I greeted the morning sitting on the porch, admiring the fiery orb of the sun rising over the horizon. That feeling of emptiness and joy was no longer there, but a certain peace still lingered. I slowly sipped some herbal infusion from Suo's supply from a clay mug. She keeps a special bag of this mixture for me, which I brew myself whenever the urge strikes. I take from this bag and brew. I'm weaning myself off alcohol. It's not that they have any effect on me at all, but Suo doesn't like their smell, or rather, when I smell like them. So my wife and I spent a couple of evenings searching for a suitable replacement that suited both of us. Mine was to my taste, and hers was to her smell. This "tea" should have had some effect, but my body completely neutralized it. All that remained was the taste. And I liked the taste. The tea in the cup was gone. I sat motionless for a while, savoring the aftertaste and the peace, then stood up and began my morning exercises. After some time, I was joined by a woken up Logan, who had also developed this habit after coming to Xavier and taking on teaching duties. About half an hour later, the remaining awakened people also arrived at the threshold. They arrived just in time for the "Reds" to begin their morning removal of bodies from the village's houses. I finished my exercises, doused myself with well water from a bucket, dried myself off and approached Suo, who had come out onto the threshold. "What's going on?" Xavier looked at the busy bustle of the "reds" in surprise. "Why? From where? How?" "This is the Battle of the Dragons, Charles," Raven answered him grimly. "There are no rules. Killing sleeping creatures, right in their homes, is the norm here." "But how?" the telepath couldn't even find what to say to that. "What about us?" Eric frowned. "Could they have attacked us too?" "We're in a house and under the protection of the Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension. We'd be hard-pressed to find anyone foolish enough to come here, as mages are especially strong in static defenses on their own or temporarily their own territory," Raven explained. "The house is surrounded by traps, right? Am I right?" "Full security perimeter," Suo shrugged. "Did you go anywhere last night, dear?" she asked quietly, this time to me. Apparently she remembered that this very perimeter had triggered the alert for me, alerting me to any crossings. "I couldn't sleep," I shrugged. She shook her head disapprovingly, but didn't pry or lecture me. Suo left us for a while, going in search of a "red." She returned quickly, as there were plenty of "reds" nearby. They brought us a large basket of food. Accordingly, the next item on our morning schedule was a hearty breakfast, after which Suo left to attend to some errands of her own. Charles and Hank started a game of chess, and I called my brother aside. "Eric," I said to him. - Yes, Vic? Did you want something? "I need your help," he immediately pulled himself together and became serious, because I rarely ask anyone for help. "Okay," he nodded. "What do you require of me?" "Let's go," I replied and moved towards the jungle. *** Raven was worried about her husband and this useless, idiotic Battle of the Dragons. No, she acknowledged the truth of Victor's reasoning that it was better to do it this way, under the watchful eye of him and his wife, the sudden Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension (she remembered the shock Raven had experienced when she first saw them in a newspaper photograph, because unlike her husband, she had an idea of who Sabretooth was, what he was known for in certain circles, and who the Ancient One was. But what doesn't happen in life?), than to go here alone, ignorant of the realities, the written and unwritten rules, and how things worked here. However, this still didn't stop her from worrying about her husband. And now, when Victor called Eric away and led him somewhere into the jungle, Raven couldn't contain her anxiety, nor did she try. Trying to remain unnoticed, which she did well, she followed them. They didn't get far. No more than a kilometer through the jungle. Their target was in a small clearing, next to a stream. And the woman knew immediately that it was their target: a man was hanging from a tree. More precisely, a mutant, since a human with such injuries couldn't possibly remain alive, but this one was alive: he twitched, tried to growl or speak, but it was difficult to discern because of the leg shoved heel-deep into his mouth. A leg. A real leg, neatly severed at the ankle. At first, the woman thought it was his own leg, but all four limbs were present, complete. This mutant's arms were firmly "sewn" to its ribs and spine with pieces of thick rebar. Its legs were similarly secured to one another, right through the flesh. The foot, inserted into the mutant's mouth, was also secured—screwed to the lower jaw through the chin. Another piece was pierced through the neck. This piece looped around the spine, twisted behind the back, and was the source of the body's slack, as its upper end was draped over and twisted around a thick tree branch. Raven recognized this mutant, albeit with difficulty, as Victor's opponent in the Arena yesterday. The one who, it seemed, had been foolish enough to turn his back on Sabretooth, spitting at his feet beforehand. So it seemed he hadn't strayed far from that Circle. "Romulus?" Eric also recognized the hanging martyr. "But why, Vic? He didn't fight you, did he?" "Just because he somehow decided he could leave doesn't mean I let him go," Victor shrugged. "He's an enemy. He's made that position clear. And an enemy..." "...destroyed at any time, in any place, by any means necessary," Eric finished his brother's sentence with a sigh. "And what do you need my help with? You're doing just fine on your own, I see?" "Can you extract all the adamantium from his body?" Victor voiced his request. "Adamantium? Like Logan's?" Eric asked, surprised. "Is this guy from Weapon X, too?" "This guy founded Weapon X," Victor corrected Eric. "He developed the technology on people like Logan, then used it on himself." "Adamantium, huh?" Eric rolled up his sleeves to gather his thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand. He could control the metal without any additional gestures, just with his mind. Then the body hanging from the tree began to shake, twitch, thrash, and try to scream, even though the leg was still in its mouth. Apparently, Romulus was in great, great pain. What followed was bloody, disgusting, and terrifying. Raven felt sick and turned away from the sight. A minute passed, and all was quiet. The mutant, covered in blood from head to toe, continued to dangle from the tree branch. Nearby lay a "skeleton" of foil-thin metal with blades on its "arms" and "legs." "Thank you, Eric," Raven heard Victor's voice. "I'll handle the rest." With these words, he unscrewed the rebar from the tree and used it to drag the limp, twitching body further into the forest. Eric shuddered and turned back toward the village. Raven looked around and froze: about fifty meters to her left, also standing behind a tree, was the Ancient One, shaking her head disapprovingly as she surveyed the desecration her husband had left in the clearing. *** Romulus is a dangerous enemy. Cunning, dodgy, and sneaky. Moreover, he rarely shows himself in person, often using others as his ally. He made two mistakes: once when he came to me in the Circle. The second time, when he stayed to observe the Battle. Catching him wasn't difficult. He barely hid, considering himself "tough" and invincible enough. I, however, didn't hesitate to hide and camouflage myself, setting up an ambush for that body. An anti-tank rifle with a night vision scope attached and zeroed in at a hundred meters. A single shot... The bullet entered Romulus's brain through his right eye socket, ricocheted off the back of his adamantium-plated skull, then off the front, then off the back again... and didn't exit, just like mine did long ago, almost two hundred years ago. Only here the bullet itself is larger. And its energy is incomparable to that of a musket ball. Romulus fell. I didn't wait for his brain to regenerate and began stitching his limp, twitching body together with the rebar I'd prepared. That was the end of the fight. Yes, it's ugly. Yes, it's vile. But hunters rarely play at being honorable with their game. What did he call me back in the Circle? "Herbivore"? If only... I didn't wake Eric in the middle of the night, as Romulus wouldn't be gone for a few hours. I'm not even sure his brain