampiric familiars. They watched the unfolding scene with flat expressions. Vanessa, Blade''s mother, approached. She stroked his cheek with a gentle touch.


    "You poor child," she whispered. "You''re so sick. So thirsty."


    Blade grimaced and jerked his face away from her caress. "Don''t touch me," he muttered through gritted teeth.


    "Eric, look at me," Vanessa commanded, her voice soft yet compelling. "Vampires are my people now. I''m one of them."


    Blade''s expression hardened, the lines of his face etching deep with despair. "That can''t be," he whispered.


    "Yes, it can," Vanessa said firmly. "Try to understand, Eric. Your mother died a long time ago. I''ve hunted. I''ve killed. And I''ve enjoyed it. Haven''t you? I know you have." As she spoke, she leaned closer until her face was mere inches from his. Close enough that Blade could see the dark truth of her words reflected in her eyes.


    "Sooner or later, the thirst always wins." She held Blade''s gaze, challenging him to deny what they both knew to be true.


    Tyson and Jubilee observed the tense interaction between Vanessa and Bladeat from the side entrance to the chamber. Tyson whispered loudly enough for Vanessa to hear, "This whole situation feels strange, don''t you think? They''re supposed to be mother and son. But she''s far too intimate, almost seductive. The way she touches and caresses him while he''s strapped down and helpless." Tyson paused, shaking his head. "I wouldn''t be surprised if she leaned in to kiss him at any moment. And not in a way a mother should kiss her child." He gestured towards Blade''s mother. "Plus, look at her. She looks younger than he does despite supposedly being his mother. Admittedly, she''s kinda hot, but it''s just not natural."


    Jubilee gave a noncommittal shrug, seemingly unbothered by Tyson''s observations. "Maybe it''s a cultural thing between vampires," she replied casually. "In anime, you often see forbidden relationships between siblings. This could be something like that."


    "I suppose if you didn''t age, it would cause all kinds of weird taboos to become normalized over time." Tyson nodded sagely, satisfied with Jubilee''s rationalization. "Even so, should we consider calling Child Protective Services? Or the cops? I''m pretty sure incest is illegal in New York."


    Vanessa bristled in anger at the comments from the unfamiliar pair, their flippant tones grating on her nerves. She whirled to face the assembled familiars, rage contorting her beautiful features as she commanded, "Kill them!"


    But the familiars did not move, oblivious to her words. They were locked in Tyson''s illusion, unaware of any changes to the scene before them. Her order went unheeded as they continued to see only her and Blade conversing.


    Tyson smirked, clicking his tongue in mock dismay. "Humans," he tutted condescendingly. "So unreliable. Damned difficult to find good help these days."


    Still bound within the sarcophagus, Blade began laughing. The sound started low and grew to echo through the chamber.


    His backup had arrived.


    Vanessa glared at the newcomers. Seeing that he wore a mask, seemed utterly unworried at facing a vampire, and that the familiars were unresponsive, she finally realized something was very wrong.


    She made a desperate dash for the exit, but before she could escape the confines of the chamber, Jubilee intercepted, hitting her with a powerful blow that knocked Vanessa stumbling back into the room. Regaining her balance, she glared venomously at Jubilee. She turned to attack the masked man. But Tyson was already waiting to pounce. As Vanessa lunged towards him, fangs bared, and hands outstretched, he effortlessly blocked her wild attack. Using his superior fighting skills and greater strength, he quickly overpowered the enraged vampire. Twisted Vanessa''s arm sharply behind her back, Tyson pinned her face down against the cold floor.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "You should have stuck to maternal advice. Fighting is clearly not your forte," Tyson tutted condescendingly, keeping the struggling vampire immobilized beneath him. "How is your son such a badass when you can''t even throw a proper punch?"


    Vanessa continued to writhe and hiss beneath him, consumed by impotent rage. "Get off me!" she spat venomously.


    But Tyson''s grip remained unbreakable. "Not happening," he calmly replied, unfazed by her fury. "You''re staying right here."


    Jubilee moved to unstrap Blade from the stone sarcophagus where Vanessa had cruelly bound him. As the last strap fell free, Blade nearly collapsed, his legs buckling weakly beneath him. Jubilee caught the faltering vampire hunter under his arms, supporting his weight as she helped ease him down to sit on the dusty floor. Wordlessly, she pressed a blood bag into his hands.


    Blade''s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously at the offering. "What''s this?" he rasped, his voice still weak and ragged.


    "It''s the good stuff," Tyson replied, not taking his eyes off of Vanessa as he kept the vampire pinned facedown against the unforgiving stone. His knee ground sharply into her back while he wrenched her arm up at a painful angle. Vanessa continued to struggle and spit curses beneath him.


    Blade''s suspicious gaze flicked to Tyson briefly before returning to scrutinize the blood bag in his hands.


    "It''s my blood, freely given," Tyson explained. "Drink up. It will restore your strength so we can finish this fight."


    For a long moment, Blade hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he drank deeply from the bag. The effect of Tyson''s powerful blood was immediate. Blade could feel strength and vitality rushing back into his limbs, energizing his weakened body. By the time he drained the last drop, the vampire hunter was restored.


    "Damn. That''s a rush," he said, ready to unleash vengeance upon his captors.


    As Blade regained his strength, Tyson ruthlessly delivered two heavy punches to Vanessa''s face, stunning the vampire into momentary stillness. Seizing the opportunity, he and Jubilee dragged Vanessa''s limp form over to the open sarcophagus. Vanessa recovered her wits and began to struggle wildly, but even her strength was no match for their efforts. Working quickly, they forced her in and secured the thick leather straps over her arms, torso, and legs.


    "You''ll regret this," Vanessa hissed venomously, straining against her bonds as Tyson tightened the last strap.


    Tyson''s expression remained cool and detached as he stepped back. "I doubt that," he replied as he brought the open end of the sarcophagus forward, enclosing her.


    With Vanessa fully subdued, Tyson and Jubilee stood by Blade. The vampire hunter rose smoothly to his feet, steady and strong once more.


    "Let''s end this," Blade declared, his deep voice resonating with ruthless purpose.


    Jubilee''s eyes shone with excitement and conviction. "Hell yeah, let''s do it!" she exclaimed eagerly, practically vibrating with enthusiasm for the fight ahead.


    Tyson''s expression turned roguishly cheeky as he boldly added, "I''m not going to lie. If we don''t have to face the Blood God, this mission might prove disappointingly easy."


    Blade raised a skeptical eyebrow at the young mutant''s brash overconfidence while Jubilee gaped at Tyson, aghast. "Damn it, Ty," she exclaimed, smacking his arm reproachfully. "Why''d you have to go and jinx us like that?"


    Tyson raised his hands in mock contrition, though his eyes still glinted with mischief. "My bad, my bad," he replied, his tone saturated with sarcasm.


    Jubilee huffed in exasperation, planting her fists on her slim hips as she glared up at him. "Oh sure, no big deal," she said, her voice dripping with equal parts sarcasm and real concern as her eyes flicked around the shadowy tomb. "I mean, it''s not like we''re trying to stop a freaking vampire apocalypse or anything!"


    Before Tyson could toss off another flippant remark, Blade intervened, his deep voice resonating with impatience. "Enough," he rasped. "Save the bickering for later. We need to take out these familiars and keep moving."


    With a casual wave of his hand, mimicking Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tyson flexed his ability and said, "Sleep." The familiars crumpled limply to the ground.


    Jubilee turned widened eyes on Mirage. "Since when can you do that?" she asked, clearly impressed.


    Tyson just shrugged nonchalantly. "Didn''t think it would actually work."


    As they spoke, one of the slumbering vampires pitched forward, accidentally triggering a hidden switch on the floor. A loud click rang through the tomb, followed by Vanessa''s panicked screams from within her stony prison. The switch caused the sarcophagus blades to slice into her immobilized body, releasing thin rivulets of her blood to trickle down the sarcophagus in crimson trails.


    Tyson cringed. "Ah, shit. My bad," was all he said, as if he''d merely spilled his drink at happy hour rather than accidentally torturing their hostage.


    At this, Jubilee smacked her palm against her forehead in sheer frustration. Blade, unable to believe these two irreverent teenagers were his only backup, simply scowled in wordless irritation.


    "It''s fine, though, right? She''s not the daywalker. Her blood won''t complete the ritual. It''ll ruin it¡­ Right?" he asked, continuing to grin unrepentantly. Jubilee rolled her eyes with a groan and smacked his muscular arm in reprimand.


    "Playtime''s over," Blade bit out gruffly. Shaking his head in disbelief that fate had saddled him with such unprofessional partners. The vampire hunter swept his long leather coat behind him and strode toward the tomb''s entrance without bothering to check if the others followed. Tyson and Jubilee quickly moved to keep up. As the group reached the entryway, Blade paused and glanced back at his entombed mother. For a fleeting moment, his stony expression softened into something almost like sorrow. Then he hardened his resolve, turning his back on her to face the battle that lay ahead.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The vast, barrel-vaulted ceiling of the temple''s main chamber loomed high above the gathered vampires. Its rune-carved stone seemed to pulse with a dark energy. Blood began to stream from the ceiling in fat, crimson droplets, falling onto the pale foreheads of the pureblood vampires held captive below. They recoiled in disgust as the viscous fluid splashed onto their pale foreheads, staining them a vivid red. The purebloods struggled fiercely against the grips of their captors, their efforts growing increasingly frantic as they tried in vain to avoid the steady rain of blood. Their eyes widened in horror, their features twisting in expressions of fear and desperation. But the other vampires, those loyal to Deacon Frost, held the purebloods firmly in place, forcing them to accept the sanguine baptism.


    In the center of the chamber stood Frost alone. His icy blue eyes gleamed with dark triumph as he observed the scene unfolding before him. "Is everybody thirsty?" his shout echoed through the vaulted space. "I hope you''re all fucking thirsty!" the exclamation was met with raucous cheers from his loyal followers, interspersed with cries of outrage from the unwilling purebloods.


    Deacon Frost stood tall as the streams of blood converged above him, his icy blue eyes fixed on the swelling crimson droplet. He had torn his shirt open, baring his pale chest with his arms outstretched. Blood flowed steadily from the intricate circle carved into the vaulted ceiling, tracing the runic channels down the ancient stone. It clung in viscous trails as it crept toward the center. When the streams converged in a single pendulous bead, it would drop into the depths of the ritual chamber, where he waited.


    It would be the moment of his ascension.


    He would become La Magra, the Blood God.


    The ritual was interrupted by the sharp retort of a gunshot, the smell of ash raining down as one of the vampire guards above met their end. All eyes turned upward in time to see a dark figure launch himself from the upper level of the chamber. He landed in a crouch at the ground level with a resounding boom that echoed through the vaulted space. Slowly, the figure rose to his full imposing height, his features unmistakable despite the lack of his signature leather coat.


    Blade.


    "Frost!" The dhampir''s shout reverberated through the chamber, his gaze fixed on the vampire with fiery intensity. Devoid of his usual sword, which still lay with Frost, Blade''s posture nonetheless radiated coiled danger. The other vampires shifted uneasily, startled by the sudden and dramatic appearance of their dreaded enemy.


