Chapter 50
Upon returning from my trip, while the gym wasn't yet ready, I quickly completed a correspondence course at the pedagogical institute's sports department, in order to officially obtain the right to coach in our country, where without a piece of paper, you're a piece of shit, no matter what you actually are.
Sometimes it was external, sometimes it was credit, and sometimes it was cash, but the training period was quickly shortening, promising me the coveted diploma just in time for the completion of the hall's construction.
And with the necessary funds, the desire, and a good construction team, the building goes up quickly. It took me just over six months.
Initially, I wanted to build a building in the Japanese style, but I encountered a host of climatic, bureaucratic, and technical difficulties, so I gave up on the frills and trusted the experience of people knowledgeable in this matter.
The end result was an ordinary one-story house with a gable roof made of painted corrugated sheet metal, walls made of white sand-lime brick, high ceilings, and windows raised more than two and a half meters from the floor.
The house itself wasn't very big. The gym itself was twenty by fifteen meters. Plus showers, changing rooms, restrooms, several utility and technical rooms, and a study. But I wasn't aiming for size. I don't think there will be many students, since I'm not a household name, and I don't plan on advertising it too much. I'd probably have maybe ten kids, the kind whose parents wouldn't be far away from taking their kids to practice. I didn't start this for the money, I started it for the soul.
My own hall... Although it's not my first, it still evokes awe in my soul. I want to decorate it, furnish it, give it individuality and, at the same time, a stylistic identity, a connection to the traditions of the arts that will be practiced there.
On one, non-main wall, above the soft one and a half meter upholstery, I hung photographs.
Photographs... Life captured in still images. A story told through pictures. How often do we watch and rewatch videos of our holidays, big events, graduations? Once or twice in a lifetime. And what about photographs? The ones printed out and arranged in albums? Much more often. And with greater pleasure. Not to mention those hung on walls or framed on desks, in sideboards, or arranged on dressers.
So, I've hung my entire life on the wall, starting from that very night: training in the park (shot by my father with an old point-and-shoot camera), the army: my "spirited" face under a poorly worn blue beret, the same one, but already in "war paint" under a bandana (a photo from a show), competitions, competitions, competitions, more demonstrations, more competitions, demobilization; Japan: Hombu dojo Aikido Aikikai, Honbu-dojo JKA - training, a group photo with the Sensei and students, passing the belt exam; Thailand: official competitions in the ring, a group photo with the Masters, an awards ceremony; China: mass training outdoors, belt exam, a group photo; hometown: laying the foundation of the hall, completion of construction... Basically, my entire life. Not much.
Well, let's move on to the main wall—the shomen. Install a special stand, hang decorative katanas on it, or go to the trouble of ordering real sporting tomasegeri from Korea or Japan, which will be delivered disassembled to comply with the law... It seems rather hypocritical. The weapon placed at the center of the room should be real, not fake—the kind you, or your ancestors, actually carried into battle. Or the kind you will carry into battle in the future.
Should Torii limit himself to a traditional portrait of the founder? A portrait... Well, I'm quite good at drawing, so why not?
It took me almost two weeks of work, but now it's as if the main wall in my dojo is gone altogether, instead, the main wall of the very dojo where I first met Morihei is there. And O-sensei himself, in a white dogi and white hakama, sitting seiza in front of that wall, facing the students. Full-length. Everything is life-size, covering the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, with every detail and specificity that meditation managed to draw from the depths of my memory.
It turned out... atmospheric, poignant, but joyful.
Later, Master Sotama, seated on a makiwara pillar, looked out from the eastern wall, arms folded across his chest. Not far from him, Master Hon, standing on a similar pillar with his bamboo cane, was standing.
From the western wall (and during construction I oriented the hall to the cardinal points very precisely, although because of this I had to redo the project three times, adjusting it to the topography of a specific plot of land) all the Shaolin Masters from whom I had studied during my seventy years of monastic life looked out, standing as if in a group photograph.
Then I thought about it and took down all my photographs from the south wall. In their place, I drew myself. At first, I wanted to depict myself as Sabertooth, but after I'd finished drawing it, I changed my mind and repainted the wall. Sabertooth didn't look right there. I drew my current self, sitting seiza, in a white kimono, with a white sash and sleeves rolled up to the elbows. And next to myself, later, much later, I added pictures of my students. Just like in the group photo.
And for the ceiling I ordered a hanging canvas with a photograph of the sky on it.
It turned out... maybe a bit too pompous, but the main thing is that I liked it.
I moved the photographs to the office. Let them hang there, they're more appropriate there. The diplomas are in the hallway—for a touch of class.