will have time to fully recover from the pulp the bullet turned it into. I remember it took me more than a day to recover from a similar wound. I spent those hours a little more productively. Essex. He'd made a mistake, too. He'd decided to spend the night in the village. It was a mistake... He might have set traps, mines, and alarms, but sleeping during the Battle of the Dragons was a mistake in itself. There could always be a skilled person like me who could squeeze through and get through. I simply "jumped." And carefully, even tenderly, I placed a trophy Hydra grenade from one of my stashes on his chest. A few seconds, and instead of a bed with a supervillain, there was a handful of ashes, carefully collected by me in a prepared urn. What did I do with Romulos after Eric extracted the adamantium from his body? I retreated further into the jungle until the sensation of someone else's gaze faded (I recognized Raven's presence as the one watching us from the faint scent of her scent carried to me by the shifting breeze, but there was someone else watching too. I suspect it was my wife, but better safe than sorry, as the saying goes), and then "jumped" to Japan, where I'd spent the last nineteen years, where I knew my way around fairly well and was familiar with the situation. There, for a very large bribe, I received one of the crematorium's furnaces at my disposal... I took the iron to the ferrous metal smelter for remelting, and collected the ashes in an urn as carefully as Essex's ashes. I filled both urns with steel from the inside and outside at the steel foundry, producing neat cubes half a meter on a side, which I transported to one of the caves near the monastery where I was once the abbot. Having finished his business, he returned to the village, where he was met with a disapproving glance from his wife. Not condemning, but disapproving. "El Sabah Nur has lost his close associate," she told me. "You don't know anything about it?" I shrugged vaguely. "He's very upset about it. The disappearance of this Essex has disrupted some serious plans of his." "Disappeared or died?" I asked her. "Isn't it possible for Apocalypse to sense that?" "He died. And his body disappeared," Suo looked at him suspiciously. "Keep in mind, El Sabah Nur is a very dangerous enemy. And a very vindictive one, Victor." "Earlier, later," I shrugged again. "You can't live without it, can you?" she sighed disapprovingly. "Without what?" I didn't understand. "No Wild Hunt," she replied. "It's in my nature," I replied. "Or do you consider me a 'herbivore' too?" "No," she looked away. "I've known you too long for that." "You saw him, right?" I chuckled, convinced that the second glance was, after all, my wife's. "I saw it," she replied, still not looking me in the eye. "Why didn't you understand? When did he become your enemy?" - When he kidnapped James. I was next on his list. Didn't you understand that? "No," she shook her head. - It doesn't matter now. "I guess so," she decided not to continue this conversation. "Are you planning on participating today?" "No," I replied. "I'd even prefer to leave here, but I can't leave my brother here alone." - He's a big boy now. "Exactly," I chuckled. "He could do some really stupid things. We need to keep an eye on him." "Okay," Suo agreed.
sat in the stands next to my wife and watched Eric in the Circle, seriously determined to enter the Battle, as he rolled opponent after opponent across the Arena. He was unmatched. A couple of telepaths tried to "take" him, rightly judging that their metal-kinetic abilities were no match for them, but Charles, who also seemed unmatched, shielded them. Magicians, sorcerers, shamans, mutants, representatives of other intelligent races, warriors, Masters of the Force… how can they compete with a well-coordinated team of omega mutants, each of whom, individually, is capable of destroying life on Earth in a matter of hours? What rivals could there possibly be? Except for the Externals, of course. But they will never enter the Arena. This "puddle" is too "petty" for them. But El Sabah Nur, Selina, and Kandra all had their eye on both of them, which was very bad, but entirely expected and natural, because canon is a stubborn thing, as I have been convinced of many times. But overall, it turns out: the Xavier-Lensherr pair is invincible as long as they work together, harmoniously, harmoniously, and not at war with each other. Interesting. Something to remember. And not forget. And also to understand: why did they scatter to different corners in the canon, becoming practically enemies? What exactly influenced them so? After all, it's not a matter of ideology: there's nothing fundamentally different about it. What then? A woman? But it's true, Charles is no longer a boy, and he's still not married. Raven? *** Ultimately, the day brought no surprises: Erik emerged as the favorite in the Dragon Battle and was confidently heading for the Championship title. Charles disavowed any official participation, spending more and more time chatting with a white-haired black woman he'd snatched from some Cairo telepath the day before. I suspect he was engaged in psychological rehabilitation for the future Storm. Selina approached Suo again... No, that's not it. Externally, Selina MOVED into Suo's box, settling next to her, but on the opposite side from me. And she and my wife carried on a lively conversation throughout our entire stay in the stands, that is, until late in the evening. They did so with decorum, maintaining an air of dignity and even pomp, using the now-dead Latin language as their means of verbal communication. The language of the Ancient Roman Empire, I suspect, even with a metropolitan accent... The thing is, Latin is Latin, no matter where you twist it, and I know Latin – after all, I graduated from the medical faculty at the Sorbonne at the beginning of the century. And I'll say it, it would have been better if I hadn't known her. My nerves would have been so much healthier. These two ancient fossils (thank the Beast in my head, Suo will never read my thoughts about her) chatted like the most ordinary, long-lost... girlfriends! And eighty percent of their chatter consisted of discussing me! If I had the abilities of a Gamer, then in those few hours, the skill "stone face" would have raised fifty levels, because they discussed me, including in such angles that... I am not an OYaSh (and never was one), I had to visit port taverns and soldiers' barracks, I even managed to be the keeper-owner of my own brothel for more than ten years, but still, my ears did not turn red like poppies only thanks to an incredible amount of effort invested in direct volitional control of the body - one of the most advanced techniques of Shaolin. These two perky "old ladies" know a thing or two about pleasure. Thank God, may Buddha not be offended, that at least it wasn't about perversion, otherwise my simple, straightforward, monogamous, and completely heterosexual animal nature might not have survived it. But I was able to take revenge. Late that evening, upon our return to our temporary residence under the protection of Suo's security perimeter, I said only three words, but received complete moral satisfaction for all my hours of torment. "I know Latin," I told her. That was all it took: all her icy composure shattered. Even her bald head turned red, and steam practically began to rise from her ears. And then we relieved the psychological tension in a way as ancient as time itself, taking into account the constructive criticism and methodological recommendations I had heard over the past few hours. Then... Suo fell asleep. The others, with the exception of Raven, whose breathing I could hear through the not-so-thick walls, fell asleep even earlier. For me, sleep was unacceptable. I took out my sketchbook, pencils, erasers, and sharpener, and began sketching the local beauty from memory. Without turning on the light. It was convenient to be me. *** In the morning, the "Reds" were again carrying bodies out of houses. Only this time, from ours too. More precisely, from our yard. I had dragged them out of the house much earlier. "You said we're under the protection of the Supreme Sorcerer of the Earth Dimension here, right?" Xavier asked Raven, shocked again, but much less so than the day before. "No protection is absolute," I answered instead of the blue-skinned woman, approaching and drying myself with a towel along the way. "Especially against fools." - But yesterday... "Last night, Eric wasn't yet among the Battle's top favorites. No one was interested in him enough to break