    Tyson''s heart raced as he landed beside Blade, the impact of his first superhero landing reverberating through his bones. He rose to his full height, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the lithe form of Jubilee beside him. Despite the gravity of the situation, a small part of him couldn''t help but feel a thrill at the dramatic entrance.


    "That might have been my first superhero landing," he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. But in a room full of vampires with enhanced hearing, his words carried farther than intended.


    Frost''s icy eyes narrowed as he took in the new arrivals. His lip curled in a sneer, his voice dripping with disdain as he addressed Blade. "Who the hell are you two? You lost Whistler and had to pick up the B-squad?"


    Tyson felt a surge of indignation at being dismissed so easily. He pointed dramatically at Frost. "Your time''s running out, Edward Cullen," he declared, his voice ringing through the chamber. "I''m Van Helsing, and this is my spunky, attractive prot¨¦g¨¦, Buffy."


    Beside him, Jubilee let out an exasperated sigh, her hand meeting her forehead again in a facepalm. But Tyson could see her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.


    The tension in the room shifted, and the vampires were unsure how to react to this unexpected turn of events. Some looked confused, others amused, while a few seemed to bristle at the newcomer''s audacity.


    Blade, for his part, remained stoic. But there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that might have been the ghost of a smile.


    Frost''s amusement quickly turned to anger. "Are you mocking me?" he snarled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I''m about to become a god." But his face twisted in annoyance as he was interrupted.


    "Wouldn''t be the first god I''ve fought."


    It wasn''t just Frost who''d had enough. His most loyal minion, the same one who had punched Blade earlier, charged at the dhampir with a menacing snarl. The chamber filled with the sounds of the approaching vampire, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls. Blade¡¯s eyes narrowed as he knelt down, grabbing a line of silver wire attached to his vest.


    The minion charged. But as he neared, Blade drew the silver wire taut, stood, and spun with his arm outstretched. The silver wire caught the minion''s neck, and Blade completed his spin. The vamp''s head separated from his body, and he burst into ash and sparks, disintegrating, its remains scattered into the air, leaving only a faint shimmer where he had stood.


    Frost¡¯s eyes narrowed as he watched his minion fall, his expression darkening with anger. "Impressive," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you''re too late, Blade. The ritual has already begun."


    "We¡¯ll see about that," he replied.


    The remaining vampires closed ranks, encircling Blade, Tyson, and Jubilee. More of Frost''s minions emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing red with bloodlust as they stalked toward the outnumbered heroes.


    Tyson flashed a roguish grin at Jubilee, unfazed by the odds. "Just like the club, eh? You''re on ranged damage, and I''ll tank?"


    Jubilee returned his confident smile, hands aglow with building plasmic energy. "If it ain''t broke, don''t fix it."


    The standoff shattered as one vampire lunged at Jubilee, fangs bared for the kill. With practiced ease, Jubilee''s hands erupted in a dazzling display of colorful fireworks. But before her plasmoids could fly, Tyson''s dagger whistled through the air, plunging hilt-deep into the attacking vampire''s chest.


    The creature staggered, surprise widening its glowing eyes. Tyson retrieved his blade in one smooth motion and decapitated the vampire. The headless body crumbled into ash and embers, scattered by an unfelt wind.


    Enraged, the remaining vampires tensed to attack. One broke ranks, barreling at Tyson with preternatural speed. "You smell so fucking delicious," it rasped, bloody spittle flying from its maw.


    Jubilee was faster. Her plasmoids incinerated the vampire mid-leap in a blinding pyrotechnic conflagration, reducing it to swirling ash. "You''re like vampire catnip, Vampnip, no¡­ bloodsucker bait? Fang food?" she quipped.


    The vampires regrouped, hissing and spitting in anger, their circle tightening like a noose around the outnumbered heroes.


    Tyson and Jubilee engaged the hissing vampires, their weapons flashing as they battled the undead horde. Tyson''s Uru daggers sliced through the air, each throw finding its mark in a vampire''s heart or neck. Ashen remains crumbled to the stone floor with every lethal strike.


    Jubilee was a blur of motion, pirouetting and darting between vampires as she unleashed brilliant plasmoid bursts. The chamber echoed with sizzling explosions of light as her attacks reduced the vampires to swirling piles of ash. "Hope you bloodsuckers brought your sunscreen!" she quipped, blowing imaginary smoke from her finger guns.


    They worked in perfect sync, whirling around each other. Tyson would slash at a vampire while Jubilee''s plasmoids incinerated another, the two seamlessly covering each other''s backs. Despite being outnumbered, their teamwork evened the odds.


    As Tyson and Jubilee handled the lesser vampires, Blade and Frost battled with unrestrained ferocity. Frost''s eyes gleamed with malevolent glee as he flourished Blade''s sword, mocking the dhampir before attacking.


    Blade fought with the desperation of a cornered wolf, unarmed, against Frost, wielding his own weapon. They clashed in a blur of steel and fury, Frost''s cruel laughter clanging against Blade''s wordless snarls. Neither gave any quarter as they sought advantage over the other, their bitter rivalry fueling the lethal strikes. Around them swirled the battle between Tyson, Jubilee, and the remaining vampires. He wielded Muse and adamantium claws while Jubilee''s plasmoids left trails of glittering ash in their wake. The two whittled down the enemy ranks, their teamwork allowing Blade to focus completely on his confrontation with Frost.


    Tyson glanced upward, his enhanced vision drawn to the rivulets of blood clinging ominously to the cavern''s ceiling. He knew a single drop of that blood, when it touched the chosen vessel, would begin La Magra''s dark transformation. Despite not having the blood of the daywalker in the ritual, Tyson wasn''t going to let that happen. He could see the blood pooling, ready to fall. There were only seconds left before the droplet would descend, sealing the ritual vessel''s fate.


    For a breath, everything seemed to slow as Tyson focused.


    Both Blade and Frost were consumed with their duel, fighting directly under where the blood droplet would land. His eyes widened as he realized the worst potential outcome of this fight. Why need the blood of the daywalker if he was the target to be possessed by La Magra?


    Blade the Blood God? He couldn''t let that happen.


    He could see the droplet forming into a ripe teardrop, ready to drop. Shouting to Jubilee, Tyson broke into a run toward the fighting vampires. "Jubes, Cover me!" he called. Jubilee stayed close, firing plasmoids to cover their rush toward Blade and Frost at the chamber''s center.


    There was no time left.


    He had to reach them before the blood could fall.


    Tyson landed amidst the melee between Frost and Blade just as the blood droplet formed and fell from the ceiling high above. Instantly, he summoned Muse into each hand and spun in a whirlwind turn with the twin Uru blades extended. Both Blade and Frost leapt back, avoiding the reckless attack. The spin had left him exposed, defenseless, but it served its purpose.


    Everyone was forced clear of the falling droplet''s path¡­


    Everyone except Tyson.


    He stood alone under the plummeting ritual blood. The droplet descended straight toward him. Tyson knew the consequences would be dire if the blood touched him, yet he had intentionally placed himself in its path.


    He did not seek to become La Magra''s vessel. His psyche was already crowded, already occupied by Rogue, Sabertooth, and Jason. No, Tyson''s plan didn''t involve being possessed by the blood god.


    With eyes fixed on the falling blood, he threw Muse straight up, directly into the path of the ritual drop.


    Frost''s eyes widened as he realized Tyson''s intent. "No!" he shouted in alarm.


    Muse tumbled end over end as Tyson threw it skyward, the enchanted Uru metal glinting as the blade spun upward through the chamber. The flat end of the dagger struck the plummeting droplet halfway through its descent.


    Unlike an ordinary drop of liquid, the blood did not splash or spray upon impact. Instead, the sanguine bead seemed to vanish, absorbed into the very heart of the blade, as if becoming one with its enchantment.


    A brilliant bolt of lightning split the chamber, thunder booming as it shook the cold stone walls. The air filled with the sharp, tangy scent of ozone as forks of electricity danced across the surfaces. Ancient runes carved along the walls began to glow, illuminated from within by the coursing lightning. Each of the twelve archaic symbols pulsated, thrumming with resonant power that echoed down through the runic lines toward the chamber floor.


    When the lightning reached the ring of pureblood vampires below, it streaked from the runes into the foreheads of the captured vampires. Their bodies convulsed, thrashing violently as electricity assaulted them. Foam frothed from their gaping mouths, and their eyes rolled back to show only whites. Their twisted faces took on a haunting, grotesque appearance. Then, in horrifying unison, they threw back their heads and screeched. From their mouths burst translucent, bat-like specters with glowing crimson eyes.


    The ghostly bats unleashed blood-curdling screeches as they took flight, their translucent wings fluttering through the electrified air. They left the hollow skinsuits that were once the pureblood vampires discarded below. As the spectral swarm filled the space, what remained of the purebloods faded to ash, mere husks devoid of any soul or vitality.


    Muse tumbled earthward, its trajectory suddenly arrested as one of the bats collided with the mystical blade. Where once it had shone with a brilliant silver sheen, the Uru metal now pulsed with a deep gunmetal hue mixed with crimson as if it had been tempered in blood. Intricate runes etched along the dagger flared an eerie red, absorbing the spectral bat on impact.


    With this first consumption, Muse blazed brighter and flung higher once more. The blade volleyed between the remaining bats as they flew heedlessly into it. Each collision elicited a violent flash of light, the weapon consuming their ghostly undead forms. The golden runes etched into the metal seemed to come alive, mixing with the crimson glow as Muse drank in the vampire spirits'' power as if it was being infused with the very essence of the blood god himself.


    The chamber echoed with screeches from ghostly bats and an electric hum as the spectacle unfolded. Muse pulsed with energy, highlighted by its own radiance as it consumed the last of the bats in a final burst of light. The blade floated weightlessly for a moment before dropping. The runes along its length still faintly glowed blood red, resonating with power as it hit the ground with a resounding thud. An ominous hush fell over the ritual space as the energized weapon lay pulsing on the floor.


    Deacon Frost, who had been standing closest to where it fell, lunged greedily for the weapon.


    Tyson was unsure exactly how the weapon had changed after being the target of the ritual, but he knew Muse could not be allowed to fall into Frost''s hands. The vampire was closer and faster, his fingers outstretched, nearly upon the pulsing blade.


    But Muse belonged to Tyson.


    He had bled for that weapon and earned it from his confrontation with Loki. He had been the one to hurl it into the air. He would not give it up. Focusing intently, Tyson thrust out his hand. Just as Frost''s grasping fingers were about to close around the hilt, the blade vanished, disappearing from sight in a blur before reappearing firmly in Tyson''s grip.


    Frost stumbled forward, his claw-like hands clutching at empty air where the dagger had been only a moment before. He spun around, his features contorting in fury as he saw Muse now back in the hands of its rightful owner.


    The moment Muse materialized in Tyson''s grasp, he knew the ancient Uru blade was different. Though it did not speak in words, he could sense an indecipherable communication emanating from the dagger that reached his mind on a primal level. What he understood immediately was the all-consuming hunger radiating from Muse. The ancient blade thirsted for blood. But the enhancement upon it felt corrupted¡­ No, that wasn''t right.


    It felt incomplete.


    Tyson remembered Amora''s words. "It''s an Uru weapon. Like Mjolnir, it was forged in the heart of a dying star. Though it never trapped a powerful soul like Thor''s hammer, it could have."


