Money and magic. Magic and money. I can't say which is more powerful in the human world. But Suo and I had both. So settling in and becoming legal in a new city wasn't particularly difficult. Two days, and we had our own house, documents, and even a car. However, I couldn't explain to my wife why we needed a car. Yes, yes, my wife. Because we registered the documents in the names of a married couple, Viktor and Suo Lansher (I decided to legalize myself under this name to avoid problems with profiting from my and Eric's long-term projects). This changed practically nothing in our relationship, but it simplified many legal issues. Sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace with a glass of whiskey in my hand, I realized that I was bored. Suo was away, studying somewhere with her students, perhaps in Tibet or somewhere else (after demonstrating the powers of the "double ring," I'm no longer sure she's even in our world). And I was sitting at home alone, drinking whiskey, which had no effect on my system at all. Before, it had at least had some effect, but now it had absolutely nothing. Just water with a nasty taste and smell. I irritably threw the glass into the fireplace. The flames flared up for a few seconds in response. Then they died down, and I was still bored. Third day in this city. Just the third day. What happens next? I'm going crazy from idleness. So I need to do something. In a flash, I'm already approaching Xavier's mansion. This future bald paralytic finally brought his idea of a school for mutants to fruition. And now he already has fifteen students. You can kill a day by training them with Logan in physical training. Where did Xavier get Howlett? It's simple – Logan came to see me in Japan, three weeks after his rescue. He came to thank me. We had a great time at one of the local bars. It was heartwarming. The bartender literally changed his nationality that evening (his eyes became completely European) as he watched two brutal men drink his ENTIRE supply of alcohol while playing chess for vodka. When it was time to say goodbye, I wrote him Xavier's address and advised him to stop by at his leisure. And also to bring all the surviving mutants from the Weapon X project there before the government and SHIELD drafted them as operatives with "special abilities." Logan promised to think about it. A year later, I dropped by to see my brother (I gradually stopped even mentally putting quotation marks around that word when I mentioned Eric) and his wife, who had settled in there with Charles. I learned that Logan had not only stopped by but had even stayed. Now he's firmly established himself there and has literally put down roots. He's become a teacher, teaching physical education and hand-to-hand combat to the kids. I spent half the day at school. During that time, I managed to come up with a few ideas for how to spend the evening. And a few ideas for what to do in general. I spent the remaining time before Suo's promised return preparing. "Vik, I'm home!" Suo shouted, emerging from the wall through the ring of fire. "Welcome back," I replied, placing the glass of unfinished whiskey on the table next to the chair. "You look... unusual," she froze, looking at me. Well, there was something to be surprised about: a clean-shaven face, a neat classic haircut, a classic black tuxedo with a bow tie, black patent leather shoes. "We're going to the opera," I answered, rising from my chair. "To the opera?" she asked, surprised. Apparently, the words Victor Creed and opera just couldn't fit together in her mind. "Yes," I confirmed that she had heard correctly. "You have thirty minutes to get ready to go out. The dress, shoes, and jewelry are already in your room. The driver will pick us up at seven sharp." - Thirty minutes? - she exclaimed. - You're joking, I hope? "Do I look like I'm joking?" I raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked at my wristwatch. "Twenty-nine minutes." "Well, twenty-nine, so twenty-nine," she smiled wickedly. Then she touched the same eye-shaped trinket that ended each of my "dreams" before it disappeared into the ring of fire. A peculiar bracelet of glowing symbols began to glow around Suo's arm. "I'll make it, darling," her smile turned sly. I suspected something was up, watching her leisurely climb the stairs to the second floor. I only realized which one it was when I looked at my watch again. The second hand wasn't moving... * * * The clock hands weren't moving. Neither was the sun outside. But the stupid and trivial method of counting time hasn't been abolished yet. Counting seconds. Even though there was nothing to objectively count, I think, and therefore I can measure even that which does not exist. When that mental timer reached seven thousand two hundred and fifteen seconds, my patience snapped. Along with the glass of another glass, it flew into the fireplace. I have a feeling I'll soon have to order them in bulk. Or break the habit of throwing them into the fireplace. I rose from my chair and turned towards the stairs with the firm intention of dragging this slowpoke out by the scruff of the neck, no matter what form she was in. But I froze in place. Suo was slowly and majestically descending toward me in the black evening gown I'd chosen for her. The spectacle was mesmerizing. Even my anger subsided, as if it had never been there. Something changed outside. It seemed the sun had suddenly moved across the sky. Judging by the sound, a car stopped near the house. "I'm ready," she smiled at me charmingly. "Just a minute, darling," she said, coming up to me, lifting my left hand and looking at the watch face. I chuckled and, freeing my left hand from her fingers, offered her my right hand for support. She caught my bent elbow. "Are we going?" she asked. I nodded, barely able to tear my eyes away from her, and we walked out the door of the house. A black and silver Rolls-Royce was parked in front of the porch. The driver opened the rear door for us. * * * Perhaps I'd made another stupid mistake. This thought occurred to me at the entrance to the New York City Opera House, when we were blinded by paparazzi flashes as we exited the car. But it was too late to retreat; it had already happened. All that remained was to play my part in this performance with honor. I helped Suo out, gave her my hand, and we slowly and with dignity moved towards the entrance to the building. A dozen more flashes flashed, then the reporters retreated, realizing they clearly weren't expecting us. Our transport had appeared too suddenly and pompously, and they'd mistaken it for some bigwig or celebrity planning to grace the event. And already in the hall, I realized who exactly they were waiting for: the millionaire couple Howard and Maria Stark. Tony's "golden boy" didn't yet exist. And judging by Maria's figure, it wasn't even planned. And Howard recognized me. The moment our eyes met, recognition lit up in him. Not just lit up. It literally flared up. Naturally they headed towards us. "Victor?" he said to me, coming up to me. "Is that you? I couldn't be mistaken." "Hello, Howard," I said, not playing the game of "tags." "You're looking good. I heard your company is doing well." "Well, I had some problems after the war, but a sudden investment from a few private individuals from Western Europe kept me afloat and got off to a good start. So things are looking up now," he smiled. "But I heard you died in '43..." "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," as Mark Twain once remarked, I joked. "By the way, one of the 'private individuals' is standing before you now." - Lady? - he turned to Suo, not quite understanding me correctly. "You're wrong, Howard. That's my wife, Suo Lansher. And the 'private individuals' were my brother and I. He and I each own twenty-six percent of your company's shares," I said, "cheering" Howard. "Twenty-six... Two... A