into a powerful mage's house for him," Raven interrupted. "Eric was exposed yesterday. Very exposed, in front of very dangerous people. These," she nodded toward the corpses being carried away by the Reds, "are just jealous little creatures. Albeit very clever, sneaky, and deadly little creatures, who managed to sneak inside the security perimeter without waking Suoh." "Who are they then…" Xavier frowned as he looked at the bodies. "Killed?" Raven clarified. "Victor, of course. Unlike you idiots, he's an experienced man; he's carried out more than his share of massacres here. He knows sleep is an unaffordable luxury during the Battle of the Dragons. Not like you, my dear." She turned to her husband and gently tugged at his ear. "Hey!" Eric protested. "I remember I'm not alone here. And my brother always has my back. Right?" I nodded silently, confirming his point. "That's why I'm not scolding you, just chiding you a little for your unacceptable laxness," she replied, letting go of her husband's ear. "Because you're not alone here, but under the watchful eye of the Ancient One, your brother watching your back, and with the support of the most powerful telepath on the planet. So don't get cocky: your current success is the team's success." "I understand that, my dear," Eric said seriously. "Ever since the war. You should know how many times they saved my life back then. So I understand perfectly well that no matter how strong I am, I can't fight much alone." "Just come here alone!" Raven hissed, tugging at her husband's ear until it hurt. "I'll kill you!" "Ahem..." Xavier coughed. Apparently, as was his telepathic habit, he'd gotten into Eric's head. Or Raven's. Or both at once. I can't even imagine what he could have seen there at THAT moment. "The Battle should be over today," Suo mused, walking next to me toward the stands. "If Eric continues to dispatch his opponents so quickly." It's worth noting that my brother was very effective, yet very gentle, during his appearances in the Circle. He never killed anyone. He didn't even seem to injure anyone. He carefully disengaged his opponents: he blocked with metal and signaled the finishing move by growing spikes from the metal inside the blocking metal cocoon. But he always stopped them right at the victim's skin. Some slow-witted or overconfident ones had to pierce the skin and stop only just short of vital organs. There was one "thick-skinned" guy whose hide Eric couldn't pierce, so he had to place spikes on his ears and eyeballs (Eric later confided to me that there was a fifth spike there, near... the lower "technological opening." I think it was this fifth spike that was the key to the opponent's decision to surrender). And Eric did it very quickly, often without even allowing his opponent to make the first attack. It didn't always work out, though – there were some quick ones, but surprising Father Pietro with speed… Eric competed under the name "Magnetto." They'd announce him as "Magnetto! Sabretooth's brother." At first (for the first six fights), they'd add "junior," but then they somehow started dropping that word. In the stands, my keen ear increasingly picked up the word "kind" in the crowd's conversations... Magnetto. Sabretooth's kind brother... So, am I "evil," then? No, well, maybe. But it's still a bit of a shame. Considering how many people this "good guy" killed during the war. Tankers all over the world still shudder and make gestures to ward off evil spirits at the mention of the word "Magnet-43," and museum visitors shudder at the sight of the lumps of metal my "good" brother turned a tank into, along with the entire crew inside. Or an airplane. They didn't even think about trying to retrieve the bodies from them... "What are you getting at?" I said, emerging from my thoughts and turning to my wife. "You remember what awaits us after the Battle, right?" she asked cautiously. I frowned and nodded. - I remember. "Have you changed your mind?" she looked at me with hope and uncertainty. "No," I replied. The question of this meeting was bothering me too. But I didn't see any other options. None at all. I had to go. Until I found out what he had to offer, I had no idea what to do... what to think. Like with Abraham—run or hide? But where should I run? I'm not alone now. I have certain duties and obligations. Which, by the way, I could easily ignore and, dropping everything, disappear, but now I have Suo. And Suo can't ignore her duties and obligations. If she disappears, dropping everything, there will be nowhere to hide, since the entire dimension will collapse. And without her, I can't live. "Okay," she sighed. "So, after the winner is announced, I'll send your friends home, and you and I will go to Kamar Taj?" "Okay," I nodded. "I'll just grab my katana from home." "Katana?" Suo frowned. "Why?" "I feel more at ease with her," I replied vaguely and fell silent. The conversation had stopped short, as we'd just reached the stands. Selina was already sitting primly in Suo's box, where she'd been yesterday. Surely we shouldn't discuss such things in front of her? ***
The champion of the Battle of the Dragons was predictably Erik Lansher, "née" Max Eisenhart aka Magneto, formerly Magnet-43. He received his title, his chest of gold, which he wouldn't have needed for free, a slap on the back of the head and a kiss from his wife, an approving pat on the back from me, and admiration from the stands. Suoh opened a portal to Xavier's mansion for them, while I retreated further into the jungle, away from the village, and "jumped" to Suoh and my house in New York. I went up to the bedroom, changed out of my ifu into my everyday clothes, took my adamantium katana from the wall, slung my jacket over my shoulder, and went downstairs. A man stood in the middle of the living room on the first floor. Tall, over two meters tall, broad-shouldered, massive, muscular, wearing a black autumn cloak over what resembled armor. He had a grayish tint to his skin on his face, neck, and arms, where it was visible from under his clothing. He had blue lips, yellow eyes, and some blue streaks on his cheeks. He had no hair on his head. Like me, he was bald. El Sabah Nur. His own, unique person. For my soul. We've arrived. "They call you Sabretooth, Sabretooth," the troublemaker began as I leisurely finished descending the stairs toward him. "Why?" I didn't answer. Instead, I bared my fangs, demonstrating that they bore little resemblance to human fangs. I also extended my claws from my fingertips. They weren't large, but when extended like this, from my demonstratively crooked fingers, they looked quite impressive. "You are strong," he asserted, without asking. "Stronger than many. But you can become even stronger." I finished descending the stairs and stood opposite the "guest," two steps short of him, at a ready distance. "Come with me. And I will build a New World. A world where the Strong will become Gods to the weak. Where you won't have to hide your essence behind the mask of 'humanity.'" He uttered the last word as if he were cursing. "The 'humans' have weapons. Powerful weapons," I said, breaking my silence. "You're a warrior yourself. You know it's not the sword that's powerful, but the hand that holds it." – Even a cowardly weakling can press the button. "He'll press the button," old Nur said, with a mysterious smile on his face. "He'll definitely press it. And the 'humans' will no longer have weapons." "Absolutely?" I asked. "Absolutely," the gray-skinned giant replied. I immediately remembered the film I'd seen in "that" life about him and the He Men. The scene where nuclear missiles simultaneously launch into the sky all over the world. "I want to see it," I said before I thought. And I really did want to. But saying it out loud was probably reckless. "Follow me," El Sabah Nur nodded, taking my answer as agreement to join, and placed his hand on my shoulder. The next moment, the transference occurred. It looked and felt different, not like mine. But it still worked. *** The place we found ourselves in was strange: a long corridor with stone walls and floors decorated with strange, jagged lines, forming a pattern reminiscent of the patterns found on printed circuit boards. The tiles themselves were polished to a level beyond what modern technology could achieve. Perhaps only in the future, when humanity conquers space, could such a quality be achieved. But I forgot that according to Marvel, besides the fact that Old Man Nur himself is a monstrously powerful mutant, an External, he also owns a high-tech complex of some advanced civilization, to which no one knows