    He''d trapped La Magra inside Muse. But since the ritual hadn''t used the Blade''s blood, the binding was incomplete. Now Muse hungered for blood. Blood of the Daywalker¡­ Blood that would make it complete.


    A heavy silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to Tyson, waiting for his next move. His head tilted slowly back and forth. His eyes were distant and unfocused as if his consciousness was turned inward, communing with the dagger on a deeper, primal level.


    Jubilee''s brow furrowed as she studied Tyson''s face. A growing sense of unease crept through her. His eyes, normally a striking heterochromatic green and blue, slowly changed. Becoming a lurid yellow and deep purple. She considered the unnatural shift in color. Then it hit her like a blow, her stomach dropping.


    Green becomes yellow. Blue becomes purple...


    When mixed with red.


    Horror gripped her as the implication sank in. Before she could cry out, Tyson gripped the magic dagger tightly and drew it across his throat in one smooth, terrible motion.


    The blade sliced deep, bright crimson blood spurting from the gaping wound.


    Jubilee''s hands flew to her mouth, barely stifling a gasp. The sight of her friend inflicting such violence on himself was shocking.


    Yet not a single drop trickled down his chest or reached the floor. Instead, the sanguine flow was absorbed into the metal of the dagger as if slaking some unholy thirst. The unnatural way Muse drank his blood was chilling to watch, the metal glowing red as it consumed the vital fluid.


    Tyson stood motionless, the dagger still clutched in his hand. Rivulets of blood continued to flow from the gruesome neck wound directly into the weapon. Muse seemed to hum and vibrate in his grip, energized by the offering.


    Frost''s harsh laughter broke the heavy silence. "Oh, that''s just perfect. You actually thought you could control the power of the blood god? How utterly foolish. Now you''ve become La Magra''s first sacrifice."


    Frost''s mocking words echoed off the cold stone walls, but Tyson seemed unaware. He made no move to stop the steady flow of blood that continued to spill from the deep gash across his throat. Yet his face betrayed no hint of fear or pain. His gaze was distant, focused inwards as he communed with the dagger in his hand on a deeper, primal level.


    The other vampires gathered in the dimly lit chamber watched the disturbing scene unfold with morbid fascination as Tyson willingly sacrificed his life''s essence to the insatiable blade.


    Slowly, Frost''s smug expression shifted to one of confusion as Tyson showed no signs of collapsing from blood loss. Any normal human would have perished many times over. Finally, Tyson pulled the blade away. The gaping wound sealed itself unnaturally quickly, smooth skin knitting together seamlessly until not even a trace of the injury remained.


    "Blood that allows vampires to walk during the day. The ritual is complete, " Tyson whispered softly to the sated blade. There is plenty more where that came from." Though spoken quietly, his ominous promise was clear to every vampire gathered in the chamber.


    Frost''s smug grin faltered, shifting to an expression of confusion and unease as he took an involuntary step backward. "What?" he muttered under his breath, uncertain. He exchanged an apprehensive look with his fellow acolytes as his bravado drained.


    Blade, who had been silently observing the disturbing scene unfold, now took a deliberate step forward. "What''s going on?" he asked Tyson.


    Tyson gave no indication he had heard, his attention still consumed by the vampiric dagger. Muse pulsed with an unearthly energy, its archaic runes glowing with an intense, crimson light. Nearby, Jubilee watched with growing alarm. She remained unsure whether to intervene. A worried frown tugged at her lips as she wondered whether Tyson was still fully in control of himself. Was the spirit of La Magra within the weapon? Had he been possessed?


    Tyson opened his hand, allowing Muse to hover unsupported in the air before him. Beads of blood still clung to the razor edges, defying gravity.


    As the vampires watched, the sanguine droplets swelled, running together into a liquid limb that mirrored the position of Tyson''s outstretched arm. In moments, the form resembled a grotesque, three-dimensional silhouette, shifting and congealing until an exact duplicate of Tyson himself stood facing them.


    Its body appeared carved from clotted blood, comprised of crimson sinews. The blood elemental creation clutched Muse, the blade''s hungry aura reflected in its empty eyes. With deliberate steps, it approached Deacon Frost. The vampire''s apprehensive look melted into unease under that unblinking gaze. The thing''s movements echoed Tyson''s posture and subtle gestures.


    Blade shifted, muscles tensing, but he held back, watching the unfolding scene with guarded intensity. Frost watched the display with a mixture of fascination and wariness, his eyes darting between the blood construct and Tyson, who observed the scene impassively. A tense hush fell over the chamber as all present held their breath, transfixed by the bizarre sight unfolding before them. When the elemental came within arm''s reach of Frost, it stopped.


    Then, it struck without warning.


    The blood duplicate slashed with its blade and severed Deacon Frost''s head with a single motion.


    Unlike a typical vampire, Frost''s decapitated form did not erupt into ash. Instead, the sanguine doppelganger of Tyson held out Muse to drink in Frost''s spilled blood, absorbing the vital fluid as if the sentient weapon were a parched desert wanderer that had just discovered an oasis.


    Shortly thereafter, a second blood elemental took shape. This one molded into the likeness of the now-headless Deacon Frost.


    The first construct extended its hand and conjured another exact copy of Muse, which it passed to its new crimson companion. Meanwhile, the real Tyson lifted his palm and manifested yet another Muse, the blade materializing in his grip with a soft whisper.


    Gunshots cracked through the underground chamber like thunder, the reports echoing off the cold stone walls as the vampires and familiars broke from their daze and retaliated. Shards of crimson exploded outward as bullets tore through the advancing blood elementals molded into twisted doppelgangers of Tyson and Deacon Frost. The constructs did not slow, crimson ichor splattering the floor with each hit as they bore down upon the vampires.


    The stench of burnt gunpowder now mingled with the coppery tang of blood, the air thick with the fury of battle. Jubilee''s eyes were wide with alarm. Sparks of prismatic light danced between her splayed fingers should she need to unleash them to drive back her possessed friend. But as she gazed upward into Tyson''s face, she saw the familiar glint of warmth still shining in his eyes.


    "It''s me, Jubes," he said, "Promise."


    At his words, Jubilee''s stance eased. She let out a slow breath and lowered her hands, the deadly radiance fading from her fingertips. Though the situation still seemed dire, for now, she chose to trust him.


    The vampires focused their assault upon the advancing elementals, leaving Tyson and Jubilee in the eye of the storm. Around them raged a maelstrom of shrieks and snarls, the staccato rhythm of gunshots underscored by the wet, meaty sounds of violence. With each vampire felled by the constructs, another crimson duplicate sprang forth, wielding a copy of the sentient blade, Muse. The duplicates bore down upon the vampires, swelling in number with each fresh kill.


    Blade moved closer to the pair as Jubilee asked, concerned, "Is this okay? Did we just kick off the vampire... err... blood apocalypse?"


    Tyson shook his head. "No. We stopped them. It''s over." His gaze drifted to the blood duplicates still locked in mortal combat with the vampires. "The duplicates are only temporary, as are the copies of Muse."


    "How do we know you''re right?" Blade pressed, his skepticism evident.


    Tyson''s attention shifted to the sentient weapon in his hand. "I don''t know everything this can do," he admitted, "but I can feel it a little." He leveled Muse at one of the blood duplicates. As he did so, the duplicate''s copy of Muse dissolved instantly. Then the elemental itself broke apart, its form streaming back into the original blade in a scarlet torrent.


    Muse''s runes flared dimly as if absorbing sustenance from the returned blood. Tyson met Blade''s gaze, a hint of challenge glinting in his own eyes. "Good enough?"


    Blade''s only response was a deliberate crack of his neck. "For now," he rasped after a pause. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he darted off to find Karen.


    Jubilee glanced around uncertainly at the blood duplicates and fallen vampires. The battle was winding down, but she still felt on edge.


    "You''re sure this is over?" she asked, turning to Tyson with a furrowed brow. Though his words had reassured her earlier, doubts were creeping back in.


    He put a broad, steadying hand on her slender shoulder. "It''s just cleanup now, Jubes," he said.


    Jubilee searched his face, taking in the strength and certainty she found there. She let out a slow breath, feeling some of the nervous energy leave her small frame. If Tyson said it was handled, she believed him. Still, her mind spun with the implications of what they''d managed here today.


    "If we can stop a god..." she wondered aloud, "what can stop us?"


    One corner of Tyson''s mouth quirked up. "Nothing," he replied, a note of humor underscoring his confidence.


    Despite herself, Jubilee huffed a small laugh. "Except maybe Magneto," she joked, elbowing Tyson in the ribs.


    He barked out a laugh at that, the sound rumbling up from his broad chest. "Ha Ha! Oh My God. You''re so funny¡­ Twilight," Tyson shot back sarcastically, ruffling her styled black hair.


    Jubilee swatted his massive hand away with a scowl, though her eyes glinted playfully. "Hands off the hair." Then she exclaimed in mock affront. "And don''t you dare take my vampire name in vain!"

 Arc 6 - Ch 16: Meeting Day

    Chapter 83


    Arc 6 - Ch 16: Meeting Day


    Date: Wednesday, June 29, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    The atmosphere in Dr. Connors'' lab was one of weary relief. Tyson, Jubilee, Blade, and Karen had returned after foiling Deacon Frost''s attempt at raising the blood god, La Magra, at the Bank of Erebus just hours earlier. Tyson had called ahead, directing Dr. Connors to secure all of their blood safely in storage before the others arrived. He didn''t need Blade catching a whiff of the unusual samples. Karen, drawing on her extensive background in medical research, had joined Connors in a deep discussion, sharing her detailed notes on vampire physiology and the peculiarities of the vampirism infection. Connors listened with rapt attention, comparing her findings to his own observations.


    "Jubilee administered your experimental cure to Whistler. Would you like to review our observations so far?"


    Tyson leaned quietly against a lab counter across the room, watching them work with a profound sense of relief that the night''s events had ended relatively well.


    Jubilee, who had been silently observing the interactions, finally spoke up, her voice breaking the intense atmosphere that had settled over the lab. "So what''s next for us? Are we going to become full-time vampire hunters now, or was this more of a one-and-done kind of deal?"


    Tyson chuckled softly. "Let''s hope it doesn''t come to that."


    He leaned against the counter, regarding Jubilee. Though the events of the past few days had ended well, her transformation into a vampire still weighed on his mind.


    She met his gaze knowingly. "I know what you''re going to say, Ty. But here''s the thing¡­ I like being a vampire. With your blood, there are no downsides for me. I''m stronger and faster, and I can be out in the sun. I feel powerful and alive. And I can fight at your side instead of hiding behind you."


    "Jubes, I understand the appeal, believe me," he said gently. "But have you considered the long-term consequences? You''ll be dependent on me for survival."


    "I''ve thought about it a lot, Tyson. It''s a huge decision, I know. But this is part of who I am now. I can do good with these abilities, and help people. I haven''t felt any blood cravings or urge to hurt anyone." She stepped closer, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I don''t want to give this up. We can find a way to make this work."


    "I worry, Jubilee. I worry about what this means for you, what it means for us."


    Jubilee stepped closer, her expression softening as she met his concerned gaze. "I know you do. But I¡¯ve never felt more capable, more fully myself than I do now. This hasn''t changed who I am at heart, Tyson. I¡¯m still me. I¡¯m still your Jubilee. Besides, you didn''t seem that worried when I was rocking your world."