controlling stake..." he muttered in shock. And I understand him. Suddenly finding out that your company isn't really yours at all. He's still holding up well. - It was a bad idea to put more than forty percent of the shares on sale, Howard. - But I only put up forty-four then! Where did fifty-two come from?! "By that time, I ALREADY owned eight percent of your shares," I grinned. "I had no choice..." he trailed off. "It was either this or complete ruin..." "Don't be so upset, Howard," I patted him on the shoulder. "Eric and I aren't going to tell you how to run your company. Quite the contrary. We're always ready to financially support your wildest projects." - Eric... Lansher... Isn't this Doctor Lansher from MIT? - Howard suddenly jumped up. "Yes, Doctor of Physical and Mathematical Sciences Lansher," I confirmed. "But that changes everything!" Howard exclaimed. "I've been trying to get in touch with him for a year about his work in magnetism and the physics of matter! If he's a shareholder in Stark Industries, there won't be any problems with the patent office, and I'll be able to work with him without any legal complications or delays!" "Wonderful," I chuckled. "Write to him. He's currently spending a lot of time in North Salem, New York, with Professor Xavier and Doctor McCoy. Just a few steps from here." "And Doctor McCoy too? This is just a real treat!" Howard beamed with excitement. "Maria, Howard," I bowed and handed Stark my business card with the address. "If you have any questions or suggestions, this is my current address in New York." "I'll definitely get in touch with you, Victor," he said, shaking my hand and tucking away his business card. The flashes of nearby cameras continued throughout our conversation. The first bell rang, and Suo and I headed to our box. I was determined to get the most out of this rash venture today, now that I'd already been exposed. It was too late to replay it anyway. * * *
the morning, Suo found me naked in the middle of the living room floor, meditating in the lotus position. Sheets of paper, covered with scribbles and drawings, were scattered around me. "Vik, have you decided to take up magic?" she asked, with a mixture of surprise and hope in her voice, sitting down to breakfast with the remains of the pizza I had ordered, the boxes of which were lying just beyond the papers. "No," I interrupted my meditation. "Science!" "Ahh," she said, disappointed. "Was it worth waking up in the middle of the night over such nonsense?" "This is not nonsense! This is the INTERNET!!!" I declared, my breath catching on this sacred word. "What is this input network?" she asked weakly. "And how is it better than magic?" "Oh! This is much, much, MUCH better than magic!" My enthusiasm was surging. Without wasting any time, before I forgot, I grabbed a blank sheet of paper and began rapidly sketching out a structural diagram of the Pentium's architecture, the precise recollection of which I had been meditating on. "It's a global information network. It's the unification of all human knowledge into a single, accessible space! It's online games!!!" "I understand," she sighed. "Yesterday you gave me a farewell party, and now you're lost to society." "What didn't you like about last night?" I asked, still drawing the diagram. "I thought everything was top-notch." "Well, yes, especially the sex in the toilet during the second act," she responded. "I liked it," I shrugged, scratching the back of my head with a pencil. "It's a very convenient place for it: spacious, mirrored, with cabinets and red velvet curtains. I propped the door open with a chair, so no one would bother me. Or didn't the sex itself satisfy you? I thought I tried my best." "You did," Suo sighed. "You bet you did. I'm telling you, it was a wonderful evening. But I wasn't happy with you jumping up at three in the morning and, without saying a word, running downstairs with a package of paper and a pack of pencils. Where did you get them, by the way? They weren't in the house yesterday." - "Jumped" into a stationery store in Japan. Threw a hundred bucks at the checkout, grabbed what I needed, and "jumped" back. "Naked?" she asked. I looked at myself in bewilderment, only then realizing that I was indeed naked. "No wonder their eyes were so wide. I thought I'd confused Japan with France," I shrugged. - Psycho. "Not a psycho, but an enthusiastic person," I corrected her. - Where does the food come from? - I ordered by phone. They deliver 24 hours a day. "Who, 'theirs'? And what's it called? It's delicious, by the way," she said, taking another piece. "U 'they'" is a pizzeria two blocks from here. And the dish is called pizza. It's considered one of the most unhealthy foods for your figure and health. It's served with a drink called "Cola" or "Coca-Cola," which is even more unhealthy. It's made from kola nuts and contains a large amount of caffeine and some other stimulants. It's a very weak narcotic and can be addictive. It's carbonated by adding carbonic acid, which actively decomposes into water and carbon dioxide. The trick is that it takes time for the decomposition to occur, and you drink it immediately after opening the lid. Consequently, you're drinking a solution of acid and caffeine. It's a harsh mixture, really. It leaches calcium from teeth and bones and has a negative impact on the cardiovascular system. The dyes and preservatives affect the stomach, contributing to gastritis and peptic ulcers... "That's enough!" Suo interrupted, setting the bottle aside and putting down her half-eaten piece. "Go ahead and poison yourself with that nasty stuff. I'm going to run some errands, I'll be late. I'm hoping for a proper dinner with proper food, not as dangerous as this." "Yeah, go ahead," I waved my hand without turning around, checking and rechecking the diagram I had just drawn. Suo wanted to say something else, but she just waved her hand in resignation and walked into the wall through the ring of fire. * * * "Howard," I began the conversation from the threshold of his office. "Make time for me." "Come in, Victor," the head of Stark Industries rose from his desk and walked toward me. "When the secretary told me you were asking to see me, I couldn't believe my ears." - Howard, yesterday I told you I wouldn't interfere with your company's management. And I really don't intend to. But I need your and your company's resources for a project. A VERY big project. "How big?" he asked cautiously. "You'll judge for yourself now," I said, taking out the thick folder I'd brought with me, filled with pages scribbled and written on throughout the night and day. I placed it on the table, but was in no hurry to untie it. "I'll be able to provide the funding, as I promised. If I can't handle it myself, I'll ask my brother, Xavier, for help. As a last resort, we'll bring in Fury... But the project needs to move forward. I don't know how commercially successful it will be, but consider it my whim." "You know how to intrigue," Stark chuckled. "Show me what you brought." "What do you know about computers, Howard..." I untied the ribbon and took out the first sheet. The thing is, let me remind you: my very first degree, albeit unfinished, is in programming. I'm an OCR student in the IT department. And I had some really good teachers. They were passionate about their field. They infused even a mind as thick as mine with a wealth of knowledge and information. And they also managed to intrigue me. Which is both far more important and more difficult. So much so that I started scouring the internet for information myself, trying to comprehend and digest it. I didn't have time to work anywhere, I was just studying. This means that before I "got caught," I didn't squander my knowledge, didn't turn it into moldy shelves of useless waste paper. And the meditative practices, studied and developed over the years spent in Tibet, are