what happened. "Let's go," he said to me and moved forward. I followed. The corridor opened into a room that was a circular hall with a tetrahedral pyramidal roof. More precisely, geometrically, it was a cylinder with a base diameter of about thirty meters and a height of about three meters, inscribed within a regular tetrahedral pyramid of corresponding dimensions. In the center of the room were two stone tables-beds, standing parallel to each other, with the outline of a human body on the smooth upper surface. All surfaces of the room were covered in the same jagged lines of blue and pink, subtly pulsating and glowing. The main source of illumination was located somewhere in the center of the ceiling, where all four faces of the pyramid met. What it represented was unclear, but the room was bright. El Sabah Nur walked up to the wall, placed his hand on one of the lines, and a niche opened in the wall, just the right size for my height and shoulder width. "First, I'll give you power. I'll unlock your true potential, the one you were born with, and then you'll help me build a new world," declared this self-obsessed fanatic. "I've already been upgraded. Three times," I replied, standing still, even though I wanted to at least take a step back, and ideally turn around and run away without looking back. "Really?" old Nur asked, surprised. "We'll see," he said, touching the wall in a different spot. Some of the lines on the floor beneath me began to glow softly. Then, an infinitely thin disk of light, incomprehensible, pinkish, and uneven, spread across the room, scanning me from top to bottom, and then from bottom to top. I felt nothing, but the urge to get out of here was becoming almost unbearable. Even the Beast in my mind stirred, even though only a short time had passed since my last murder. "Good work," External nodded approvingly. "But the potential is still not fully realized. There's still room for improvement," he concluded, gesturing again toward the niche in the wall. At least it was in the wall, and not on one of the tables in the center. Then I would have fled immediately, without thinking about the consequences or considering the losses. I didn't want to die. The whole situation is disgusting. I have no desire to enter this niche and undergo further "improvements," as I don't even begin to imagine the full potential of my mutation. Will my form remain human, or at least human-like? There's no answer. But there's also a huge, ninety-nine-and-twenty-nine percent chance that I'll be brainwashed in this "hellish machine." I don't want that. But what options are there? One-on-one with Apocalypse, literally in the center, the focus of his power. Attacking him here is an idea that could only be conceived by an idiot. It wouldn't even be suicide—he'd just overpower me and stuff me in his car anyway. Escape using the "jump"? He'll catch up. He demonstrated just a minute ago that he too has mastered a similar trick. Mine may be more effective and faster, but he still knows too much about me, while I know the opposite. The limits of his strength and power are unknown to me. Which means he'll catch me. "Why me?" I asked him, trying to delay the inevitable for just a moment longer. "There are plenty of mutants with abilities similar to mine." "Because you're the strongest of them all. You've proven your strength time and time again. The first time was when you defeated Wolverine in combat, right after he became Weapon X. You did it simply. Playfully. Without breaking a sweat: you beat him up, subdued him, knocked him out, and, having incapacitated him, handed him over to SHIELD. The second time, in the Arena: Romulus lost to you. Not everyone realized it, but that's exactly how it was. All he could do was grunt weakly. And then you killed him. You became the strongest." "There's also Remus," I continued to stall for time. - Romulus was stronger. - But there are other mutants. Stronger than the Lupines. – Is this what the Twenty-time Dragon Battle Champion is telling me? – Not all the Strong participate in the Battle. "The time has come," the gray-skinned man snapped. "Enter and become stronger!" he repeated his inviting gesture. The growing tension was beginning to be almost physically palpable. That's it... We've arrived. Like it or not, there was nowhere to go. I took a step. Then another. And another. There was the niche before me. With a heavy sigh, I entered it and aligned my body along the outline, which, upon closer inspection, was also there. The niche closed. I was left in darkness. But not for long. The walls of the niche began to glow and appear in jagged stripes. My body trembled, then quickly began to go numb, and a monotonous humming sound could be heard, growing louder and louder. The glow intensified. My vision grew blurry, my hearing failed. A minute later, I could no longer see, hear, or feel anything at all. I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't move. Even if I had, I still wouldn't have felt it... And then a blow fell upon me, upon what remained. So powerful that the Beast instantly "sprang up" and "bristled." My mind withstood the blow. But a new blow, stronger than the last, was not long in coming. The Beast growled and went on the defensive. Without any divisions or internal struggle, the Beast-I threw all my strength, all my will, into preserving my consciousness from invasion and destruction. Another blow, another. Another. At some point, a small crack opened into the mind attacking us, and the Beast immediately rushed in with the intention of "devouring," "tearing," and destroying... But with the very next blow, he was swept away, broken, and thrown back. I was left alone with the attacking force. Somehow, I felt better. My mind became cold and clear. Pure, yet fragile. I clearly understood that the next blow would be the last, scattering and shattering me like a crystal vase. Well, I've lived a long life. I don't know if you could call it a good life, but there was joy, there was love, there was friendship, there were enemies, and there were teachers. Even one Teacher. And he prayed in his final moments. Why shouldn't I do the same? But who should I pray to? God? Buddha? Allah? The Great Ancestors? I didn't know. After all, even as a monk, and later as the abbot of a Zen monastery, I still didn't internally adhere to any religion. My god has no name. I didn't pray. I began to meditate, since I couldn't do the former, but I could do the latter. And I went deeper into meditation than I'd ever gone before. It was easy. Very easy, even. No bodily sensations interfered, and the Beast showed no signs of life. The world closed in on the boundaries of my consciousness, while my consciousness opened wide to the entire world. And in the midst of all this, from somewhere "above" (in quotation marks because in that state everything was relative: right, left, up, and down) came a single beam of light. Another beam of light was striking toward it from "below." And at the point of their meeting, their merging, was "I." Another blow shook me, but surprisingly didn't break me. The next one did the same. And the next. They kept getting stronger. They came more often. At one point, another blow was so powerful that I was thrown out of the body I could clearly see before me, just like with Suoh. This caused another shock, but not as intense as the first time. I reached out to return to my shell, but as soon as I did, I was hit. I "leaped" into the body and was immediately knocked out, thrown back. "Leaped" again, another blow, then a jerk and... I opened my eyes. Above me was a familiar ceiling. I was covered with a blanket up to my chin. I turned my head to the side and began to examine my surroundings. The room. Everything was exactly as I remembered it. Everything in its place. Everything as it should be. I threw back the blanket and sat up. My bangs fell over my eyes. I got out of bed and walked over to the desk, picked up a box cutter, and turned to the mirror built into the closet door. Looking back at me from the mirror was a twenty-one-year-old man with unkempt black hair that reached about mid-neck, with bangs falling over his brown eyes. He was five feet seven inches tall, fit, athletic, but not muscular. He looked average in every way, and could do with a shave. I extended the blade of the box cutter and carefully cut the skin on my left forearm. Not deeply, just enough to draw blood and create a small scratch. Blood appeared, but the wound showed no sign of healing. "Well, hello there, Vasya Kirin," I sighed, putting the knife back on the table. "Welcome back to the real world. Tada and ma. Home sweet home..." ***Note to the part