    They shared a quiet laugh, but Tyson''s eyes still held a trace of doubt. Jubilee took his hand, squeezing it gently, willing him to understand. "Hey, look at me," she said earnestly. "I know you might not be used to getting wins like this. We can touch. I''m stronger. We stopped a god and trapped it in Muse, giving you a badass weapon." She paused for emphasis. "This has been good, Ty. We''re good. Whatever happens next, we''re in this together. You''re not getting rid of me that easily, Tyson Smith."


    "In this together," he affirmed, the anxiety in his eyes easing just a fraction. "And I wouldn''t dream of getting rid of you, Jubes. But we''re going to keep some of that cure ready just in case. Promise me you''ll consider it if things change."


    "I promise," Jubilee replied, "Besides, if I took the cure, we couldn''t touch anymore." She linked her hand with his, savoring the contact.


    "Yeah. That''d be tragic." He noted, "But you''d be able to see my illusions again, and experience all those worlds. Naruto, Pokemon, so many you''ll miss out on if you stay a vampire."


    Jubilee squeezed his hand. With a twinkle in her eyes, she challenged, "You''ll just have to make it up to me then, won''t you?"


    Felicia entered Dr. Connors'' lab with Whistler following close behind her, looking remarkably vigorous compared to the last time Blade had seen him, bleeding and near-death.


    "You stupid sons of bitches did it," Whistler declared with a broad grin as he approached Blade. Without waiting for a response, he wrapped the normally stoic vampire hunter in a rare hug, catching Blade slightly off guard but not entirely unwelcome. After releasing Blade from the unexpected embrace, Whistler turned to Tyson. "Thanks for pulling our asses out of the fire," he said sincerely.


    Tyson felt relief at the sight of Whistler back to normal. It proved Karen''s cure had worked its magic. If Jubilee ever needed it, at least they knew it worked.


    "No sweat, old man," he replied.


    Whistler''s demeanor then turned serious as he looked around at the assembled group. "So, what''s next?" he asked plainly.


    Blade crossed his arms over his chest as he considered Whistler''s question. After a few contemplative moments, he finally spoke. "We should move on," he said decisively. "The vampires here will be driven underground for years after La Magra. There are other places where we''re needed more."


    Tyson chimed in, "Have you thought about accepting our offer going forward?" he asked earnestly.


    Before Blade could respond, Whistler spoke up. "Don''t say something dumb now, Blade. We can clearly use their help."


    Blade looked between Tyson, Jubilee, and Whistler, considering their words. After a pause, he conceded with a nod. "You''re right. We could use the help," he admitted openly. "We stopped La Magra, but this fight is far from over. If you''re willing, there is much we can accomplish together."


    Whistler gave Blade an approving clap on the shoulder. "That wasn''t so hard, was it?"


    "Felicia, can you set aside the revenue from one show a month for Blade and Whistler?" Tyson asked.


    Whistler''s face creased into an incredulous look, and he blurted out, "One show? What''s that going to buy us? Gas for a week?"


    Tyson shot back, "You spend a hundred grand on gas every week?"


    "You make a hundred grand a show?" Whistler asked, his disbelief evident.


    "Yup," Tyson confirmed. "Does that cover your silver budget?"


    Blade''s stoic expression remained unchanged. "That would be a good start." Whistler snorted derisively. But the dhampir held up a hand, silencing Whistler''s tirade. "I appreciate the offer," he interjected, his tone diplomatic. "But I believe we need to thoroughly discuss the terms of this partnership."


    "Alright. If you want me to help fund your vampire-hunting organization, I''m going to need you to focus on hunting vampires."


    The others stared at Tyson as if he was an idiot when he didn''t continue.


    Whistler prodded impatiently, "And?"


    Tyson shrugged nonchalantly. "That''s it. I know you''re skeptical, but I don''t have any hidden agendas here. As long as I''m profitable, I''ll set aside funds so you can spend more time hunting and less worrying about finances. I''ve seen you in action." Pausing in thought, he added, "I don''t really spend any time patrolling. This is my way of helping. If you need more support, I could do some shows telling your story. I pay royalties to Spider-Man for his show, so I could do the same for you if you''re interested."


    Blade shook his head firmly. "If you publicly revealed vampires existed, they would target you. They have a vested interest in secrecy."


    "So that''s out," Felicia said, "I''ll establish a separate account for their operation."


    Tyson turned to Karen and asked, "Doctor, will you be staying in the city? As you can see, I fund research as well."


    Karen looked at Blade and Whistler. "Actually, I was hoping to stick with you," she said finally. "Seems like you can use the help. It''s not like I can go back to the hospital and pretend the past week hasn''t happened. Knowing vampires are out there changes everything."


    Blade nodded. Whistler, on the other hand, let out a derisive snort. "You''re a dumbass, Doc," he said bluntly. "Giving up a swanky doctor life to hang out with us? We''re not exactly the most stable bunch."


    "I''ve seen what vampires can do," she said quietly. "I want to help stop them."


    Tyson nodded in understanding. "Well, good luck with them, then," he said.


    "Thanks for your help, Tyson. We owe you one." Blade said.


    Tyson waved his hand dismissively. "No need to thank me. Just be careful out there. Where are you heading next?"


    "Moscow," the dhampir decided.


    The group exchanged pleasantries. As they prepared to leave, Felicia stepped forward to guide them back to the street, falling into step beside Blade and Whistler.


    Jubilee, sensing Tyson''s mood, stepped closer, her hand brushing against his. "Hey, you okay?" she asked softly.


    Tyson''s mismatched eyes followed the departing group as they made their way toward the exit. He was lost in thought, his mind flashing to Natasha. She was currently undercover on a covert mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. in Moscow, and he wondered if she knew about the existence of vampires. He wished he could contact her somehow, just to speak with her. But he knew it wasn''t possible. She was completely off the grid.


    "Yeah, I''m fine," he assured her. I''m just thinking about Natasha and hoping her mission is going well."


    Jubilee''s eyes narrowed slightly, though her tone held a hint of playful jealousy. "What, I''m not enough for you?" She teased. Then, lowering her voice so only Tyson could pick up her words with his supernatural hearing, she added sincerely, "You know she''s going to be fine, right? She''s a badass super spy, and you said she''ll be back here in time for the battle."


    Tyson relaxed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I know," he admitted, reaching out to give Jubilee''s hand a grateful squeeze. "You''re more than enough, Jubes. I just can''t help worrying about her."


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    In the lobby of the House of M, Maki Matsumoto sat in perfect posture on an avant-garde designer chair, waiting patiently for her interview. She was dressed professionally in a tailored slate gray suit, the pencil skirt ending just above her knees. Her dark hair was pulled tightly back into a neat bun.


    The receptionist signaled that it was Maki''s turn. Maki stood smoothly, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt, and followed the receptionist''s heels click-clack through the hallways until they reached the executive lounge.


    Inside, Felicia Hardy lounged casually against the marble bar, sipping an amber drink. Her demeanor was sharp and alert, missing nothing. Felicia''s platinum blond hair and striking features were complemented by her relaxed yet somehow still business-appropriate attire.


    "Ms. Matsumoto, please come in," Felicia greeted cordially, pushing off from the bar and moving to greet her guest. "I''m Felicia Hardy. I oversee operations here at House of M."


    "Thank you, Ms. Hardy," Maki replied, her voice low and melodic, as she approached the executive with a composed, professional air. "It''s a pleasure to meet you."


    "I do hope you don''t mind the informal setting for our interview. We tend to do things a bit differently here at House of M," Felicia explained breezily as she briefly scanned the woman''s impressive resume. "Your qualifications are remarkable. Extensive training in various martial arts, advanced firearms proficiency, and you even have a law degree. Might I ask what prompted you to apply for a position as a personal bodyguard here, specifically assigned to Mirage?"


    "I witnessed Mirage''s intervention on the television during the chaos at the Stark Expo and the destructive rampage in Harlem with that monstrous creature. His selfless actions to protect the innocent and vulnerable resonate deeply with me. To safeguard one gifted with immense power yet dedicated to helping those in need aligns perfectly with my expertise and personal aspirations," Maki explained in cool, measured tones. "From what I could gather from the news, Mirage often seems to find himself in situations that place him in danger. With my extensive training and experience, I am confident I can provide additional protection and assistance."


    Felicia nodded thoughtfully. "An appropriate if somewhat text-book answer. But it almost sounds like you''re applying for a position as his sidekick, not his bodyguard." she held her hand up, forstalling any response. "Just outwardly musing to myself. Looking over your resume, your references and qualifications are certainly impressive. But this position requires loyalty and discretion. Mirage has made dangerous enemies. How would you handle threats not just of a direct nature but those involving manipulation, deception, or subterfuge?" she asked pointedly.


    "I approach all challenges with a clear mind and commitment to my principal''s safety," Maki stated evenly. "While direct threats are straightforward to address, manipulation and subterfuge require enhanced awareness and anticipation. I ensure I am always several steps ahead, discerning the hidden motives and potential maneuvers of any we encounter."


    "A prudent answer. However, I wonder if you''re truly prepared for the threats superpowers or supernatural adversaries pose. What if your identity as a bodyguard was itself weaponized against you, or someone attempted to compromise you personally?"


    "The risk of personal compromise comes with any security position," Maki responded smoothly and unruffled. My first priority would be mitigating any potential damage or exposure and then swiftly neutralizing the threat. Maintaining clear professional and personal boundaries provides insulation and minimizes risks."


    Felicia leaned back in her chair, carefully assessing Maki''s responses and demeanor. There was a calm certainty to the young woman that Felicia found compelling. "Alright, two final questions. Why should we entrust you with Mirage''s life and safety, Ms. Matsumoto? And what makes you think that Mirage is in need of your protection services at all?"


    Maki''s response was immediate. "My dedication to my duties is absolute and unwavering. I thrive under pressure and challenging circumstances. I''m not merely looking for a job here. I''m seeking a higher purpose. Protecting Mirage would be far more than a professional duty to me; it would be a solemn commitment." She paused briefly, considering her next words. "As for why Mirage needs protection... everyone needs someone they can truly count on to watch their back. While I observed Spider-Man assist Mirage at the Stark Expo in Queens, later in Harlem, he was alone against an enormous threat. It worked out in Mirage''s favor that time, but how many more monsters and villains can he face before something goes terribly wrong? He is doing important work out there. Work that clearly has made powerful enemies. He shouldn''t have to challenge those threats without someone dedicated solely to his safety. I can be that person for him."


    "If you don''t mind my asking, during the interview, will I have an opportunity to meet Mirage?¡± As she finished speaking, Maki noticed something peculiar. Felicia''s eyes were mismatched, one green and the other blue. It was a change from when their interview started. A detail that she couldn''t have possibly overlooked earlier.


    Felicia cryptically responded, ¡°You already have."


    Maki blinked, her professional mask slipping slightly. ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    With a casual flick of her wrist, Felicia¡¯s form shimmered, her features shifting seamlessly until a tall, muscular man stood in her place. He wore a black skintight outfit and a fox half-mask that left his lower face and eyes exposed.


    ¡°I wanted to conduct your interview myself,¡± he said, his voice deeper but carrying a tone of formal assessment.