Having finished setting up the gym, I posted flyers on the nearby lampposts, seeking a group of students "ages seven and up" for Karate, "ages fourteen and up" for Kung Fu, and "ages sixteen and up" for... whatever they chose (from combat knife throwing, knife fighting, military hand-to-hand combat, kendo, to Qigong, health gymnastics, acupuncture, and the Tea Ceremony). I wrote it down straight. It didn't really matter to me that anyone actually showed up. If anything, I'd be just as happy practicing alone in my new gym, under the watchful eye of O-sensei and the encouragement of his bright smile.
But no, people came. As I expected, they brought little ones from seven to twelve years old. I must say—the most grateful students, who soak you up like a sponge. And then remember you for the rest of their lives. It's fun being with them.
There were as many as eleven people.
Only one boy came in the "fourteen and up" group. And in the "sixteen and up" group, there was a guy over forty, two meters tall, with broad shoulders like my old man, and also a former Alpha trooper who had managed to make his mark in a bunch of "hot spots." And two women of Balzac's age, teachers from a neighboring school.
My uncle's name was Ivan. We literally sparred, there's no other way to put it, in the style of military hand-to-hand combat and sambo. He wasn't exactly eager to learn, but he needed a sparring partner, and I was perfect for the job.
He showed me some amusing things he called "the Kadochnikov system." Why amusing? No, not because I didn't take it seriously: it's a thoroughly combat-ready and practice-oriented system, practical, effective, and convenient. It's simply very similar to jiu-jitsu, daita ryu, and aikido, only with a greater emphasis on modern weapons, whether used by oneself or one's opponent: a knife, a shovel, a machine gun, a pistol, even a machine gun and a crowbar; taking into account the possible presence of personal body armor. However, this system didn't have similar historical roots. It was an original development by Alexey Alexeyevich Kadochnikov, based on a knowledge of physics, psychology, and anatomy, with a particular emphasis on levers, hinges, and centrifugal forces. But the point is that the approaches to creation and study are different, yet the results are very similar. That's what's amusing.
It turned out that it wasn't so much he who learned from me as I who learned from him. Funny.
With the women, we did Wushu Tai Chi Chuan and health exercises. And a little bit of Qigong. They liked it.
The thing was, all three were in the same group, practicing at the same time, in the same gym. And that, too, was amusing in its own way: in one corner, two women with inspired expressions were performing the twenty-fourth form of wushu, with the command: don't get distracted, even if "a dragon flies past," while in another corner of the same gym, within their direct line of sight, two men in shorts and wrestling shorts were beating each other up, almost touching each other, loudly and loudly, sending them crashing to the floor and even the walls, precisely ensuring that "dragon flies past."
I charged my students a purely nominal fee. The younger group (with the consent of their parents) strictly adhered to an interesting diet... developed by Abraham Erskine.
So what? When I teach my students, I give them the most I can, without concealment or "forbidden techniques." That's just the kind of person I am. Morihei was the same way; he was generous with knowledge, just take it... Maybe someday I, too, will grow to understand the spirit and path of Aiki? Who knows?
Four years have passed since the opening of the gym—steady, calm, and fruitful. I perfected myself, took medical school by correspondence, taught children, worked with a group of sixteen and up, and occasionally flew to Thailand to replenish my financial resources. I even visited Alexey Alexeevich Kadochnikov personally once, fortunately he was still alive. I trained under his guidance. True, he mostly teaches theory, leaving the practical experience to the student, but his instructions, explanations, and recommendations are very effective when applied to an existing foundation, providing direction for improvement.
The group of "over sixteen" had grown: now there were not three students, but seven: Uncle Vanya, as I eventually began to call the Alpha member (and he in turn called me Vasya-Sensei, and after him, everyone else, not excluding the younger group), brought two more of his friends with similar skills and experience, and "our girls," as we affectionately called the teachers, each brought another friend.
The "fourteen and up" group already had six members: four boys and two girls. The younger group also saw a slight change in composition: new students were added, and two "old-timers" were unfortunately unable to continue training because their parents, and they along with them, had moved to other cities due to work and personal circumstances. And so the kids developed, grew stronger, and advanced in strength, skill, and belt ranks. About once every six months, I gathered them all together and brought them to St. Petersburg for certification, having contacted some interesting sensei online beforehand, some with their own approach to the art and an official rank in the federation. Along the way, I myself rose in belt rank to fourth dan (my dedans talked me into taking the exam, supposedly to "motivate the young people, set an example, so they'd be less afraid").
And a permanent observer appeared watching my workouts in the city park. A red-haired, cute guy with a snub nose.