sat at my desk during a lecture, half-listening to the teacher. My thoughts flowed sluggishly and kept going in circles. The same circle over and over again. What was all this? A dream? Just an amazingly detailed, lengthy dream, presented to me in every sense? Then why do I remember English, Japanese, Chinese, Siamese, French, German, and a dozen other languages as if I'd actually studied them all personally, and even had extensive language practice among native speakers? It's convenient, of course: you fell asleep as an ignoramus, and woke up in the morning as… no one knows who. This also applied to the rest of Victor's knowledge, accumulated over two hundred years. Knowledge. His skills and abilities were a bit more disappointing: no healing factor, his strength was that of an average guy of the same age who hadn't undergone any serious training, and he had no martial arts skills. Although, that's not entirely true: muscle and motor memory were present, but adaptation and tuning to the specific parameters of this particular body were required. But his physical condition was completely insufficient to perform even the simplest techniques and strikes that Sabretooth possessed. But overall, everything's fine: I'm alive, I'm healthy, I have the memory of a two-hundred-year-old "eternal student" and part-time Master of Martial Arts, with all his knowledge, a complete absence of his enemies, and, most importantly, without his bestial rage and bloodlust. With such cards, what's not to play? The mood was strange. At once bright and sad. Bright because I was back in Russia, in my hometown. It might seem silly to some, but even the air here was different, the sensations, the colors… The sun shone as it had never shone anywhere else. There were two months left until the end of the spring semester of my third year. My first period had ended, followed by the second and third. I hadn't made any special friends at the institute before that night, so no one bothered to "talk" to me. Besides, I wouldn't have been able to communicate normally now; my head was too heavy. Or, conversely, too light. The third period on today's schedule was the last. I didn't want to go home. The weather was delightfully warm. Throwing my notebooks and pens into my bag, I simply set off through the streets of my hometown, a city I hadn't seen for two hundred years... or just one night? What difference does it make? I suddenly decided. I'm Victor, fucking Creed. And what difference does it make what I'm listed on my passport, whether I have a healing factor, mutant strength, or am nearly two meters tall with hypertrophied fangs on both my upper and lower jaws? I'm not a philosopher or a soul-searcher! I perceive reality as it is, not speculate about what it could be! To the Zen of doubt! I'm a student again. I can study again. And that's happiness. I don't have to fight, I don't need to "blow off steam" and control my Beast, I can simply live and study! My dream, my Tao, my Zen... This body may be weak right now: no strength, no flexibility, no speed, no endurance. But this can and must be corrected! Immediately. Start right now, because "a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." I was just walking through the park at the time, so I stopped and dropped my bag, jacket, and boots onto the young grass just sprouting. I assumed my starting stance and began my Wushu warm-up routine… *** My name is Victor Creed. I'm a little over two hundred years old (if you count only the years since Sabretooth's birth in Canada, that's 208, and if you add Vasily's twenty-one years before that, that's 229). And now I live under the name Vasily Kirin. A year has passed since the night I woke up in this body. Now it no longer presents the pitiful sight it did at the very beginning. I've grown taller (at least two centimeters taller) and become stronger. Daily grueling training has taken its toll. I'm getting closer and closer to the level of mastery I had in the Marvel world (I prefer to think of it as an actual other world, not a dream or a figment of my imagination). I'm especially good at various meditations, since the Beast no longer interferes, coursing red-hot rage through my veins. However, I'm still hesitant to move on to Qi techniques, as they require a fairly solid foundation, specifically physical fitness, which I haven't yet developed. Otherwise, I could suffer a serious injury or even be completely crippled. But I will get there. I definitely will. What happened to me this year? A lot, but at the same time, not so much. In short: I studied and I trained. After all, what I've learned to do in my two hundred-odd years is study and train. At the institute, I regained my previously lost scholarship. And not just a regular scholarship, but an enhanced one. I delved deeply into the material we were taught, remembering how difficult it had been for me to extract it from my head, systematize it, and implement it in that world. And what enormous gaps in my knowledge had been revealed back then. Now I was filling them, scouring the internet, pestering the professors, and combing through the library. At the same time, I found a job. Same old story: online. Freelancing. I started writing various programs and pieces of code to order: good practice, decent money. Besides the institute, I trained. Constantly, every free minute, like hell. From the outside, it looked like obsession, like madness, but I didn't care: I was trying to catch up with myself, to compensate for two hundred years of practice with knowledge and methodical literacy in designing and conducting training, to regain what I had... And I also simply loved it. I experienced an unimaginable thrill from being able to perform a movement every day just a little better, more precisely, more effectively, more beautifully than the day before. They wouldn't understand that. Doing Tai Chi routines in that park became a habit for me, as did long morning runs. It's a beautiful place. Sometimes people would stare at me, point, or take pictures on their cell phones... But most often, they'd just walk right past, barely even turning their heads. After all, everyone has enough problems of their own to keep an eye on some guy in a black Chinese workout outfit and soft sneakers, who, day after day, in any weather and any time of year, makes strange movements in a city park. Got used to it. Just got used to it. And I got used to it. Almost used to living in this world, where there are no monsters, mages, vampires, werewolves, mutants, aliens, or living Asgardian gods. Only in the evenings, before bed, I would browse Marvel comics online, watch cartoons and TV series set in this universe... And from the wall of my room, posters of Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One from Doctor Strange stared at me. And on another wall, she was emerging from a ring of fire, within which the peaks of the Tibetan mountains could be seen... *** Tomorrow is my graduation from college, where I'm graduating with honors. I'll probably just get my diploma at the official ceremony and go home. I won't stay for the drinking party that graduates mistakenly consider a real "graduation." Why? I'm just not interested. At home, the long-delayed Qi techniques await me, the ones I've been preparing for for two whole years. This is more important. *** Today I received a summons from the military registration and enlistment office. Whether I laugh or cry, I have to go, because it's the Law, and I don't want to have any problems with the Law in my current situation. Especially not like this, out of the blue. I can't pretend to be sick, can I? With the body I've sculpted over the past two and a half years, it's not even funny. Pay for a military ID? That's certainly an option, since my freelancing brings in quite a decent income (not by Sabretooth standards, but by our city's). But who can I "shove" it to? You need to have the right connections. And is it even worth it? Having still not decided anything, I still went to the medical examination. *** Tomorrow I'm demobilized. How was this year? It was productive in some ways (I earned a Master of Sports in ARB), but overall, it was a waste of time. From the very first day, I managed to get a job at the gym. Naturally, I was listed as holding a regular position—a scout machine gunner in the reconnaissance airborne battalion of the PDP—but in reality, I only slept in the general barracks, ran with everyone else when alerts sounded, and performed jumps with "my guys." The rest of the time, I spent