    Maki took a moment to adjust to the sudden shift, her training helping her maintain composure when faced with the unexpected. ¡°I see,¡± she responded, her voice calm but her mind racing. ¡°Your comment about me being unprepared to face superpowers and the supernatural was not hypothetical.¡±


    ¡°No, it was not. Please excuse the deception. I can¡¯t be too careful. It¡¯s important to know exactly who I''m hiring, especially when it comes to protecting myself and those around me.¡± he continued, "I appreciate your obvious interest in my safety, and your credentials are indeed impressive. But I must know. Why are you really here, Maki? What drives you to seek me, specifically?"


    Maki chose her next words carefully, aiming for a balance of professional detachment, honesty, and earnest conviction. "I came here because I believe in the potential of exceptional individuals like yourself to guide the world towards a better future. I don''t mean this in a theoretical sense. There is an organization I am aligned with, a group that aspires to reshape the global landscape in profound ways. Your unique talents could be a significant part of this ambitious vision."


    Mirage leaned back slightly, his body language guarded even as his expression remained unreadable behind the mask. "Well, now, that''s quite the shift from bodyguard to global change."


    "It''s a group that operates behind the scenes, utilizing influence and strategy to steer the course of world events towards stability, order, and progress," Maki explained, "They recognize the potential of remarkable individuals like yourself to lead change rather than follow convention. With your singular gifts, able to alter perceptions and weave complex illusions, the possibilities are truly endless." She kept her tone cool and businesslike, making her pitch with care. There was much at stake here, but she knew better than to rush or pressure the cautious man.


    Mirage studied her for moments before replying, "You''re talking about HYDRA, I presume." Maki''s eyes widened, a flicker of shock breaking through her carefully composed facade. She hadn''t expected him to have such knowledge. Her mind raced, trying to determine how to proceed. Mirage continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "I assume that HYDRA works in cells, limited communication to ensure if you''re discovered that it doesn''t expose the entire organization."


    Maki hesitated, then gave a small nod, confirming his assumption. She was impressed by his insight but also wary of how much he seemed to know.


    "You''re a little behind, Maki. I was recruited weeks ago by a SHIELD agent, Jasper Sitwell. But I haven''t been contacted since."


    Maki''s composure returned as she processed this new information. She hadn''t been briefed on Sitwell''s involvement or any prior contact with Mirage. It was clear there was more at play here than she had initially realized.


    "That''s not unusual," Maki answered. "HYDRA has many heads, each pursuing their own goals."


    She stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Leaning in, she brought her lips near his ear. Only inches apart, Tyson discreetly examined her features. Maki was striking, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Her dark and deep eyes seemed capable of disarming even the most guarded individual with a single glance. Her lips were full and perfectly shaped.


    In this moment, Tyson grasped the dynamics at play. Maki''s beauty was just one arrow in her quiver, paired with her manipulation skills to make her a formidable operative. While Tyson was fully aware of the manufactured familiarity, he couldn''t deny the effectiveness of her methods. She had ingratiated herself with practiced ease, and he found himself appreciating the artistry of it, even as his rational mind resisted. He couldn''t help but compare Maki to Natasha. While Natasha had used less subtle methods when approaching him, thinking he was just a superpowered teenager, he wondered if she''d have taken a similar approach to Maki if she had just encountered him now.


    Tyson turned over the intricacies of her recruitment tactics. He had orchestrated Maki seeking him out months earlier when he encountered her with Edgar Lascombe. Planting the idea that Mirage had a particular weakness for beautiful women ensured that Maki would be selected for this assignment. It was a spur of the moment idea to give him an in with Hydra. Though he hadn''t needed it, thanks to encountering Agent Sitwell afterward. Still, he couldn''t help but appreciate the Hydra-Hand agent. She used her allure not as a blunt weapon but as a scalpel, fostering a sense of closeness that seemed almost natural as if they had known each other for months rather than minutes. Maki performed her role flawlessly, presenting herself throughout the interview as a confidante and admirer rather than just a recruiter for Hydra.


    Tyson knew playing double agent for both SHIELD and Hydra simultaneously was either cunningly strategic or recklessly foolish. Only time would tell which.


    For now, he was placing his piece on the board.


    "Hail, Hydra," he whispered.


    It had been the confirmation Maki had been seeking. Her doubts washed away. Mirage was with them. Together, they would further Hydra''s great purpose.


    "Hail, Hydra," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Tyson swung open the doors of the House of M and stood at the threshold. He watched as Agatha Harkness approached. "Ms. Harkness, welcome to the House of M," Tyson greeted. Stepping forward, he extended his hand towards her luggage, offering to relieve her of the burden. "Let me help you with these," he said smoothly.


    Tyson''s eyes widened as he took in Agatha''s appearance. She was far from the woman in her 30s or 40s he had expected. Instead, she appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Agatha''s raven-black hair cascaded in loose waves with white streaks at the front to frame her blue eyes. She wore a purple dress that, while modest, failed to hide her full-bodied figure.


    "Thank you, dear," Agatha said. The cadence of her speech carried an air of antiquity, a subtle reminder of her true age despite her youthful appearance. Tyson found the dichotomy between her looks and her manner curious.


    She handed over a particularly hefty bag to Tyson.


    As he led Agatha into the House of M, Tyson found himself stealing glances at her, still trying to reconcile her appearance with the witch he had seen on screen. As they entered the grand foyer, he initiated some light conversation, aiming to put her at ease and feel her out. "How was your trip down to New York? I hope the city is treating you well so far," he inquired.


    Agatha glanced around, appreciating the decor. "The journey down the road was smooth as ever," she responded, her tone light, though her eyes danced with an unspoken amusement. She looked Tyson over, "New York is as vibrant as ever, full of energy. It¡¯s quite invigorating, actually."


    "I''m glad to hear that." He set Agatha''s belongings in a neat stack by the garage door, assuring her, "I''ll leave your things here; someone will be by shortly to move them. House of M is primarily our workplace, and while most of us don''t actually live here, it might seem otherwise for a few, like Felicia. She''s almost a permanent fixture."


    Tyson escorted her into the VIP lounge, the dark wood and leather furnishings exuding an ambiance that the witch seemed to approve of. He motioned to an empty booth. "Please, make yourself comfortable," he said.


    Agatha sank gracefully onto the plush leather seat, the purple fabric of her dress pooling elegantly around her. She leaned back and crossed her legs leisurely. Her striking blue eyes danced in the soft light as she tilted her head coyly.


    "It''s late enough for a drink, I think."


    Tyson''s mouth curled into an easy grin. "What''ll it be then?" he asked, already making his way behind the bar.


    "You''re a bit young to play bartender, but I''m not going to complain¡­ How''s about a Half-Blood Prince," came Agatha''s sly reply.


    Tyson chuckled, intrigued. "How appropriate. What''s in that?"


    "Pomegranate juice, raspberry liquor, bourbon, juice from half a lemon, a teaspoon of maple syrup," Agatha recited. "Shaken with ice, then strained into a glass." She raised one sharp eyebrow. "Light on the pomegranate juice, heavy on the bourbon, if you would, sweetie."


    "Coming right up," Tyson assured her with a wink, enjoying the novelty of playing bartender for the witch.


    As Tyson gathered the ingredients, his curiosity about Agatha deepened. He called over his shoulder, "Was your retainer fee covered appropriately?"


    Agatha nodded, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. "Yes, quite promptly, which is why I arrived so soon. Efficiency in business is always a promising start."


    Tyson mixed the drink, the clinks of ice as he shook punctuating the quiet of the lounge. He poured the concoction into a glass, garnishing it before bringing it over to Agatha. Setting it down, he slid into the booth opposite her.


    "I''m not often completely open with new acquaintances," he began, "But I want you as an instructor and a friend here, so I''m going to lay my cards on the table."


    Agatha lifted the glass. She took a slow sip, savoring the smooth burn of alcohol, before setting it down.


    "Okay, hit me with it," she said.


    "My name is Tyson Smith. I''ll be turning 18 soon. I''m a mutant, and one of my powers is illusions." He paused, gauging her reaction. Agatha simply nodded for him to continue. "Under the alias Mirage, I''ve made a name for myself and started this establishment. I''ve come into conflict with several magic wielders, and using my powers on them has been hit or miss in the past," he admitted. "But if you''re open to it, I can provide a small demonstration."


    "Ooh, this should be fun. Let''s see what you can do."


    The lounge around them seemed to shimmer and shift as if viewed through a heat haze. The very air tingled with suppressed magical energy. Before Agatha''s eyes, the plush furnishings of the VIP lounge dissolved away like mist under the morning sun.


    In their place stretched the grand dining hall of Hogwarts, a cavernous space filled with long wooden tables and benches. Hundreds of candles floated lazily above the tables, their flames flickering and dancing. The tables were filled with platters of roasted meats, bowls of buttery mashed potatoes, baskets of fresh rolls, and flagons of pumpkin juice. The enchanted ceiling high above mirrored the sunny afternoon sky outside.


    Agatha''s eyes darted around the illusion. She could see the intricate details on the stone walls and the scratches on the wooden tables from decades of use. This was far beyond mere projected images; it felt real, solid. She half expected to hear the chatter of students and the clink of cutlery on plates.


    Her applause echoed through the grand hall, and her delight was evident as she admired the conjured scene. "Well done, Tyson," she said genuinely. You have quite a talent for illusion. This is remarkable indeed."


    Tyson bowed his head at the praise. As he straightened, he continued explaining the nature of his abilities. "My power is psionic in nature," he clarified, ensuring Agatha grasped the distinction between their powers.


    "But as I said, that''s just one of my abilities," Tyson added. "I also possess superhuman strength, agility, reflexes, regenerative healing, enhanced senses, and an indestructible metal skeleton." He paused, allowing the list to sink in before revealing his ultimate power. "Most importantly," he continued, his voice lowering slightly, "my touch absorbs others'' abilities, memories, and skills temporarily. But it also drains their life force. If I maintain contact too long, they die. I gain a permanent imprint, keeping their powers."


    Realizing how dangerous his power was and how his words could be interpreted as threatening, Tyson quickly added, "I wear gloves to protect those around me from accidental harm." He held up his hands, showing the gloves that sat under the long sleeves of his costume, which he wore perpetually under his clothes, as proof of his precautions.


    Agatha studied Tyson intently, her expression a mingling of fascination and caution. Though her gaze took in the young man before her, it also peered deeper, evaluating him not just as a potential ally.


    "Very prudent," she remarked. "Your abilities are extraordinary and quite dangerous. It''s good to see you taking responsibility for such formidable power. Many with gifts like yours lack the wisdom to do so." Her tone carried a subtle undercurrent that he had difficulty placing.


    "So tell me, why did you wish to walk the path of magic?" Agatha asked, subtly challenging the young man''s motivations.


    "That''s... a long story," Tyson replied heavily, a note of resignation in his voice. He stood, moving toward the bar once more. "Let me make you another drink first," he offered, deflecting momentarily as he gathered his thoughts.Stolen story; please report.


    The clinking of ice and pouring of liquid filled the room, serving as a prelude to the tale Tyson was about to tell. He placed several more drinks in a line before Agatha and settled back into his seat across from her. He began unraveling his story from the very beginning, recounting his initial ''discovery'' of his powers, the ensuing fight with Sabertooth, and the following struggles and battles he had faced. His narrative wove through various trials and encounters, eventually reaching his time in Asgard, his encounter with Amora, and the subsequent deal he made in hopes of saving his girlfriend.