Near where I usually practice my tai chi forms, there's a bench with a "wonderful view" of me. So she took a liking to that bench—she'd arrive a little before me, sit down, take out a book, and "read." Then she'd leave a little later.
Finding out who she was wasn't hard: I simply followed her one day, not heading home after practice, but rather taking a couple of laps around the neighborhood. Then I made some inquiries... The neighborhood is small, and the city itself isn't a million-plus city, so basically, everyone knows everyone with a few handshakes.
It turned out her name was Galina Evgenievna, and she'd recently gotten a job as a school psychologist at the very school where most of my rascals and two of "our four girls" come from. She's very young: she'd only graduated from college a year ago, and she has no husband, nor, as far as her colleagues know, a boyfriend.
Well, I don't mind - let him watch, if that's what he wants, it won't hurt me.
Another year passed. I was walking with my rascals from the suburban forest, where, thanks to the summer and the fine weather, we'd been training outdoors for a week, combining it with a swim in the river. It was, of course, a pain to keep an eye on them all, especially with such a dangerous factor as water, but I'd enlisted my entire group of "sixteen and up" as assistants; fortunately, the men were retired and the girls were on vacation.
And so we were now walking back, sending those who lived near this very path home along the way.
Everyone's in a cheerful, upbeat mood; it's summer, the sun is shining... And then I see: fifteen meters ahead, a boy of about thirteen is walking across a crosswalk. The green light flashed, and the boy hurried, dropping his wallet, coins rolling out. He bent down to pick them up and gather them before they rolled away, unaware that a Porsche was speeding behind him, which had just been planning to speed through the intersection without stopping, fortunately, the red light (red for him) had already turned yellow. The boy, however, stopped abruptly, suddenly. He'd been running toward the other side, so the Porsche driver was almost right; the speed limit was clearly above sixty kilometers per hour. And now he couldn't brake in time.
I don't know. I'm not really a hero. Not at all, but something just clicked.
I leaped forward with all my human and superhuman strength, landing with both feet about five feet above the ground on a road sign post. Then, with all my might, I pushed off and flew into the boy, grabbing him and tumbling over my shoulder, losing momentum. A Porsche passed behind me, its brakes screeching.
The only thing is that I rolled right under the wheels of a bus, which also managed to pick up speed (not as fast as the Porsche, of course, but forty kilometers per hour multiplied by its mass is also not easy) in order to get through the intersection.
The head worked like a computer, calculating options at the speed of electrons in a conductor, discarding the impossible and the unsuccessful ones.
Without finishing my move, I opened up and threw the kid, shooting my arms forward at a man standing on the other side of the road, waiting for his turn at the traffic light. I even managed to see him catch me, though he himself lost his footing, but that was a minor detail. I jumped upward, with a residual forward thrust, so that the oncoming bus would hit me not in the side, but in the soles of my feet, bent and tucked in, the same ones I'd used to push off the bus at the moment of impact.
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 predetermined 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. It happened 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 managed to articulate with some difficulty the combination of words the doctor had spoken to me when I admitted that 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 in surprise, looking at me. "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, only the hairstyle has changed," 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 stepped out onto the lawn, where the grass was slightly trampled, and it seemed to be my feet doing the same. "You always started like this," she slowly raised her hands in front of her to chest level, as if letting invisible water flow from them, then just as slowly began to lower them. I followed her. The movement did indeed seem familiar. Trusting this feeling, I began to move further, the way my body urged me to. It led the way 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 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 you can call me by the informal 'you.' 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, let's do it," she smiled, "But it's probably very 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 that 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.
— Действительно, — согласилась она, — И я думаю, что постепенно ты все вспомнишь, ведь первые шаги уже есть, неправда ли?
— Действительно, — вновь смущенно почесал затылок я.
Chapter 51
It 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 dross 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, and 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." Either way 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" onto 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 nerve cord 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 anything right now. Meanwhile, the girl was in shock from nearly slicing "her own" in half (yes, three times—an adamantium skeleton is definitely a cool feature, but a back slashed by a psychokinetic pseudo-blade really does look scary). She hesitated, earning 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 is that possible? 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 a 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 said in a sharp whisper, "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 didn't miss the chance to put the insolent guy down once again, "If Victor had decided to kill us, you'd all be dead already."
"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 will smear us into thin air, even without taking into account 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 about Victor to my wife?" Logan sighed.
Chapter 52
That's Eric! His faith in me is too strong!
This played a cruel joke when Apocalypse and I, with Xavier's body and the white-haired girl, burst into his house.
I remained silent. I tried my best to maintain a glassy stare, my whole demeanor screaming that something was wrong. That there was a catch, an ambush, a setup…
But Apocalypse said: "Come on, I'll make you stronger," and Eric looked at me and without any questions, objections, or clarifications, he went.