wonderfully helpful in retrieving from your memory even that which you seemed not to know at all, only to have glimpsed. And into this folder I dumped everything I managed to shake up in less than a day of express excavations. - Computers? You mean mainframes? Electronic Computing Machines? - Howard frowned. - Yes. It's about them. It's a promising field, actively developing. It's finding application everywhere: in industry, defense, accounting, research—anywhere that requires large amounts of computation. "That's obvious. But what are they like? How do you know them? Have you seen them?" I waved these words away. - Big, bulky, expensive... "Here!" I raised my index finger. "I propose making them small. Personal. And here," I laid the first twenty sheets of paper on the table. "The architecture of a small personal computer." "Hmm... Interesting idea," Howard began looking through my schematics and descriptions with interest. "But what is VLSI? Very Large Scale Integrated Circuits, what is that?" "It's the basic electronics for computers. The basic idea is to grow a single crystal of silicon or germanium with a pre-existing logic structure. This means that several thousand individual components, such as diodes, capacitors, triodes, and so on, are grown in a pre-planned sequence on a single crystal. Photolithography and X-ray lithography are used for this, which involves placing a light source directed at the crystal blank, and placing a transparent material with the required structural circuit printed on it between it and the crystal blank. Using a lens system, the beam is converged. This means that the transparent material with the circuit could be, for example, a meter by meter, while the crystal blank is ten by ten millimeters. As a result, where the light hits the crystal, a certain reaction occurs; where it doesn't, it doesn't. But this is all very rough and approximate. Here are all the diagrams and chemical reactions I know on this topic. Here are the individual structural elements, here are the logical diagrams of the individual elements... - I continued rustling the sheets. "Stop!" Howard stopped me. "This all needs to be discussed and worked out with engineers. What you've shown takes years of research. But from that to the final product, it's like going to China. I'll take on your project, but I'll probably start with PCs, personal computers, as you called them. I'll try to create them using the existing hardware. And VLSI... It's a damn promising direction and damn tempting, but it won't be a matter of a year." "I don't argue," I shrugged. "I didn't expect everything to happen with a wave of a magic wand. But I showed you where to dig." "What's next? Just the basics, the general idea; we'll discuss the specifics later, with the specific specialists who will be working on the subprojects." - Next, methods of transmitting information over distances: wired and wireless communications. Here's information on wired transmission media: coaxial cable, twisted pair, fiber optic cable... The device, maximum data transmission range, and speed. Then come local area network diagrams, routing, data transmission protocols, network addressing, IP addressing, MAC addresses of network devices... The same thing, but for wireless communication. But I'm still a bit unclear on this issue. That's just the basic principle. "I take it that's not all?" Howard, overcome with emotion, took out a cigarette and lit it. "The rest is not relevant for now," I sighed. "It covers programming languages, low-level, high-level, object-oriented... The principles of building mobile and satellite communications systems... Operating systems for personal computers, graphical interfaces, the principles of video and sound cards, peripherals: keyboards, inkjet, laser, and dot-matrix printers, scanners, CRT monitors, RGB color encoding..." "You know how to puzzle," Howard said, thoughtfully blowing a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. - Will you take it? "I'll be a complete fool if I refuse," he sighed. - But? "But it begs the question: 'Where from?' These aren't your own developments. Forgive me, but they're way beyond your capabilities. I've already worked with you on a project; your level is assistant. A go-to guy. You're perfect at that. But this," he lifted a few sheets of paper, then put them back. "These are concepts, schematics, completely lacking in detail—precisely what you're not good at. And it all looks less like a blueprint for a future development than a textbook, briefly describing long-existing, long-tested, and even mass-produced machines." "Howard," I looked at him heavily. "You know that some secrets get people killed?" "I've heard of that," he nervously corrected his collar, which had suddenly become too tight. "This is one of those," I finished the sentence. "I understand you," Howard stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "We don't need to attract Fury's attention either," I added. "It's not scary, but it's better without her curious nose." "Okay," he nodded. "Will you be participating in the development yourself? I see you're interested in the topic." "Not just close," I smiled. "It's my hobby! My passion! Almost like martial arts. Naturally, I want to participate!" - Financing? "Figure it out, do the math, give me an estimate. I'll figure out where to get the money. Deal?" I offered him my hand. "Shake on it!" he said, as if jumping off a cliff, and shook her hand with all his might.
You're a real rude person, Vic," Suo stated, sitting across from me at an expensive French restaurant on the outskirts of Paris. "Giving a woman a minute to get ready is downright rude. Even I'd say it's incredibly rude!" "You do have that green trinket, after all. So I don't see any rudeness here. Just a rational use of available resources," I replied calmly, raising a glass of some expensive wine. "And next time, I want to keep the choice of dress," she said with an intonation that was incomprehensible to me. "You're not worried," I said. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary. I understand that if it wasn't the right size, or if it sat ill, or if it was rubbing somewhere, then the complaints would be understandable." "What exactly is it that you're not happy with? I spent time searching, choosing exactly what I would like you in. What's wrong?" "But you could have left the choice of underwear to me," she looked away. "Did you not like something in particular?" I tilted my head to the side. - No... Everything is very beautiful... - she hesitated with her answer. - But? "I don't like feeling like a doll, without my own preferences, taste, or will, dressed and taken out for a walk by my master!" she finally blurted out what was swirling around in her head. "I'm not your slave, I'm a woman! A person!" "What are you talking about now?" I asked. - About the collar! - she exclaimed. "Not a 'collar,' but a leather neck ornament with a moonstone. It suits you very well, by the way," I replied calmly. In response, I heard an inarticulate growl. My eyebrows shot up of their own accord and my eyes widened. "What?" she asked suspiciously. - I thought I was the only one who growled in our family. "Then you were wrong," she snapped. "As your favorite Russians say: 'You become like the people you hang out with!'" "I prefer: 'Serves you right with who you associate with!'" I retorted, returning my face to its normal state. "And why are they 'beloved Russians'?" "And who made Dzhugashvili superhuman? Not you, you say?" I fell silent. I took a napkin and carefully wiped my lips. Then I put it down and looked at her without a hint of humor in my eyes. "How do you know, I understand. The question is, does he know?" I asked her. "He definitely suspects," she sighed. "Especially after your second 'gift.'" - I couldn't do otherwise, Suo. I couldn't... * * * flashback 1941 "The serum..." Abraham