    "I sought her out for her blood, which the sorcerers needed for a ritual to prevent Jubilee from transforming into a vampire. Her condition was that I became stronger. So I tried to target someone with power but evil enough that eliminating them would benefit the world. However, my friends intervened and stopped me." He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "That failure led me to you, seeking training in magic. I''ve dabbled in spellcasting before, temporarily gaining the powers of Azazel, Amora, and Illyana. So I think I have an aptitude. Well, at least, I''ve had an aptitude, and even though I can''t tap into it, I know that there''s a small piece of each of them inside me." His lips pressed together briefly.


    "But I was completely outmatched when I battled Loki and Amora. It was... humbling, to say the least." Tyson sighed in frustration. "I know it will take a long time to reach their level of skill. But I can''t keep losing to every two-bit magic-wielder that comes along."


    Leaning forward, Tyson locked eyes with Agatha, a serious glint in his own. "Most importantly," he pulled out a series of papers. They were the scribbles and notes he''d made with Illyana''s knowledge after his rampage in Limbo. "Learning the Death Ward spell would let me touch people without killing them, even if temporarily. This isn''t just about gaining power for me. It''s about control. And safety."


    Agatha nodded slowly, looking over the pages. "Not many look beyond immediate power to consider its wider implications." Her words carried the weight of long experience. She eyed Tyson thoughtfully for a moment before concluding, "I will teach you." Tyson''s eyes lit up with eagerness. "I will remain here in New York for the coming year. Until you have been accepted as a novice by the sorcerers. We shall see how readily you grasp the fundamental concepts and practices of witchcraft."


    Tyson nodded excitedly.


    "Tell me. What is magic?"


    He paused, searching his mind for an answer that would satisfy her. His meta-knowledge provided no academic explanations or textbook definitions.


    "A way to manipulate the fundamental forces of the universe?" he ventured tentatively.


    "Not entirely inaccurate, but let us refine that notion," she said, her voice taking on a professorial tone. "Magic, in its deepest essence, taps into the very fabric of reality itself. It involves harnessing energies that exist beyond the normal constraints of physical law."


    Agatha settled back into her chair, adjusting her posture to get more comfortable. "Let''s explore the concept of magical energy sources a bit more," she began, her voice taking on a professorial yet engaging tone. "There are four primary wellsprings that mages draw from to fuel their spells and abilities."


    She held up a slender finger, signaling the first point of discussion. "Personal Energies originate from within the mystic or sorcerer themselves. Through mental and spiritual training, they learn to tap into and manipulate their own inner power. Examples include abilities like chi manipulation, astral projection, thought-casting, and more. This style of magic is deeply connected to and reliant on the mage''s personal strength, focus, and discipline."


    Raising a second finger, she continued, "Next, we have the Ambient Magical Energy inherent to the fabric of the Universe itself. This external source surrounds us at all times. Magicians with the proper training can draw it forth to manifest a variety of spectacular effects. Energy bolt spells are common applications. Accessing this energy typically requires casting intricate spells or conducting specific rituals to gather and direct it. Potion-making, for example, is a way to directly harness the ambient magical energy absorbed by ingredients."


    Her third finger accompanied the next segment of insight. "Extradimensional Energies are gained by contacting and invoking entities or objects that originate from realms beyond our own. These realms operate under radically different physical and magical laws. Tapping into them allows access to incredibly potent and dangerous power. The entities controlling this energy may have agendas utterly alien to ours and can drastically influence how, or even if, their power is used."


    Finally, she held up a fourth finger. "And then we have Magical Items, objects imbued with enchantments and abilities. Like your dagger, Muse. These artifacts are often forged or invested with magic by one of the previous wellsprings. They vary enormously in function and potency, ranging from benign trinkets to, as you possess, weapons of extraordinary power."


    "You think since you have used magic before when in contact with magic users, you might have the potential to learn it yourself," she said leadingly.


    Tyson absently rubbed his chin in thought, considering the knowledge she shared, then responded, "I have been able to use magic briefly after touching someone who knew it, but the knowledge doesn''t stick permanently. It''s like trying to remember details from a dream after you wake up. They fade away quickly."


    Agatha shook her head slightly in response. She held up her index finger in emphasis as she prepared to make her point. "Personal energy," she declared insightfully.


    "Mutants like yourself have an inherent, unconscious way of tapping into these energies in order to create a specific, limited effect. In your case, that effect is the creation of illusions," she continued, "You see, dear, your abilities might feel unique to you, but they are actually rooted in the same mystical energies that magic practitioners like myself manipulate through intricate spells and rituals. There''s little difference between the witch who sees glimpses of the future and the mutant with psionic gifts who¡­ sees glimpses of the future. Your powers, your illusions, they are your own innate form of magic, crafted instinctively by your body and mind. Your mutation provides the conduit allowing you to access and direct the energy required to utilize it."


    Agatha''s voice softened slightly as she concluded, challenging Tyson to rethink and expand his own understanding of the fundamental nature of magic and his mutant powers.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    Remy LeBeau awoke slowly to the soft whirring and beeping of machines. He found himself lying on a cold metal operating table in a medical room. Electrodes and sensors were attached to his forehead, bare chest, and arms, monitoring his vital signs. As his vision cleared, Remy could make out Dr. Nathaniel Essex standing with his back to him, studying a panel of screens.


    The doctor presented an imposing and chilling sight to Remy''s slowly clearing vision. Tall and unnaturally pale, the doctor''s skin was almost alabaster. His eyes were a deep, blood red. Even more unusual was the red diamond prominently displayed in the center of his forehead. His black hair was slicked sharply back and he wore an outfit as distinctive as his odd physical features. A high-collared, deep blue and black bodysuit adorned with a long, flowing cape that was not a solid piece of cloth but made of individual strips.


    The overall effect made the doctor appear as though channeling Victorian-era aesthetics or perhaps a modern film rendition of a vampire. All the while exuding an antiquated, elegant menace.


    "The procedure was a success, Remy. Your abilities have been stabilized. You''ll find them more responsive now, less unpredictable."


    With some effort, Remy sat upright on the table, rubbing the back of his neck where he could still feel the residual tingle of Essex''s surgical alterations. He swung his legs over the side of the cold metal table, feeling a newfound steadiness thrumming through his body. The constant buzzing tension that had plagued his mutant abilities for weeks had quieted. He flexed his fingers experimentally, reaching for the familiar kinetic charge, and found it waiting patiently for his command.


    He eyed Essex warily. Remy had no illusions about the man''s motives. Altruism was not in his nature.


    "Thanks for dat, doc," he rasped, his voice still rough from the surgery, "but we both know you ain''t runnin'' no charity ward here. What''s all this gonna cost me?"


    "Indeed, I am a man of science, not a humanitarian. In exchange for my services, I will require a task from you. Assemble a team for me, a group of mercenaries. Mutants only."


    Remy stood up from the table, testing his balance. He felt solid and grounded, yet Essex''s request nagged at him with the weight of potential consequences. Debts and bargains with the doctor never came freely. "And if I say no?" he challenged, his Cajun drawl thick with suspicion.


    Essex''s red eyes gleamed unsettlingly. "Oh, my dear Remy. There is a... project I am undertaking. A project that requires talents of a... specialized nature." He leaned in closer. "Gather this team for me, and we will consider your debt paid." Remy felt a chill run down his spine, not entirely from fear. Essex''s proximity and the sultry tone of his voice were disconcerting, to say the least. He took a step back, maintaining distance between them. "You are free to refuse, of course," Essex continued, his gaze roaming over Remy''s bare chest. "But remember, without my intervention, your powers could have torn you apart from the inside out. Hurt those near you, maybe even destroyed a city or more." His eyes glinted with barely concealed excitement. "Who knows? One might say you owe me your life."


    Remy clenched his fists as he felt the kinetic energy dancing eagerly at his command. This was a different kind of gamble than he was accustomed to, with stakes far higher than any card game. But Remy LeBeau had always been a gambler at heart. He weighed his options carefully. On one hand, he owed Essex for stabilizing his powers. On the other, assembling a team of mutant mercenaries for the doctor''s mysterious project could lead to unforeseen and dangerous consequences.


    "What exactly is dis project of yours?" Remy asked.


    Essex''s smile widened, revealing unnaturally white teeth. "Now, now, my charming Cajun," he cooed, "let''s not spoil the surprise. All in good time." He reached out, his pale fingers almost brushing Remy''s arm before the mutant pulled away. "I assure you, it will be... exhilarating."


    "Alright," he said finally. "I''ll gather your team. But once dis debt is paid, we''re done. No more holdin'' dis over my head."


    "Agreed. I value our... partnership, Remy. I look forward to watching you handle this challenge."


    Remy turned and walked out of the lab. He was no fool. He knew he was willingly walking into a trap of sorts by agreeing to Essex''s terms. But with his mutant powers now stable and under control, he also felt a sense of confidence and command over himself. For better or worse, Remy had chosen to play this game on Essex''s terms. And he fully intended to win. Remy LeBeau did not make bargains lightly, and he would see this through. Come what may, Remy was a survivor above all else. And this would be far from his last Gambit.


    ¡ª Rogue Replacement ¡ª


    The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing Jean Grey stepping out into the lavish hallway on the top floor of the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Manhattan. She briskly made her way to the suite''s entrance, rapping her knuckles against the polished mahogany door, which immediately swung open to reveal Tyson waiting on the other side. Jean barely acknowledged him, giving the man a cursory hug as her gaze darted past him, urgently searching the luxurious room beyond for the one she truly sought.


    "Tyson, thank you for¡­" Jean began, but her words trailed off as she finally spotted Jubilee lounging casually on the sofa. Without another word, Jean brushed past Tyson and rushed over to her friend.


    "Jubes!" Jean exclaimed, her voice thick with concern as she enveloped her roommate in a tight embrace.


    "Hey, Red! You''re acting like you''ve seen a ghost or something."


    Jean pulled back slightly, holding Jubilee at arm''s length to inspect her. Relief and worry mingled in Jean''s expression. "Jubes, I was so worried about you after everything that happened. I''m just so happy you''re alive."


    Jubilee chuckled. "Alive, dead, undead... you know me. I''ve always been a trendsetter."


    Jean tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob, her profound relief palpable. She shook her head as a smile finally broke through her tears. "Only you could joke about something like this."


    She squeezed Jean''s hand reassuringly. "Hey, it''s still me. No point sulking when I''ve got eternity to figure this whole vampire thing out." Sensing Jean''s lingering concern, she addressed it directly. "I''m actually happy," Jubilee said. "I know it''s weird and a little scary, but I have to say, there are some pretty cool perks to this whole vampire thing."


    "Really? Like what?"


    "Well, for starters, I''m a lot faster and stronger now. It''s kind of like having another superpower." Jubilee''s grin widened, flashing her fangs. "Oh, and my senses are off the charts now. I can hear conversations from across the street, and my sense of smell is amazing. I can even pick up on the tiniest scents."


    She leaned in a bit closer to Jean. "And you know what else? Tyson tastes so good."


    Jean''s cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and she looked away, embarrassed by the insinuation. "Jubilee..."