training, competing, and preparing for competitions: army hand-to-hand combat, skiing, track and field, "horses," war games, kettlebells, shooting, and so on. There are a lot of competitions in the army. The unit commander was pleased with me, as was the battalion commander. The company commander, of course, grumbled, saying he had the staff but no personnel, but he was also generally pleased. Of course: I brought home so many cups, certificates, and medals from all those competitions. So I'm retiring not as a private, but as a full sergeant. They still don't want to let me go, they're trying to persuade me: they're offering me a contract, promising me squad leader, for starters... I might have stayed, but my time is being wasted here, time that could have been spent training and studying. No. I'm retiring. *** For two years now, I've been a free agent with a military ID and a diploma with honors. I still make ends meet by freelancing and training, training, training... I can finally say with complete confidence that I've mastered all of Sabretooth's techniques. I'm nowhere near his physical fitness, since he's a mutant and I'm human, but my skill is no longer inferior to my Marvel counterpart. And... I hadn't forgotten the "super soldier formula" from that world. I even managed to synthesize it in the labs of my institute (access cost me a lot, including a lot of beer for the lab technicians, and, naturally, I "ruined" all the reagents at my own expense). I tested it on mice, and then on myself. This was at the end of my fourth year. Without Vita-Rays, the effect lasts for several years. And the drug itself was released somewhat weaker. But intensive training during this entire "incubation" period yielded significant benefits. By this time, I'd just reached the peak of my fitness, as provided by the formula (and gained another three centimeters, bringing my height to one hundred and eighty). I'm finally starting to like the way my body works. And it's a thrill. I recently had a conversation with my father. It wasn't exactly difficult, but it reminded me of my age: twenty-six already. Time to settle down. Think about my grandchildren. So what if I still look twenty-two? Time flies anyway. And then there's this thing I obviously haven't thought about yet: retirement, which with my freelancing, I risk never seeing. Well, maybe the government will throw in a few crumbs... I didn't argue with him. After all, he's right on all counts. On all counts, he knows. But talking about a formula, and especially the name I call myself, would be silly. He actually suggested a funny idea: opening my own gym and training kids. No, he put it a little differently: go to the Youth Sports School and get a job there as a coach, since I like all these "Eastern things" so much. And I'll probably follow this advice, since I have both the experience and the desire. But first, I'll go to Japan and visit the Hombu Dojo. *** It was only six months later that it was possible to pay tribute and respect to the Great Teacher at the cemetery of the Ueshiba family temple in Tanabe. It was hard. Hard and joyful at the same time. It's hard to look at the tombstone, realizing that I couldn't save SUCH a person who had become my friend, even in a comic book universe where immortality, return from the dead, and resurrection are the norm, the everyday. I'm glad he was in my life. That he was in this world. That he existed at all. And also because I already KNEW that death isn't the end of the road, but only the beginning of a new adventure. And the Teacher simply went off to teach someone else. Or to learn himself... I spent only half an hour in the cemetery, but I spent two days meditating on the hill near the city. And I can't say that time was wasted. I understood something. Something important. But I can't put it into words. In this body, of course, I don't suffer from the same speechlessness as in Sabretooth's, but it's still beyond my capabilities. *** I spent five months in Tokyo, attending classes daily at the Hombu Dojo. It was expensive. I had to devote more time to my work, taking on more challenging but also higher-paying assignments, fortunately, the high rating I'd earned over the years allowed for this. But it was worth it. Or rather, I think it was worth it because I enjoyed it. The fact that during this time I officially received the fourth dan with the right to teach is just a small plus. In Karate, I simultaneously confirmed my second dan, fortunately the federation's central dojo was also located in Japan. It took me another six months to confirm my qualifications in Muay Thai and Kung Fu. I had to travel around Asia to do this, even participating in several tournaments, but these are all minor details, not worth the attention. A brief mention goes to the underground fights in Bangkok, where I raised the seed money to open my own gym in my hometown. I fought under the same nickname as before: Sabretooth. There were some complications with the subsequent transfer of money across the border, but they turned out to be solvable: Bitcoin rules. *** I returned home just in time for my twenty-eighth birthday. My father was delighted with all the waste paper I brought back from my two-year journey. But he was even happier that I'd finally bought some land in one of the residential areas and had already begun building my own small hall there. There was, of course, a sea of bureaucratic red tape, but knowing our system, how it works and the basic principle of "you have to share" or "if you don't grease the whistle, you won't go," I eventually dealt with it. ***
The result wasn't a blow, but a jump, in which my speed, gained through muscular effort, combined with the bus's speed, sending me flying a long way, thirty-five to forty meters, in a pre-calculated direction—the sidewalk. It was difficult to slow down my speed and cope with the momentum upon landing without injuring myself. But that's what I'm a Master of, and practically Captain-level at that—I managed. I did tumble a bit, though, that's inevitable. Finally stopping, I carefully rose to my feet and struggled to straighten up, swaying slightly from dizziness. Then there was a blow to the head and the world went dark. *** I was walking through the city park. I don't know why. I just went out for a stroll, and my feet brought me here. I was discharged from the hospital yesterday. They say it was a funny incident: a flower pot fell on my head. From the eighth floor – a cat pushed me off the windowsill. True, they also say that before this I simply performed some miracles, saved a child from under a car... But I don't remember anything. Absolutely nothing. More precisely, there is such a strange confusion and chaos going on in my head that I can't understand what's going on at all: some people, faces, places, shooting, children's faces, mountains, sea, cherry blossoms… I went for a walk and came to the park. Now I'm standing here, not knowing what to do. I saw a bench and wanted to sit down on it. I went over and sat down. And there was a girl sitting next to me. A pretty redhead. "Aren't you going to study today?" She glanced at my casual clothes and looked surprised. "Study?" I asked again. "Should I?" "I don't know," she shrugged. "It's just that you're always here at this time of day practicing. Wushu, I think. Every day." - Is it true? "Yes," she confirmed. "Don't you remember?" "No," I admitted, looking sad. "I don't remember anything. At the hospital, they told me it was re… retrograde amnesia," I said with some difficulty, pronouncing the combination of words the doctor had spoken to me when I admitted I didn't remember anything. "Really?" the girl was surprised. "Do you remember your name?" "At the hospital, they told me my name was Vasily Kirin. That I was thirty-four years old. That I owned my own martial arts gym where I taught karate to children," I admitted honestly. "Thirty-four?" the girl asked, looking at me in surprise. "I wouldn't give you more than twenty-two." "I was surprised myself when I looked in the mirror. But they say I'm exactly thirty-four. I'm just in perfect health, that's why I've kept up so well. They even gave me a passport," I said, showing the document I'd pulled out of my pocket. "Can I see it?" she asked. I handed her this beautiful booklet with my photo, date of birth, military registration stamp, and residence permit. There was nothing else of interest in it. She took it, carefully leafed through it, and returned to the photo again. "It's true, the only thing that's changed is your hairstyle," she chuckled. "It suits you better with short hair," the