sighed, pouring another half-finger's worth of whiskey into his glass. "The serum, the serum, the serum, the formula! Everyone needs the formula... But that's not my most important discovery!" I said nothing. He didn't need a companion right now. He needed a listener. "After all, the most important thing I discovered is..." He took a key from his pocket and placed it on the table. Then he slid it across the table toward me. "Do what you want with the formula, Victor. But don't let my life's work go to waste! Promise me you won't!" He stared at me with fervor in his eyes, grabbed my hand and placed the key in it, then bent my fingers so that the key was clenched in his fist. I was silent for almost a full minute, looking down at my fist. Abraham waited silently, too. "I promise," I replied, putting the key away. We didn't discuss any more serious topics that evening. * * * 1948 In one of the banks in Switzerland, a clerk took me to personal anonymous safes, where I found the one I needed using the key number. There was only one folder of papers there. Nothing else. I took it, locked the safe, and handed the key to the clerk at the entrance, closing the vault in this bank. It had served its purpose. * * * Locked in my room at Eric's and my home, I thoughtfully read the contents of the folder my friend had left me, literally bequeathed to me. His Life's Work: A Revolution in Dietetics. Abraham was, after all, a genius with a capital G. He managed to develop a diet and exercise program that, if implemented from early childhood, can produce results equal to, and even slightly superior to, the super-soldier formula. A gift to humanity. That's exactly what the inscription on the folder's cardboard cover read, pompously and naively. "Geschenk für die Menschheit" and nothing else. And I promised to deliver this gift. Nightmare. In the morning I went to the same bank and paid for the same safe deposit box, into which I again placed the folder with the contents that were too heavy for me. For me, but not for others. * * * 1954 No longer an old man, but a strong and vigorous man, he sleeps peacefully in his bed. And I stand next to her, looking at him, hesitating. I'm terrified to the point of insanity. I'm terrified not for myself. I'm terrified of making a mistake. I'm terrified of what will happen to this world if I make a mistake. But I put down the folder with the pompous and naive title, and next to it a note written on the other half of a sheet of paper left here several years ago. Written with the same pen and the same handwriting. "I give this to you." One short line. That's all that was on that half of the sheet. I thought about the content of the message for three years. I thought about it. But those three words were all I could come up with. I'm not a master of beautiful words. Just try to live up to the trust placed in you!!! Just try, Joseph. Just try... * * * end of flashback. "Dzhugashvili is a very dangerous man, Vik," Suo said. "Did you know he studied magic?" "I didn't know," I answered her honestly. - I studied. And I was quite good at it. But then I became disillusioned and left. - Studied with you? - I asked. - Yes, I have. - Did we meet in Kamar-Taj? - As far as I remember, no. He and his friend Gurdjieff were rather withdrawn young men. They spent almost all their time in the library. Idealists. And then they simply left. - Did you follow them? - I kept an eye on him sometimes. Gurdjieff died in France in 1949. He completely embraced mysticism. He interacted with Hitler. He even taught him. Before the war. "But aren't mysticism and magic the same thing?" I asked in surprise. - No. Magic, despite all the philosophical underpinnings that go with it, is largely a practical field. Concrete. Mysticism, on the other hand... It's something that transcends human life. Something that exists before birth and after death... "I see," I thought. "So Gurdjieff was a mystic? And Dzhugashvili?" "Dzhugashvili was an idealist. He dreamed of benefiting the entire world. He didn't find this path in magic. Nor did he find the means to achieve it. Nor, as far as I understand, in mysticism. - Is that why you went into politics? "Apparently so," she shrugged. "What do you think his reaction will be when he sees our photos from the New York Opera?" I wondered. - It's hard to say. He's unpredictable. But I don't think there will be any reaction. I'm a figure outside his interests. He knows my tasks, and he knows that no one but me can fulfill them. And these tasks don't intersect with his affairs in any way. And you... You might show interest. "Who the fuck needs that kind of interest?" I grumbled. "Okay, never mind Dzhugashvili," she sighed and smiled. "Let's enjoy the evening, since you brought me here. This kind of talk ruins my appetite. To us?" She raised her glass of ruby-colored liquid. "To us," I raised my glass in agreement. "And what difference does it make if she has pomegranate juice and I have wine?" * * *
sound. More precisely, no one really knows the limits of his speed. Consequently, no one can keep track of him. Oh, what a struggle his parents must have had with him... And he also has a little sister. Her name is Wanda. Thank the gods, her powers haven't awakened yet. Pietro's didn't awaken until recently, less than six months ago. Ever since then, she's been running around like crazy. She can't get enough of him. He's just a kid, what can you expect? But to hell with Pietro! What about me? The world had stopped and never started moving. Even the steam above my cup of tea froze in place. I looked at it closely – a mesmerizing sight. It became even more mesmerizing when I let go of the cup, leaving it hanging in the air. Amazing... I stared, hypnotized, at this miracle, first from one side, then from the other. And suddenly, the cup crashed. Naturally, spilling its contents all over me. And, as luck would have it, right onto my pants. And the tea, by the way, was hot. It hurt! "...to shrink," Xavier finished the word. "What's wrong with you?" Eric asked in surprise, looking at me, wet and stunned. I patted my pocket. It was true, I wasn't imagining it. "Pietro stole my wallet," I justified my embarrassment. There was no need for everyone to know about my strange outbursts. Moreover, I'm starting to guess why this is happening to me. Hank handed me a towel, which I accepted with a grateful nod and began to dry myself off. "What a little kleptomaniac," Eric sighed wearily. The next minute, Pietro flew into the living room. Through the air. Carrying a string bag made of thin chains. - Well, dad, - came from him discontentedly. - Now what? "Give Uncle Victor the wallet," Eric said calmly. "But why me first?!" the contents of the string bag were indignant. "Why is it that whenever something goes missing, it's Pietro first?!" "Because, a hundred times out of a hundred, it really is Pietro," Raven replied wearily, rising from her chair and pulling the sought-after wallet out of the back pocket of the boy's shorts. The girl gave me the confiscated item and returned to her seat. - Well, mom! "Don't talk shit to me, you little rascal. When will you finally stop doing this, huh? Maybe I should send you to Uncle Victor for training? So he can knock some sense into your little criminal head with his heavy fists and a cane?" "I'll still run away," the guy pouted. "From Uncle Victor?" Raven raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's like death, you can't escape him, no matter how hard you try." "You're exaggerating, Raven," I said, slightly offended. "Don't make me a scarecrow for the child. I'm not that scary at all. And in general, I'm a very kind person." "As you say," she gave in, too quickly and easily, which was highly suspicious. "But in that case, you wouldn't mind teaching our wayward son a little martial arts? You're a master of four of them, right? You're kind, aren't you?" "How do