    But Jubilee was undeterred. "I''m serious! It''s like the best kind of dessert you can imagine. There''s this warmth, this sweetness. It makes me feel alive. It''s intoxicating. And we can touch now. I just love sucking on his..."


    "Okay, okay, I get it!" Jean''s blush deepened, and she covered her face with her hands.


    Tyson couldn''t help but laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "Jubes, you''re going to make her faint."


    "She''s in everyone''s thoughts. It''s nothing she hasn''t heard before." Jubilee giggled, clearly enjoying the moment. "Sorry, Jean. I just wanted you to know that I''m really okay. Better than okay, actually. And you don''t have to worry about me so much."


    Jean took a deep breath, her embarrassment giving way to a sense of peace. "I''m glad to hear that, Jubes. Really. I just want you to be safe and happy."


    "Yeah, yeah. Now let''s talk about something more fun."


    Jean sat next to Jubilee on the plush sofa, the initial swell of emotion settling into a more relaxed atmosphere. Tyson took a seat across from them. Joining in on the conversation after having observed their heartfelt reunion.


    Jean couldn''t help but notice the profound silence that settled over Tyson''s apartment as the three friends continued their lively conversation about classes, majors, and starting a new chapter at Empire State University. It was a rare, almost eerie quiet, with barely a hint of the bustling city outside.


    "It''s so quiet here," she remarked softly, her voice filled with awe. "I can barely hear the city at all."


    "We''re pretty high up, and this place has great soundproofing to block the noise from the club just next door. But I''m also filtering out all the telepathic chatter to give your mind a break."


    Jean closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the tranquility that was so often out of her reach these days. The constant bombardment of thoughts and emotions from those around her was exhausting, pressing in on her psyche. But here, wrapped in this cocoon of silence Tyson had created, her mind floated freely.


    "Thank you," she breathed, opening her eyes once more. "You have no idea how much I miss this kind of silence when you''re not around. It''s so... liberating."


    "I remember how overwhelming it could be for you. I''m happy to help filter things out when I can."


    Jubilee grinned, punching Tyson playfully on the arm. "Our own personal telepathic noise canceling machine and blood bank. You''re the best, Ty."


    Tyson cleared his throat, "Jean, I''ve been meaning to say something about what happened in Las Vegas. I''m really sorry for trying to compel you with my power. It was a desperate move, and I regret it deeply. I was just trying to save Jubilee. It was a foolish decision made in haste, but I felt I had no other options at the time."


    Jubilee snickered, unable to resist ribbing her friend. "Yeah, I can''t believe you tried to mind-whammy Jean. Talk about dumb moves, Ty."


    "I understand why you did it. You were trying to protect Jubilee. I don''t hold any hard feelings over it."


    He felt a sense of relief at her words. "Thanks, Jean. I appreciate you saying that. And I have to say, you''re so much stronger than I am. You stopped my illusion so easily. It''s incredible to think about your power."


    Jean smiled faintly as she accepted Tyson''s praise. She had put in many long hours honing her telepathic abilities since witnessing Tyson''s astonishing display of power against Magneto the previous year. Though she had yet to come close to the magnitude of telekinetic force that Tyson had unleashed in that fight, simultaneously battling Magneto while maintaining flight, she had made great strides in control and finesse. Where Tyson''s use of her power had been wild and unfocused, Jean''s telepathy had become as precise as a scalpel. She may not have access to the same overwhelming psychic strength, at least not yet, but her control and skill had increased tenfold. She could now manipulate multiple objects with her telekinesis at once, subtly influence emotions and surface thoughts, and project her astral form over impressive distances.


    One day, she hoped to stand above his previous display of telekinetic might. For now, she was content to keep honing her skills and pushing her limits.


    Jean''s hand rested gently on Tyson''s shoulder. "You know, Tyson, I was only able to stop you because you held back."


    "But Jean, I didn''t hold back," he protested. "I used the full extent of my power against you."


    With a slight shake of her head, Jean clarified, "I don''t mean in terms of psychic strength. But strategically, you pulled your punches. You didn''t try to turn us against each other, though you certainly could have." Jean''s voice took on a more solemn tone. "If you had used your illusions to manipulate Jubilee or Storm into attacking me or turned Logan or Piotr against us, we wouldn''t have stood a chance. But because you care for us, the thought never even crossed your mind. Had you been willing, you could have easily defeated us all."


    Tyson fell silent as the truth of Jean''s words sank in. His mind replayed their fight in Las Vegas, analyzing his actions through this new lens. She was right. Despite the intensity of the situation and his desire to save Jubilee, he avoided the more ruthless tactics available to him. His concern for the well-being of his friends had stayed his hand.


    Jubilee had been watching the exchange. Her usual playfulness was absent, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. "Dang, Jean''s got a point," she mused. "You could''ve really messed us up, but you held back. That''s gotta mean something, right?"


    Slowly, Tyson nodded. "I suppose, in a way, I did hold back," he conceded. "When it came down to it, I couldn''t bring myself to hurt any of you, no matter how caught up I was in saving you, Jubes. Even in the heat of the moment, I didn''t cross that line."


    Jean gave Tyson''s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And that''s what makes you so great. You have immense power at your fingertips, but you also have a kind heart. We all make mistakes, some small, some bigger. What truly matters is how we learn from those mistakes, grow as people, and keep moving forward."


    Tyson''s frown melted into a thoughtful smile. "I''ll do my best to live up to that."


    "See? We''re all in this crazy thing together. Highs, lows, and everything in between." Jubilee playfully elbowed Tyson in the ribs. "And next time, maybe just stick to less mind-whammying and plain old talking and teamwork."


    Tyson laughed, the last of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Deal. Teamwork it is. Besides," he added with a dramatic sigh, "My illusions don''t work on you anymore anyway. It''s tragic."


    Jubilee looked wistful for a moment before sighing in agreement, "It really is."


    "So," Jean began, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "I can hardly believe we''re all enrolled at Empire State University. It''s going to be an entirely new chapter for us."


    Jubilee''s eyes glimmered with excitement. "Yeah, it''s pretty surreal, isn''t it? Registering for classes and everything..."


    Tyson agreed, "No doubt about it. I''ve already started looking into some of the business courses. Since I have a company to run, I might as well learn how to manage it properly."


    Jean''s face lit up with enthusiasm. "That sounds wonderful, Tyson! I''ve decided to major in psychology with a minor in education. I think understanding the intricacies of the human mind will be absolutely fascinating, and the knowledge will serve me well down the road."


    Jubilee leaned back into the plush cushions. "I''m considering majoring in communications. You know, getting into public relations. It seems like a good way to stay connected with the world."


    Jean smiled affectionately at both of them. "This is going to be wonderful. We''ll have our classes, and most importantly, we''ll have each other."


    Jubilee lightly added, "Yeah, and who knows? Maybe we''ll even find a way to survive freshman year."


    <hr>


    Author''s Note


    That''s the end of Arc 6, folks. Following the Behind the Scenes is the first part of Arc 7, Chapter 1! If you''re reading this on Royal Road or FanFiction, Arc 7 will be the start of Rogue Redemption, Part 2 of this story. Rogue Replacement will be marked as complete.


    Behind the Scenes


    - I initially said I hadn''t changed much of Agatha''s dialogue. That''s true it remained mostly intact, as I liked my initial vision of her character. But I have been going through and making some adjustments to keep it in line with the show.


    "How was your trip down to New York? I hope the city is treating you well so far," he inquired. Agatha glanced around, appreciating the decor. "The journey down the road was smooth as ever," she responded, her tone light, though her eyes danced with an unspoken amusement.


    If you watched the show, you might see where this could go, and understand why she appears younger here than her first appearance in Wandavision.


    - The draft of this chapter was written on May 7th. Right in the middle of X-Men 97''s run. But I hadn''t watched the show nor foreseen Gambit''s appearance in Deadpool. But man did I smile when he walked onscreen. Plus, how can you have a ''Rogue'' story without Gambit?


    And to head off the inevitable comments that pop up¡­


    No, this isn''t going to become a slash fic. No TysonxGambit pairings.


    - Speaking of which. I usually try to stick close to the presented personalities for each character, as well as best as I can reconcile, anyway. Mr. Sinister is an exception. If you didn''t pick it up in the short scene¡­ In my headcanon, he''s super gay. It''s probably the costume. But, in doing research for this story, I was glad to find out that I wasn''t the only one who thought so. I may have leaned a bit heavily into that for his character, my bad. I''m not apologizing for that for this chapter, but rather for his next appearance.


    Support Plug


    For those of you interested in supporting my writing.


    pat re on dot com /Steatoda


    For Arc 5&6, every chapter had its own cover image.


    One buck membership gets you access to the galleries.


    Five bucks membership gets one chapter ahead and access to NSFW galleries.


    Ten bucks membership gets the same as above, but two chapters ahead, an exclusive what if, and a preview of the next Arc cover.


    And now¡­ Enjoy your Arc 7 Preview


    <hr>


    Chapter 84 - Part 1


    Arc 7 - Ch 1: Opening Morning Part 1


    Date: Monday, August 29, 2011.


    Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York


    The early morning air in Manhattan was crisp and cool, a perfect contrast to the steady burn in Jean Grey''s muscles. She matched her breaths to her strides, trying to find a rhythm. The city was waking up, and the streets were relatively empty, save for a few joggers and early commuters. Ahead of her, Tyson maintained a relentless pace. Beside her, Jubilee moved with supernatural grace and speed that made Jean envious and slightly annoyed. As a vampire, Jubilee no longer knew fatigue. Tyson, whose superpower was absorbing others through touch, had permanently gained superhuman strength, endurance, reflexes, and an incredible healing factor by absorbing the villain, Sabertooth, last year.


    "Come on, Jean! You''re doing great!" Tyson called back as he slowed down just enough to let her catch up.


    "Easy for you to say," she panted, pushing herself harder. "You''re not the one with burning legs."


    "Trust me, Red. You''re doing awesome." Jubilee encouraged.


    Jean couldn''t help but laugh, albeit breathlessly. She had to admit her fitness had improved significantly since moving in with Tyson and Jubilee at the end of the school year. They had become her trainers, and their positivity and support made it hard for her to refuse their early morning runs. The best part wasn''t the workouts; it was Tyson¡¯s unique ability to mute her psionic noise. His presence was like a soothing balm, quieting the constant hum of thoughts that usually surrounded her. It was a relief, especially in the crowded city. Last year, Tyson had arrived at the institute, but he''d only stayed a few months before it was attacked. After finishing high school, they were once again living under the same roof. But this time, it was in his swanky downtown suite. She was also sure he was muting more than just the psionic noise. Despite their room being just across the hall, Jean hadn''t heard a thing. Neither Tyson nor Jubilee needed sleep, and she was grateful the sounds of their nightly activities didn''t keep her up too.


    Tyson''s feet slowed to a stop. "Alright, let''s take a quick breather here."


    Jean doubled over, bracing her hands against her knees as she gasped for breath, trying to slow the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Jubilee stopped beside her, not tired in the slightest.


    "Alright," he said, "until we reach the Flatiron Armory, we''re working powers. Jean, you''re flying as fast as you can. I''m covering us with illusions. Jubilee, you''re on attack. Try to land a hit on me as we move."