girl smiled and handed me the document back. I smiled back. For some reason I felt awkward. "And how do I usually 'do it'?" I decided to change the subject. "I probably won't be able to show you," she hesitated. - You try it. I'll stand next to you and start repeating, maybe I'll remember something. "Okay," she decided after a little hesitation. We emerged onto the lawn, where the grass was slightly trampled, apparently by my feet. "You always started like this," she said, slowly raising her hands in front of her to chest level, as if letting invisible water flow from them, then just as slowly lowering them. I followed her lead. The movement did indeed feel familiar. Trusting the feeling, I began to move further, the way my body urged me to. It guided the movement almost automatically, and the movements popped into my head again and again. I moved. I moved on, recalling more and more new sequences of movements, born of associations. And what I remembered seemed to fall into place, back into the grooves of my shaken memory, filling the void and reducing the confusion. "Beautiful," the girl said admiringly, when I'd gotten so carried away that I'd moved from the twenty-fourth to the thirty-sixth, then, by analogy and association, to the thirty-second kung fu form, after which I'd jumped all the way to the five beasts' forms. "Usually you stop at the first two, repeating them over and over. Sometimes other forms, but also slower..." "I just got carried away," I scratched the back of my head in embarrassment, finishing another form, and winced from the pain in the wound left on my head from the impact of the corner of the pot. "It's nothing," she smiled. "It just looks so beautiful…" "What's your name?" I asked, suddenly remembering. "Galya," she replied, shooting a glance and adding, "And we can be informal. After all, you're almost ten years older." "It's okay," I smiled. "But I feel like a kid let outside for the first time. Do you want me to teach you? I must be pretty good at it, since I have kids training me," an interesting thought suddenly occurred to me. "Okay, go ahead," she smiled. "But it's probably really difficult…" "Even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," I quoted to her... I think that's what my teacher told me, adding that it was Lao Tzu's "The Path of Love and Grace." A teacher... one of them. Did I have many teachers? "What language is this in?" she asked in surprise. "In Chinese," I responded, no less surprised, realizing I could indeed speak Chinese fluently. And not just that. "Even a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," I translated the phrase into Russian. "Indeed," she agreed. "And I think you'll gradually remember everything, because you've already taken the first steps, haven't you?" "Indeed," I scratched the back of my head again, embarrassed.
was strange, observing my own body from a distance, from a height of a few meters. Even though it wasn't the first time, it still hammered my brain like that very flowerpot that had just been imprinted on this body's skull. It didn't hit me that hard, by the way. If it hadn't been for that strange flight out of my body, I might not have even fallen from it. I would have rubbed the bruise, shaken my fist at the sky where that geranium came from, and kept going. Right there... I took a closer look at the body. It was perfectly fine, except for the skin on its head, slightly cut by the corner of the pot. It was time to go back... But then the world around me shifted strangely, and began to appear double. Two bodies lay on the ground. Both were mine. Only one had short, black hair, while the other, more massive, had a luxurious blond mane. Uncle Vanya and the other students from the "sixteen and up" group were already running up to the first. A hulking man with blue lips and gray skin stood over the second. They began professionally examining the first for wounds and fractures, then slapping his cheeks in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness. Over the second, El Sabah Nur shook his head disapprovingly and extended his hand in his direction, summoning some kind of force that caused his body to begin to disintegrate, desperately resisting the healing factor. "No!" I tried to scream. But the scream didn't come. Instead, the freeze frame kicked in. Both images froze, and I was left hanging between them. It was strange. I felt silvery threads stretching from me to both bodies. I couldn't see them, but I felt them. And I also felt like I could "return" to either one, if I wanted to and "jumped." I just had to decide which one. And yet, for some reason, it was crystal clear that the choice would be final: if I chose Vasya, then El Sabah Nur would destroy Sabretooth's body like a piece of slag that had failed to live up to expectations. If I chose Victor... then things would be a bit more complicated. Upon closer inspection of Vasya's body, or whatever it is I have in this state, I sensed something, or rather someone, ready to finally "wake up" and fill the vacant space. I focused on this and, with surprise, recognized myself. The me I had been before that night. I also "saw" in it a heap of my memories, skills, and knowledge, completely disorganized, chaotic, confused, unsystematic... as if imprinted, like a wet sheet of newspaper imprinted on a tabletop—hard to wipe off. I understood that I could merge with this self, becoming one with it, or I could allow it to "unfold." Both would be right. The whole question came back to what I wanted. Which of these two lives would I keep for myself? The violent, brutal killer Creed, or the cheerful, level-headed martial arts teacher, never hiding from anyone, never concealing himself, and having almost no run-ins with the law. Vasya is happy. Victor... it's hard to call him unhappy either. I made my choice. Freeze Frame ended. *** El Sabah Nur stood over the body that had fallen out of the niche in the wall and thought. The experiment to enhance this mutant had failed. Why had this happened? After all, the first phase went quite well: the body was improved, a new level of healing factor capabilities was unlocked, bones, teeth, and claws were strengthened, muscle tissue was further compacted, and other body capabilities were enhanced and stabilized. The analysis didn't reveal what exactly, but their presence was evident from the vast amount of energy that was seemingly wasted. But then everything went wrong. The first attempt to penetrate the subject's consciousness failed. Even with increased power and additional capabilities, they couldn't penetrate his mental shields. At one point, this Sabretooth even managed to attack back. He nearly froze the equipment, but by using additional capabilities, he managed to repel the attack. The attempts continued to fail, one after another, forcing him to add more and more energy to the process, increasing the force of the mental attacks. By the end, External, without any caution, was literally pounding into this Sabretooth's mind at full power, until... until he broke the toy. One of the blows simply destroyed the mutant's consciousness, completely and suddenly, and the subsequent blows struck into nothingness. Following the loss of consciousness, his heart stopped. The promising mutant died, becoming hopeless biological waste. El Sabah Nur even gave the object time, since the latter's power was in self-repair and self-healing, and there was a non-zero probability that it would be able to repair such damage. But time passed, and the heart stopped working, and consciousness failed to recover. After two hours, External declared the experiment a complete failure and opened the niche. A body fell at his feet. Slag, destined for disposal. El Sabah Nur raised his hand in his direction and used his power to destroy and decompose the waste. The power began to take effect, but once again the enhanced body resisted, trying to repair the damage it sustained, even with its heart inoperative. The External increased its onslaught. And suddenly the body jerked. The hand clenched into a fist, its claws carving deep furrows into the floor. A low, strangled growl erupted from the throat of the recently dead mutant. El Sabah Nur stopped and lowered his hand. The mutant continued to growl for a moment, then fell silent, placed his hands on the floor, and slowly rose to his feet. *** I stood up slowly and frowned at External. He looked at me. I looked at him. He looked at me… "Let's go," he said finally, turning toward the exit. I followed him silently, maintaining the demeanor of a dumb, silent brute. Old man Nur is now sure that he