you even live with her, brother?" I asked Eric, slightly shocked by her proposal. "She's not a woman, she's a moray eel!" "Don't, Victor," he disagreed. "Raven is a good girl. Don't hurt her." "I won't," I sighed. "But Pietro is better off working with Logan for now. He'll give him a general physical foundation and a good punch. With his speed, that's all he needs." "Just say that you don't want to take it on because your wife has come to visit you, you henpecked husband," Raven teased me again. - Why am I henpecked?! "Darling, that's enough," Eric asked calmly and covered her hand, which was lying on the table, with his own. "But, Eric," she still didn't calm down right away, "he really will run away from Logan." "If he runs away from Logan, I'll bring him back and put some weights on him so he doesn't do it again," Eric shrugged. "Doesn't anyone want to ask my opinion?" the contents of the string bag protested. "I'm not a thing to you, after all!" "When you stop being such a nuisance, we'll be interested in your opinion too," Eric responded calmly. "In the meantime, hang in there and keep a low profile, since you've been caught." "Okay," I slapped my knees, standing up. "It's good with you, but I have to go." "Victor," Charles stopped me with his address. I turned around. "Could you introduce us to your wife sometime?" And there was so much mischievous amusement in his eyes that I just wanted to punch his smug face... But I just nodded. And silently left, waving goodbye to everyone.Chapter 38
They ate in silence for some time. "Why did you get into my head?" I broke the silence. "It was dangerous, by the way." "You're exaggerating," she smiled. "You're such a sweetheart inside! A purring puppy is something incredible." "Urduly wouldn't agree with you," I looked away. "Urduly?" she asked, surprised. "He was among the fifty who left with the Ananerbe. Did you cross paths with him during the war?" "Once," I answered evasively. "Knowing you, I can safely assume he didn't survive that encounter?" she sighed sadly. I just shrugged, as if to say, "How could it be otherwise?" They ate in silence for some time again. "But it's strange that you associate your inner self with an animal," she broke the silence this time. - Why? - I was a little surprised. "Usually, people, no matter who they are, associate their 'I' with something humanoid. The vast majority, with their own bodies. The only difference is apparent age. Most often, they're children, teenagers, less often young men and women, and very rarely, old people. But animals... I've never even heard of such a thing." "When I was a kid, I ran away from home and spent several years running with a wolf pack. That's probably why," I shrugged. "Maybe," she sighed heavily. "But you behaved like a real animal!" she finally spilled her emotions. "Don't ever do that again! I didn't like it at all! It's terrible! I'm not a pervert who loves pain and roughness! And I'm not a brothel whore who can be treated like a thing! If you even try something like that again, I won't hold back and I'll hit you with magic!" "You provoked me," I shrugged, but looked away. "You attacked without warning. And then you retreated, afraid... Fear smells too sweet and arousing. It was beyond my strength not to attack. I'm sorry. But don't do it again. Please. Don't attack me, don't provoke the Beast with aggression." "I'm not afraid of puppies," she snorted. "Please," I repeated. "Don't make me close myself off with a 'wall' of will. I... love..." and then I stopped. My suddenly dry throat refused to pronounce the word. "What did you say?" she looked up at me. "Nothing," I muttered, burying my face in my plate and quickly stuffing my mouth with food. It didn't matter what kind. I think I'd accidentally shoved something really sharp in there and bitten into it. I think it was a pepper shaker before I bit it. A glass one. "Come on, repeat that," she said, not looking away. I chewed slowly and swallowed hard. In the process, one of the shards pierced my throat from the inside and fell out through the hole it made, which immediately healed, leaving only a few drops of blood on my skin. It must have been a disgusting sight, but Suo didn't even flinch, continuing to stare intently at my face. "I... you..." My throat went dry again. But I managed to overcome myself and squeeze out barely audibly. "...love you, Suo." "Did I hear right?" she chose to clarify once again. "I love you, Suo," I repeated calmly. It turns out saying it a second time is much easier than the first. "And two hundred years haven't passed," she smiled with lips slightly swollen from my kisses. "I love you, Suo. And I want to marry you... properly, not just paperwork. Will you marry me?" - Yes, Vic. I will marry you. But... - But? "But do it again, and I'll kill you! And I don't care that you're immortal. There are ways to kill even immortals. And places worse than death. Remember that!" "I'll remember," I nodded. "And... forgive me, if you can." "I forgive you, but I warned you," she said, placing her hand on mine. "I love you too, you idiot, you shameless boor..." * * *Chapter 39
Well, say it again, Vic," she said, coming up behind me as I sat at the desk and putting her arm around my shoulders, and gently bit my ear. "Suo, I've already said everything. If anything changes, I'll let you know," I replied without turning my head. "What are you really like, Vic?" she sighed. "Is it really that hard to say?" "It's not difficult," I objected. "But why repeat the same thing? It's not rational. And it's not logical." "Since when did the words 'rational' and 'logical' have any relevance to you?" she asked in surprise. - Right from the very moment Howard put me to work developing the logic circuit of our first new-generation processor. "Processors, coprocessors, computers-shmuyuters..." she said discontentedly. "Aren't you tired of it? Fussing around with this, hmm... nastiness. And your young wife, by the way, is bored!" - So much so that he only shows up at home for a couple of hours a day? - I put my pencil down and turned to face her. "Don't look so reproachful," she put her hands on her hips. "You know I have students, responsibilities, a mission. I'm already bending over backwards to be with you longer and more often." - So, why are you upset? I'm just filling the time between your visits with something interesting. Right now, I'm interested in computers. When I get bored, I'll do something else. "Magic?" she suggested hopefully. I grimaced as if I'd bitten into a lemon. I didn't say anything, but my expression spoke volumes. "Okay, don't say anything, I get it." - Nothing at all? - I raised an eyebrow. "No, no! Not exactly. I want to hear THIS!" she immediately backed down. "I missed you," I purred, walking up to her and gently hugging her. "That's not quite what I was hoping to hear," she sighed. But my kiss didn't allow her to pursue the topic any further. Our wedding took place in Kamar-Taj, quietly and modestly, a week ago. It followed some ritual completely unfamiliar to me. Most likely magical. Or perhaps taken from the culture of the people to which Suo once belonged. I never asked her age, after all. And I don't intend to do so in the future. The result of the ritual was a pair of tattoos on our right wrists. At first, my healing factor prevented any marks from leaving on my skin, but Suo worked some magic on the ink. The result now adorns my arm, encircling it like a bracelet of incomprehensible yet beautiful patterns and symbols. Suo swore it had no magical effect. That the drawing was purely ritualistic, and the symbols signified only my wife's full name. And she, accordingly, has my full name. But in the language of her people. Long extinct. I believed it straight away. Right away, right away. But I have nothing to show for it yet. I still don't understand the symbols... yet. I have plenty of time: I'll dig through the archives, find it, figure it out. And then we'll see. * * * Today I finally made up my mind. I decided to visit my childhood idol, Bruce Lee. Last night, I canceled all my plans for the day: I rescheduled a work meeting/consultation with a group of engineers working on an ADSL modem prototype; I told Suo I'd be busy and there was absolutely no need for her to rush home; I relayed to Logan through Xavier that our traditional chess game would be postponed until an indefinite "sometime later" (he, like me, had plenty of time ahead of him; he could wait). "And here I stand, at the edge of a waterfall. Water pours from the sky—that's how the sky should have it..."