    Jean closed her eyes for a brief moment to center herself, drawing on her telekinetic abilities. Then, with a soft exhalation, her feet lifted lightly off the ground on an invisible wave of psychic force. She shot ahead swiftly, cutting through the cool morning air as she pushed herself to move at maximum speed. Unfortunately, her top speed wasn''t much faster than a run.


    Beside Jean, Tyson summoned his illusions, cloaking the trio as they moved. To any early morning pedestrians nearby, it would seem the three were jogging at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk. But Tyson''s concentration was split between maintaining the facade around them and tracking Jubilee''s rapid assaults.


    Jubilee launched herself at Tyson over and over. Though her attacks had ferocity, they still lacked the finesse of a seasoned fighter. Her vampiric strength made her a formidable opponent, but Tyson''s months of intense martial arts training gave him the edge. He dodged her first jab with a swift sidestep.


    "Keep at it, Jubes," Tyson encouraged as he narrowly avoided another strike, his voice calm despite her relentless attacks. "You''re getting faster."


    Above them, Jean soared effortlessly along, levitating a few feet over the concrete. She kept her gaze focused ahead, trying to maintain her concentration.


    Jubilee''s expression was frustrated as she pressed her attack. With a grunt, she twisted her lithe body mid-air, her foot lashing out in a powerful kick aimed at his ribs. Tyson saw the blow and angled his body, effortlessly deflecting her leg with a sweeping block of his forearm. Though Jubilee''s attacks came hard and fast, Tyson countered her every move. After leaving the institute, he spent the summer, then nearly every day after school for months, in intense martial arts training under Colleen Wing, a member of the Hand. His experience gave him an edge, allowing him to redirect her strikes while maintaining the illusions around them.


    As the Flatiron Armory came into view up ahead, Jean poured on a burst of speed, propelling herself forward on a wave of telekinetic energy. The building served as Tyson''s base of operations. Within, he ran his illusion show, House of M. She landed lightly at the entrance, her feet barely kissing the concrete before her teammates joined her. The group''s rush to the Flatiron Armory had only been the first part of their training, a warmup for what was to come. When Tyson, Jean, and Jubilee entered the arena to a familiar sight.


    Maki Matsumoto was waiting to lead that day''s session. Maki, also known as Lady Bullseye, was a member of the Hand and Hydra. The Hand was a cabal of ninjas. Months earlier, one of the Hand leaders had ambushed Tyson and deemed him a ''Black Sky'' candidate. That same night, Maki had reported to Hydra. Unfortunately for her, Tyson had been at the meeting under illusion. Through subtle manipulation of his illusions, he had convinced Hydra that he was a promising new recruit, and they had eagerly brought him into the fold. Maki now served as his bodyguard despite having no real superpowers beyond her extraordinary skill with weapons. She also led a martial arts class for House of M employees daily.


    Dr. Curt Connors arrived shortly after Tyson''s group. The brilliant scientist had formerly worked at Oscorp, where he had experimented on himself to regrow his missing arm, transforming himself into the Lizard. He''d attacked Midtown High School, where Tyson was attending at the time. Together with Spider-Man, Tyson had defeated the rampaging Lizard, but unbeknownst to the other hero, he''d brought Connors back to House of M. Using his illusory abilities, Tyson had coerced him into curing himself of the Lizard transformation and continuing to work on perfecting the flawed Lizard formula. Once fully cured and restored to human form by the improved Lizard formula, Connors happily continued his research as the lead scientist at House of M.


    Ivan Vanko was next to shuffle into the arena, bleary-eyed and scowling. The burly Russian physicist was decidedly not a morning person. His muscular frame was covered in faded tattoos, but his appearance was far more presentable than it had been initially. Vanko had made headlines months earlier when he attacked Tony Stark at the Monaco Grand Prix, seeking vengeance against the billionaire inventor. Later, when he attacked at the Stark Expo, Tyson intervened, using his illusions to coerce him into abandoning his vendetta. Now, the scientist lived at House of M, and his considerable talents turned to more constructive ends. Though not quite a match for the genius of Tony Stark, Vanko was the only other person on Earth to successfully miniaturize arc reactor technology.


    "Alright, everyone," Maki called out. "Let''s start with some basic stretching."


    The motley crew followed her lead, moving through a series of stretches. Once she judged they were sufficiently warmed up, she transitioned into drills. "Pair up," she instructed, demonstrating a series of techniques.


    As the group partnered off to practice the drills, the door to the arena opened and in glided Agatha Harkness, Tyson''s magic tutor. Like Tyson, Agatha lived in the Four Seasons, though her suite was one floor below his. She''d flatly denied joining their morning run, attending the martial arts class more out of obligation than inclination. Clad in a leopard print tank bodysuit layered over lurid purple tights. Tyson still had no idea why the witch looked decades younger then he remembered from his metaknowledge.


    "Vanko, did you invent a time machine and send us back to the 1980s?" Tyson quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Dr. Connors.


    Ever fashion-forward, Jubilee interjected, "80s chic never goes out of style! Don''t listen to the haters, Agatha. You look fab." She accentuated the compliment with an enthusiastic high-five.


    "You know it, girl!" Agatha returned, clearly buoyed by the support.


    Before she could get too comfortable, Maki interjected, "Good of you to join us, Agatha. You''ll be partnering with me today."


    Agatha''s exaggerated groan elicited more laughter from the group. "Again? Come on..." resigned to her fate, she began her warmup.


    Every morning, Agatha was the last to arrive.


    But not today.


    Today, Felicia Hardy strolled in last.


    She was usually one of the first to arrive, and it struck Tyson as odd. Felicia managed all of House of M''s operations held within the Flatiron Armory, including Tyson''s illusionist show and any other productions or gatherings hosted in the venue. Earlier in the year, the Kingpin, Wilson Fisk, had forced Felicia into his employ, compelling her to steal for him in order to pay off debts incurred by her father. Under his hero guise, Mirage, Tyson had intervened, convincing the Kingpin to release the cat burglar into his service in exchange for a non-interference agreement. In truth, Tyson had covertly used his illusions to bend the Kingpin to his own will.


    Felicia arriving unusually late was enough of a deviation from her norm for Tyson to take notice.


    Jubilee paired with Tyson for their training session. He was the only one who could counteract her vampiric abilities if she used too much strength. Meanwhile, Jean partnered with Felicia. There was a pronounced gap between the two women in terms of fighting experience and skill. However, the charming and affable Felicia had befriended Jean. Across the training room, Ivan paired off with Dr. Connors for their own sparring session.


    Maki moved among the students. Her keen eyes darted from stance to technique, posture to form. "Remember, true mastery is about efficiency," she reminded them, gently nudging Jean''s leading foot angle. "A single well-placed strike can end a fight just as well as brute force."


    The drills steadily pushed each student to improve. Finally, Maki called an end to the class, allowing the students a moment to catch their breath and rehydrate. "Excellent work today, everyone," she praised.


    Despite how well the training session had gone, Tyson''s unease lingered. The source of his discomfort was easy to identify.


    Felicia.


    Not only had she arrived late, but her scent was off. Seeking answers, Tyson approached her casually. "Hey, Felicia," he began, "Are you ready for classes today?"


    "Nah, I''ll have to skip the first day," she replied breezily. "There''s too much to prep for the show tonight. I''ll just email my professors later to explain."


    Tyson hoped his smile appeared genuine. "That''s real dedication. I appreciate all the hard work you''re putting in."


    Felicia turned away, stretching her lithe body. But it wasn''t her usual post-workout routine. Instead, she struck sensual poses intended to draw Tyson''s eye.


    He recognized she was trying to distract him from her slightly-off behavior.


    His unease intensified. He had seen Felicia act this way before when they first met and she was disguised as Black Cat. At the time, he had been working as a night guard intern at Oscorp. Felicia had infiltrated the building and tried to win him over with alluring poses and flirtatious banter. It had been months since she directed that kind of behavior toward him, especially with his girlfriend, Jubilee, nearby. Until now, Felicia had respected their relationship despite their past trysts. Sure, Felicia was naturally flirty, but she''d directed her more amorous habits toward Jubilee more than Tyson himself since they''d started dating.


    He inhaled slowly. It might have appeared he was taking in a sharp breath in appreciation of her curves. But in truth, Tyson was focused on her scent. After months of being intimate and working closely with Felicia, he knew her natural fragrance intimately, an alluring blend of white jasmine, amber, and leather.


    But now, the aroma was distorted.


    The notes of jasmine and amber were present but faint and diluted. The leather remained but smelled synthetic. This scent was wrong. Like a failed attempt to mimic Felicia''s essence. Tyson had encountered such a disturbing scent discrepancy once before, over a year ago, at the Xavier Institute. Professor Ororo Munroe, Storm, had a similarly off-kilter scent when she''d offered him tickets to the NBA finals. Tyson realized the truth later when he''d fallen into their trap. It wasn''t Storm at all, but the shape-shifting mutant Mystique in disguise.


    With chilling certainty, Tyson realized the truth.


    This was not Felicia.


    This was Mystique. The Brotherhood had come for him again.


    Tyson forced himself to remain outwardly calm. He spoke carefully, ensuring his voice betrayed none of his mounting suspicions. "I''ll take plenty of notes so you don''t fall behind," he said.


    The woman posing as Felicia replied smoothly, "Thanks. It''s just opening day jitters, you know how it is."


    Tonight was the premier of the new show at House of M. Felicia had been preparing for weeks, but at this point, most of the work was done. All that was left was for Tyson to put on the show, something she wouldn''t have a hand in.


    But he recognized it for what it was. A convenient excuse to set a trap.


    "Of course, don''t stress yourself too much. You''ve been doing such a phenomenal job these past few months. I couldn''t manage all this without you," he said, laying it on thick. "We''ll probably just be going over the syllabus in the first classes anyway. No need to worry about emailing the professors. Since we have all the same classes today, I can project an illusion of you being there."


    "Thanks, Tyson. I really appreciate it. Today will be the only class I miss, I promise," she replied.


    She''d just given him more evidence. Tyson and Felicia''s schedules didn''t match today. Felicia would know this since she was the master planner around here and had arranged Tyson''s schedule as well.


    His thoughts raced ahead, already focused on how to handle the Brotherhood without tipping off Mystique. If she was here impersonating Felicia, it meant the Brotherhood had to be planning something. She''d said that today would be the only class she missed, meaning they were likely planning something today or, if he was reading between the lines correctly, tonight.


    Normally, Tyson would simply touch her briefly to learn their plan, but Mystique had an inherent resistance to psionics, including his illusions. She knew how his powers worked, and if he touched her, she''d know they''d been discovered.


    Knowing they were setting a trap, gave him an opportunity to set one of his own.


    Tyson refused to let them catch him off-guard again. But it also meant...


    The Brotherhood had captured Felicia.


    As the false Felicia turned and walked away, Tyson recognized how obvious it was to him that it was Mystique and not Felicia herself. He wondered how he could have been fooled by her act the last time. It might be because Tyson knew Felicia better than Ororo. Perhaps it was because he had learned from their last encounter.


    Or maybe because he had been anticipating Mystique''s return.


    After graduation, when Jubilee had been bitten by the vampire, Tyson intended to attack Mystique. But the X-Men intervened and warned her he was coming. After that, she had vanished... Until now.


    Magneto and The Brotherhood were coming, but Tyson would not face them unprepared again.