destroyed my previous mind, and the new one, literally just born, under the influence of the healing factor, is pure and to a greater extent the mind of a beast than a man. We walked out into the hallway, about halfway down it. External stopped, turned around, and put his hand on my shoulder. The next moment, we were transported to Xavier's mansion. Right into the living room, where, at that very moment, Charles himself, Hank McCoy, and the new girl Charles had taken as a trophy from the Battle were sitting at a round table. "Victor?" Xavier asked in surprise, jumping up from his seat and placing his fingers to his temple in a parasitic gesture. I continued to play the dumb, mute beast, standing behind Apocalypse's shoulder. Xavier immediately poked his head into my consciousness, but received a "snap of teeth in front of his nose," so he quickly "bounced back" and tried to get into the head of El Sabah Nur, after which he grabbed his head and fell to the floor with a scream. Hank leaped at Apocalypse straight from his chair, but I grabbed him by the throat mid-flight, slamming him back down onto the floor and growling menacingly in his face. McCoy's eyes widened in horror and surprise; he tried to say something, but I clamped my hand down on his throat, occluding his carotid artery. A few seconds, a few desperate jerks, and the Beast passed out, sprawling on the floor as a blue-furred carcass. Xavier's students, the older and stronger ones, started running into the living room at the noise. Scott Summers was the first to run in, reaching for his glasses… slowly. McCoy's body, thrown by me, swept away him, along with his brother, who was running after him. Nightcrawler tried to "jump" on my back, probably intending to "teleport" me somewhere unpleasant. But with an elbow lodged in my Adam's apple, you can't do much harm. I bent down and grabbed his leg while he was still falling, holding his throat and trying to breathe, pulled him between my legs and threw him. It was a good throwing projectile. It's just a shame Kitty managed to go "incorporeal," and it flew right through her without hitting her. Logan leaped from the side corridor, claws outstretched. He took a chair to the forehead mid-flight, momentarily disorienting me (the chair shattered into splinters on his adamantium forehead), which was exactly what I needed. A quick strike with the sheathed katana, still clutched in my left hand (I hadn't let go of it the entire time), to the crotch of Logan, who was sprawled in mid-flight, then a dodge, a turn behind him, a headlock, and a precise jerk to break his neck. His vertebrae, of course, are adamantium and don't break, but his intervertebral discs, ligaments, muscles, and nerves are all relatively normal, albeit much stronger than those of ordinary people. But I'm not exactly a normal person, so by applying enough force to the right areas, at the right angle, I was able to "make him look at his back and butt." He was immediately paralyzed, but to be on the safe side, I also caught the leg of a chair in mid-air (the same chair that had shattered on Logan's armored head) and stuck it into his neck, on the left side, above the collarbone, so as to fix the position of his head and not allow him to cope with his wound himself. The brutality of the massacre made the oncoming children flinch. Kitty momentarily lost her "immateriality" and was immediately struck in the chin by a left fist clutching a katana. The blow wasn't strong, but it was precise and "clean," knocking the girl unconscious immediately. Rogue tried to grab my leg from under the table, but she caught the katana's sheath in the base of my skull and went silent. I was immediately forced to dodge Psylocke's whip, using Logan's body in my right hand as a shield. It probably hurt him, though I doubt it. His spinal nerve was severed; he couldn't feel a thing right now. Meanwhile, the girl was in shock from nearly slicing "her own" in half (yes, three times—an adamantium skeleton is a cool feature, but a back slashed by a psychokinetic pseudo-blade really does look scary). She hesitated, and for that, she immediately received the butt of the sheath to the chin with just the right amount of force and angle to instantly knock her unconscious. Expose Logan's long-suffering body to Bobby Drake's icy blast, immediately smashing him with a table before he could transform into ice. Immediately dodge Gambit's charged card. Spot Jean Grey at the door. She's not to be trifled with, so I'll just slam a Qi blast on her from the spot—not a powerful one, not meant to kill, but to stun her and knock her concentration off balance for a second. Then I'll take a long leap, ending in a somersault, straight towards her, a katana hilt strike "to the soul," and a finishing, knockout blow with the edge of my hand to the base of her skull. Dodge Gambit's charged card again and turn back to him. Only one remained standing. Except for the white-haired black girl, who sat on the chair and didn't move, even when I smashed the table on Drake's idiot. Gambit unlatched and loaded his telescopic pole, preparing for a protracted fight. Naive: a thunderous roar, followed by a Ki-Ai and an area-effect Chi strike from the spot, and then smash another chair over his head while he's stunned and knocked out of the fight by my first attack. A brief moment would be enough, and there are plenty of chairs in the living room. All. Fast, tough, effective. Apocalypse nodded toward the writhing Xavier. I silently hoisted his body onto my shoulder. We approached the white-haired girl. External placed one hand on her shoulder, the other on mine, the one free from carrying the body. That's it—transfer. *** "What the hell just happened?!" Bobby Drake crawled out from under the rubble of the table. "They beat the crap out of us, what's so hard to understand?" Scott Summers snapped, trying to bring the Beast to his senses so he could pull his brother out from under him. "But it was Victor! Uncle Victor! Am I right? It really was him?" Kitty Pryde groaned, clutching her chin. "How can this be? How can this be?" "Defrost Logan already," Gambit croaked, clutching his bruised head as he began to rise from the floor. Drake, suddenly aware of his surroundings, moved toward the frozen and paralyzed Wolverine, frozen like a hideous statue in the center of the room. A slight effort, and Logan collapsed to the floor. Gambit hobbled over to his body, yanked a chair leg out of his neck, and with considerable effort, bracing his knee against his back, turned the victim's head back to its normal position. "Argh!" a croak, half-curse, escaped his throat. "Get everyone in order quickly! General assembly in the 'hall' in ten minutes. Carry out!" he ordered, rising from the floor. "At least tell us what that was, Logan?" Kitty stood up from the floor. "Training to repel a surprise attack on the School in combat-like conditions. Full contact. And we failed spectacularly!" Wolverine growled. "Get to the 'hall,' I said! We'll be debriefing." "Hi," the children reluctantly agreed, already crawling out of the rubble and just beginning to come to their senses. Five minutes later, only Logan, Hank, Scott, Gina, and Gambit remained in the living room. "What the hell kind of training is this, James?!" Gambit whispered indignantly. "They took the Professor!" "Hard, full-contact, sudden! And now you have to go and convince the kids of this so they don't even think about getting involved. Understood?" Logan replied, in the same whisper, but louder and with a growl in his voice. "But he's right. Victor tried to kill us," Scott interjected. "Don't flatter yourself, sucker," Howlett said, taking the opportunity to further humiliate the insolent young man. "If Victor had decided to kill us, you'd all be dead by now." "We? And you?" Cyclops tried to "bite" Wolverine again. "And I would still be suffering, helplessly watching him carve me bone by bone," Howlett shuddered. "You still don't get it? He never drew his sword the entire 'fight'! Got it?" Summers frowned and looked away. "So shut up and help Gambit calm the children down." "What are we going to do?" Hank asked, carefully feeling his neck after Gambit and Cyclops left. - Call Eric. "I already called. Mystique is furious. Eric was taken away by a gray-skinned, blue-lipped giant three minutes ago." "That's bad," Logan frowned. "Two Battle Champions would wipe us out, even without counting the grey-skinned one, who, by the way, is one of the oldest and most powerful mutants on the planet." - And what to do? "What else can I complain to my wife about Victor?" Logan sighed. ***