—as the unforgettable Butusov once sang in "my" world. For some reason, as I approached the threshold of my idol's abode, his song was the one that kept playing in my head. Maybe I should get into show business? Not on my own, of course, though... I could recall all the "great" hits that haven't yet been written here, honestly plagiarize them (fortunately, I can reproduce not only the lyrics but also the notes; my musical education was worth it), put together a band of decent young musicians, not necessarily talented ones, and rake in the cash, pushing "culture to the masses"... I shook my head, dispelling these untimely thoughts, and took a step. I pushed open the unlocked door and entered the hall that was sacred to me... And he stared at Logan's back. "And you're here?" I put my hand on his shoulder, approaching quietly and unnoticed, trying not to distract the master from his work, fortunately, Howlett himself was standing to the side, as a spectator, not a participant. "I told you about him," Logan chuckled. "Of course I'm here. And Cap's here," he nodded at the tall figure among Master Li's students. I chuckled. - At least Fury isn't here? "No," Logan grinned. "Not today." - In general? - I frowned. - It happens. And quite often. She takes lessons. She's been training like crazy for twenty years now. She rushes from master to master, trying to get stronger and stronger. "And how are things going?" I asked languidly. "He's not up to Steve yet," Logan shrugged. "Should we go to the bench, why are we standing in the aisle?" "Let's go," I agreed. "But quietly. I don't want to distract the Master." "That's not like you," Howlett said with a wry grin. "It's Bruce Lee himself! Alive! The real deal!" Logan's grin gave way to a look of astonished confusion. But he didn't ask any questions. He just shook his head, as if trying to wake up or shake off a daze. Meanwhile, I was completely absorbed in watching the training session, and especially watching my childhood idol himself. And he lived up to that title: precise movements, graceful execution, the strength that shone through in literally every breath... Beautiful. I didn't even notice how time flew by. Bruce concluded the class, and the students filed out, some heading to the exits, some to the benches, some staying to practice a specific move. Steve approached the Master and started saying something, pointing at Howlett and me. Bruce became intrigued and walked purposefully toward us. I became nervous and twitchy, like a schoolgirl on her first date. I was surprised at myself, but I couldn't compose myself or calm down. Even the Beast, for once, wasn't banging on the closed "door." "Hello, gentlemen," Bruce said, approaching and bowing politely. "Mr. Rogers told me that you are Masters of Martial Arts. Was he mistaken?" "No," Logan answered first, while I was trying to cope with my excitement. "He's the master," the shaggy bastard pointed his thumb at me. "I just came to have a look." "Mr. Rogers said otherwise," Bruce countered politely. "He said it was you, Mister Howlett, who taught him for twenty years. And he himself is practically a Master." "I'm not a Master. Just a bully with a lot of experience. I haven't studied any Arts," Logan shrugged. "He's lying, the dog, and he doesn't even blush. But it's not for me to judge him." "And here he is," he turned the tables on me again. "At least sixth dan in Aikido. And before that, he'd been doing something like that for many years." This bad man gave me away. "Gentlemen, would you mind giving me a sparring match?" Bruce bowed. "I'm passing," Howlett immediately disclaimed. "I just came to watch," Bruce turned his gaze to me. I sighed and slowly rose from the bench. To my full height. Then I straightened my shoulders to their full width. Then he bowed low and respectfully in the Japanese manner. Actually, I'd be lying if I said that's not why I came to the gym today. Naturally, I wanted to fight Bruce Lee himself. And I knew I could do it. So why pretend to be embarrassed? But the excitement and trembling... This is the first time this has happened to me. But I didn't come today in sports clothes. And certainly not in a kimono. So I had to take off my silk shirt, so as not to rip it in the process, and my patent leather shoes, for the same reason. And my trousers were already loose-fitting (I can't stand clothes that restrict my movement. Absolutely not. They irritate me). Bruce glanced at my exposed torso and even clicked his tongue. And for good reason: I'd always been muscular, as far back as I could remember in "this" life, by "nature." Most likely due to a mutation. And with my height, it looked like a mountain of muscle. Impressive. But decades of persistent, daily exercise have "convinced" even a carcass as stubborn as mine to shed its excess, useless bulk, transforming it into "sinews" as dry as belts, as hard as oak wood, and as taut as rope. I was "pumped up" and now I'm "wiry." Perhaps this is what they call "pink muscles," but I never cared about it. But at the same time, having lost in volume (in comparison with the initial state), I did not lose weight (thanks to the experiments of Issey and Schmidt). In fact, I looked pretty much like Bruce himself, only with a slight difference in height and shoulder width. Lean and sinewy. We walked out to the center of the room. The people who had scattered at the end of the class had returned and were now finding comfortable seats. Logan wasn't the only one who wanted to watch Bruce Lee fight. Bruce began to "jump," preparing for an attack and anticipating mine. I, on the other hand, "anchored," concentrating on pulling my center of gravity toward the Earth's center of gravity, as both Morihei and the Shaolin Masters had taught. Bruce got tired of waiting and attacked me first. And I... And I, like a fragile crystal vase, was afraid to damage him with a careless move. Let me remind you – mutant abilities, twice... now three times artificially enhanced. I could hit Logan with full force, using Weapon-X, breaking through reinforced concrete walls with his indestructible bulk. But here was a mere human, without abilities or a healing factor. Just one accidental blow, even a glancing one, and that's it – a corpse. Or a cripple. I couldn't allow something like this to happen. And so I decided to respond with the gentlest style I knew—tai chi chuan. Slow and soft, versus fast and hard. Kung fu has many different tricky sliding blocks, dodges, interceptions, feints... But ordinary fighters rarely use them due to their low combat effectiveness. Combat... or rather, fighting. They don't inflict damage on the opponent. A fighter needs to inflict damage. In my memory, they were used by Masters. Old Masters, at that. Old in age. Actually, in this case I fit this definition perfectly. And I succeeded! It was almost like the legend of the Tai Chi Master who was approached by a young hard-style fighter: Bruce struck quickly, beautifully, effectively, with his feet, his punches, jumping and standing, trying to grab... and I kept finding myself behind his left shoulder. He was fast, and I deliberately moved slowly, in keeping with the style's precepts. But that's exactly how it turned out. Beautiful. The very essence of this fight was beautiful. For me, it was beautiful. I don't know about others, but for me, it certainly was. An amazing fight. It suddenly dawned on me that Tai Chi doesn't teach how the weak can defeat the strong. No! It teaches how the strong can avoid injuring an aggressive weaker one. How to gently stop an aggressor without killing them or increasing their aggression. Unfortunately, it couldn't go on forever. Bruce was tired. Once again, not finding me in front of him, he stopped and lowered his hands. I stopped too. He turned to face me and bowed, performing a kung fu salute (fist pressed into an open palm). - Sir... "Lensher," I said my last name so as not to put the man in an awkward position. "Mr. Lansher, I am infinitely grateful to you for this sparring session. You are a true Master! So beautifully and naturally showing me how little I still know." "No," I shook my head. "I'm just starting out on the path. My teacher was the true Master." "How I'd love to meet him!" Bruce didn't insist on the genuineness of my skills. I just shrugged my shoulders sadly. - What's the name of this style? The movements are all painfully familiar, but their combinations... And this deceptive slowness... "Wushu Tai Chi Chuan," I didn't try to hide it. - Tai Chi?! - Bruce was surprised. - It's just health exercises! - I thought so too. Before. "Thank you for another lesson, Mister Lansher," he bowed to me, now without the kung fu greeting. I bowed too: politeness and etiquette were another thing the old Masters always scrupulously observed. I'll have to think about it—maybe there's a meaning to this, too, that I hadn't noticed before? - Can I hope to see you again at least once? Perhaps, if you agree, I could get a few lessons? - To see - yes. To teach - no. I'm not ready to teach yet. There's too much to comprehend. "Then perhaps sparring?" he persisted. "Okay," I smiled. "Next time." "I'll be happy to welcome you to my hall at any time, Mr. Lansher," he said, bowing again. Perhaps there's no point to these rituals after all? It's tiring. We walked out of the building with Logan. "You're a liar," I snapped at him. Howlett knows Russian, so I wasn't afraid of being misunderstood. - What do you mean? - he was surprised. - You went to Japan after the war. And studied there. - Um... Well, compared to you, it's nothing. - That's what I'm saying - you're a liar. "I would have crippled him. You understand that, right?" Logan became serious. "Naturally," I shrugged. "But still a liar." "Agreed," Howlett grinned and took out a cigar. "Let's go formalize the game?" "Let's go," I smiled. * * *
you and Max from a photo. Then SHIELD lost track of you the moment I spent vacation with you. It was like they vanished into thin air! They found you from a photo with Morihei in a Japanese newspaper, and Max a little later, when he met with Xavier." "See how easy it is to tell the truth?" I smiled encouragingly at the girl, just like I had long ago, when she was still a little girl. "Don't play spy with me, then I'll trust you more." "Okay," Nicole dismissed the jokes. "Then tell me, what's this project you've started with Stark Industries? It's not for nothing that you and Max own a controlling stake in that corporation, is it?" - Hmm... You'll hardly believe me if I tell you, - I sighed. - You try it. "The controlling stake was an accident. I simply had some money after the war, and I invested it in the company of a man whose genius I knew firsthand. That answers the first question." - Millions of dollars? - Nicole didn't believe it. "Yes," I shrugged. "Eric was mastering his abilities, training, mining gold and silver. That's what we laundered through the bank... And Howard fully justified our trust." "Well, I believe you," Fury sighed. "Long-term planning has never been your strong point. Just like planning in general... You're a man of moods. And the project? There's a lot of money involved: billions of dollars." "It was a whim," I admitted quite honestly. "When we arrived in the city and Suo started disappearing constantly on her 'magical' business, I got bored..." - Bored Uncle Victor is scary... And what did he come up with? - A game. One that can be played on a computer... But to do that, we need to improve the computers. Make them accessible to young people. Connect them into a single global network. Well, and write the game itself. Believe it or not, but I've said it all. "I believe you," Nicole sighed and smiled. "I believe in such absurdity. Moreover, I'm confident you'll succeed. So confident that I'm willing to pitch in, both with my personal capital and with the resources of SHIELD and the former Strategic Scientific Reserve." - The government, the military... - I winced, as if I'd smelled shit. - Maybe we should just forget about them... and go to Zen? "Perhaps," Fury mused. "Yes. You're right. The government and the military don't care, but SHIELD is involved!" Now I'm starting to think about it. SHIELD is potentially Hydra... And who cares! Let Cap worry about it! - Okay. But I won't sell you my package! "Greedy! Uncle Victor is a greedy man!" Nicole whined, just like she had once upon a time, a long time ago, when she was a child. "And does that work?" Suo looked at Fury with interest. "Well... You could have begged for some ice cream that way," Nicole looked away. "Or flown a plane... Or used a machine gun for shooting..." "You'll definitely teach me later," Suo stated categorically. - Let him be a greedy man. I won't sell it anyway! - Well, Uncle Victor!... * * * These "bouts" of frozen time are starting to really get on my nerves. And most importantly, I can't figure out how it works, let alone take control of it. So I'm forced to suffer in silence, waiting out yet another "tactical pause" in a conversation, in the backseat of a car while driving somewhere, during a meeting with Stark's engineers... during sex!!! What a nightmare. No, I understand that over time, a feature like completely stopping time in the surrounding world could turn me into a super-imba, someone even omega mutants like Jean Grey or Erik Lansher wouldn't want to mess with. But that's "over time" and "in the long run." Right now... it's a real bummer. Because of these attacks, I even had to temporarily stop training sparring with Bruce, as he even got injured during the last one. How did it happen? Simple. I had a fit right in the middle of sparring. The world around me froze. And so did Bruce. I let out a tired sigh and lowered my arms... And the fit ended. And my arms dropped. Bruce's fist connected squarely with my solar plexus. The look of bewilderment on his face was incredible—he'd actually hit me! It was the first time he'd ever hit me with one of his punches. However, the next second, pain and anguish crossed his face: let's not forget my mutant strength and resilience. Plus, the fist didn't connect with me at the intended point, but just a little early. About a centimeter. The guy dislocated his wrist with that blow. The most interesting thing about this incident is that Bruce took it as another "invaluable lesson"! And afterward, he even thanked me! Even apologizing feels awkward after something like that. I can't just claim it was an accident and I just screwed up, can I? I had to explain to him the "irimi" principle from Aikido (which, by the way, is based on precisely this: making a direct entry, short and direct, meeting the attack slightly before the point where it gains maximum force. And at this point, the opponent will be most vulnerable. He'll effectively crash against the nagi's body like a wave against a rock. He might even injure himself with his own attack, much like Bruce had just injured himself). The guy was deep in thought. And I quickly took my leave. It turned out awkward. * * * In the living room of Charles Xavier's mansion, one of the walls was illuminated by a ring of fire, through which a young bald woman descended to the floor, wearing a robe somewhat reminiscent of the robes of Tibetan monks, but not exactly the same. "Vik! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" said Suo, and naturally it was her. It was at this moment that the "freeze frame," as I called this state for myself, worked once again. Everyone in the room froze in exactly the same position they had been in when my wife appeared, and I had a wonderful opportunity to enjoy the expressions on their faces. What can I say? It's funny. But a bit too aggressive, in my opinion: Raven had already pulled out a blue Walther PP from the blue concealed carry holster she imitated with her ability, just as she imitates clothes when transforming. (I'll have to give her a PSM for a holiday in a couple of years; I remember it was supposed to be adopted by the USSR in 1972. I think she'll like it. The ammo is harder to get, but it's significantly smaller, and it's no less legendary than her current pistol.) Eric extracted about fifty grams of metal from his "scaly armor," which he never stopped wearing after the war, and stretched it into a cone-shaped icicle-needle. Logan simply unsheathed his claws, Frank braced himself for a jump, and Charles touched his head with his right hand, as he did when he was about to make an accentuated use of telepathy (a parasitic habit, in my opinion). And then Pietro showed up. He tried to steal my wallet again!!! "What a jerk. And life hasn't taught him anything!" I thought, tying the laces on his sneakers. Having finished with this, I returned to my place and began to wait for the "freeze frame" to end. Time has moved on. Pietro's nose plowed the floor and he lay there, breathing heavily, against the wall. He didn't seem to have broken anything or even been seriously scratched. About ten seconds later, he vanished again, accelerating. "I left a note on the table, didn't I, dear?" I answered Suo. - A note? I didn't find anything. "Darling?" Eric asked, returning the needle back to his "armor". "Gentlemen, meet," I said, rising from my chair. "Suo is my wife. And this is Charles Xavier, the director and founder of the School for Gifted Teens..." "Nice to meet you," Charles smiled. Logan snapped his claws back into place. Raven nodded, tucking away the gun she'd never shown anyone. - Hank McCoy - Doctor of Physical and Mathematical Sciences... - Hank stood up from his chair and bowed gallantly. "James Howlett is a friend of mine since the war," Logan also bowed (the bastard knows how to be polite when he wants to be). "Eric Lansher is my brother. Maybe not by blood, but still a brother," Eric repeated Hank's bow. "Raven is his wife," the blue-skinned lady (and she always wore her true form at school, a Zen nudist! Because of her complexes, she doesn't notice how the male half of the school drools on the floor just by catching sight of her blue, luscious figure... or she notices and gets a thrill from it, but as soon as you hint to her that it's inappropriate to do so, she starts whining no worse than Nicole did as a child) didn't get up, but nodded. "The kid who just plowed the floor with his nose is Pietro—her and Eric's son," a smiling, white-haired boy materialized out of thin air, waved his hand affably, and vanished again into his own speed. "Accordingly, we are in the living room of the Charles Xavier Private School for Gifted Youngsters." "I'm very pleased to meet you, gentlemen," Suo said, bowing politely in the Chinese manner. The ring of fire behind her had long since closed, revealing a normal wall once again. Logan, Hank, and Eric returned to their seats, while Charles stood up and approached his guest. He led her to the table, pulled out a chair for her, and waited for her to sit down. "Forgive my tactlessness, Suo, but are you a mutant too? What abilities do you have?" he began his questions, probably even trying to get into my head, but something tells me he won't get anywhere: there are plenty of telepaths, and the Ancient One is alone. "She's not a mutant, Charles," I corrected Xavier. "She's a mage." "Or more precisely, the Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension," Raven revealed her knowledge. "What?" she responded to her husband's surprised look. "I saw her at the Battle of the Dragons. Mages are frequent guests there." "That's right, Raven," Suo smiled. "I am indeed the Supreme Sorcerer. But more often they call me the Ancient One." "Forgive me again, Suoh," Xavier smiled. "But I find it hard to believe magic exists. Perhaps you simply have a very powerful ability that looks like magic?" - Charles, will you allow me to call you that? - Yes, yes, of course. "Charles, the difference between magic and mutant abilities is vast. I won't go into every aspect, but I'll just highlight the most obvious one." - And what kind? "Abilities are either natural or not. They're unique to each individual, though they can be very similar in their manifestations," Xavier nodded in agreement with this explanation. "Magic is a science. It can be taught to anyone willing to learn. Moreover, the performance of the same spells will be identical for different people, differing only in power and precision." "Is that so?" Xavier thought. "It makes sense. But I still find it hard to believe something I haven't seen with my own eyes." - If you are still interested in this, I can later arrange for you to take a tour of Kamar-Taj, where my students will demonstrate this clearly. "I would be extremely grateful to you, Suo," Xavier smiled. "But you said 'students'?" - Yes, Charles, you heard right. Kamar-Taj is, in fact, a school of magic. "The most powerful school of magic in the world," Raven noted from her seat. "Perhaps," Suo didn't argue. "But by no means the only one." "The fact that Kamar-Taj is a school makes this excursion even more valuable for me! Learning from the experience of older comrades is a wonderful opportunity for development. Did I understand correctly—the Ancient... is that because of his age?" "Yes, Charles, you understood correctly. I really am much older than my husband," Suo smiled. "Very much. But for some reason, this doesn't bother him at all." "I don't care about Zen. You're my woman and that's that," I replied to the jab. - And, Charles... Please stop trying to get into my head. Otherwise, I might even make the defense active. Believe me, you won't like it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Xavier raised his hands. "It's just a bad habit! I can't get rid of it!" "Where we're going, you should keep your 'habits' to yourself too," I remarked sullenly. "If you don't want to run into conflict and trouble." "Are we going somewhere?" Xavier asked in surprise. "Yes. To the Battle of the Dragons," I declared. "Since Raven told Eric about it anyway, he'll be there sooner or later. And this way, you'll be under surveillance. I'm not forcing you to participate. On the contrary, I highly recommend it, but it's up to you to decide." It's a long speech. It's exhausting to choose the words for such long speeches. It's exhausting for me. Maybe not so for others, but for me, it's exhausting. "Are you kidding?" Raven asked, looking at me carefully. "No... You're not kidding... But, Viktor, just because you're a twenty-time Battle Champion doesn't mean it's safe for everyone else!!! They actually do maim and kill there!" "He said just to have a look," Suo replied softly. "It will be comfortable and safe from my box." - What if Eric climbs in anyway? - So you're his woman. Make sure he doesn't interfere. "When are we leaving?" Eric asked, glancing promisingly at his wife. "Right away," I shrugged. "Suo, will you open a portal for us?" "You hate magic, don't you?" she asked in surprise, rising and beginning to draw a circle in the air with her double ring. "It... can be convenient," I admitted, overcoming myself with great difficulty.