If we get out of this mess alive, I'll give him such a dressing down! He won't be able to sit down for a week!
Although, if you look at it from the other side: Old Man Nur wouldn't have let him go so easily anyway, and External's battle with the omega mutant in his own home, in the presence of his wife and two children, not to mention Xavier hanging on my shoulder like a limp sack... That's also not the best idea.
So maybe he wasn't so wrong in his decision not to make a fuss?
We moved into the pyramid. El Sabah Nur gestured for me to place Xavier's body on the table in the center of the room. I did so, but in the process, I crossed out one of the thick lines leading to the head on the table with my claw. It was a good cross, a thorough one, about three centimeters deep.
I'm not sure it would help in any way, but the desire to do something nasty to this self-confident, pompous snob with blue lips was already unbearable.
External opened a niche in the wall in front of Eric, just like he did in front of the white-haired girl.
Eric, the bastard, walked in without hesitation, without even a second's hesitation. No one even asked the girl—Old Man Nur picked her up by the scruff of her neck, like a kitten, and placed her in the niche. The "doors" closed.
El Sabah Nur placed his hand on one of the strips on the wall, and a "control panel" emerged from the floor, as strange as everything else. But this pedestal simply couldn't have been anything else. The external began performing some manipulations, and the light in the room began to flicker slightly, as if the "generator" couldn't keep up with the increased load.
And then the pyramid shuddered. Once, twice, three times. External, confused and irritated, tore himself away from the control panel.
The pyramid shook again and El Sabah Nur, frowning, went to leave the room.
Meanwhile, I quickly approached Charles and slapped him a couple of times. Not hard, just enough to start him coming to his senses. Enough time had passed since his idiotic assault on the intruder's mind. Xavier groaned, and I quickly retreated back to my original position, continuing to impersonate a pillar of salt.
Just then, External returned. In the company of my wife. My very irritated wife.
I'm a pillar, I'm a pillar, I'm a pillar. A dumb and silent pillar.
"You're crossing the line, El Sabah Nur!" she said, walking alongside the pyramid's owner. She didn't look particularly imposing.
"In what way, Sorcerer?" he replied calmly. "I have not violated the Treaty. There is not a single mage here. There are no magical artifacts, no active pentagrams, and no magical tomes. In what way am I 'crossing the line'?"
"Because my husband is here!" Suo replied.
"Husband?" External chuckled. "First of all, he's a mutant, which means his presence here doesn't violate the Treaty. Besides, he's here voluntarily, so I see no reason to complain, Sorcerer."
"Let's say you're technically right, External," Suo frowned, "But now you risk making me personally an enemy, since you used MY husband for your dubious experiments."
"He came here on his own," External repeated. "Besides, it's too late. He's already undergone the transformation... unsuccessfully."
"What do you mean, 'unsuccessful'?" Suo frowned even more.
"His brain is dead. His mind is destroyed. His heart stopped. He was dead for over two hours. Now he is no longer your husband, but an empty shell with the rudiments of a mind. An animal."
"Did you understand what you just said?" Suo's face smoothed out, his voice even, calm, and quiet. "Did you just say that you killed my husband in your... experiments? Even though you knew he was my husband? Did I understand correctly?"
"Absolutely," External nodded. "Now get out of here, Sorcerer! The Treaty has not been broken. You can't do anything to me, and if you try, you'll be breaking the Treaty yourself!"
"You will regret that you lived to see this day, El Sabah Nur," Suo said slowly and calmly, "Your death will be painful and ve-e-ery long," after which she turned her back to him and left the room.
"Aren't you afraid?" Xavier asked, jumping off the cutting table. "I think she was serious in her threats."
"That doesn't matter," El Sabah Nur replied. "She's the Supreme Sorcerer. The Treaty binds her hand and foot. And she has no one to pass her post to. She only needs to move, and war will break out."
"No one right now. That doesn't mean she won't find someone in the future. Then nothing will stop her from carrying out her threat."
"I don't have the strength. Time is against her. Very soon I will become invincible. And you will help me with this. But first, I will fulfill one of my promises," External said, moving toward Charles.
"What promise?" Xavier tensed and backed away, sensing something was wrong.
"I promised whoever he was," Apocalypse nodded at me, "that I would show the 'little men' how they would be left without their weapons. And I will keep that promise."
"But you yourself said that he was dead?" Charles continued to back away.
"You're right, he's dead," External nodded calmly, stepping closer. "It's just that long-lived people have a thing for promises. Reputations take centuries to build, but they can be destroyed in an instant."
"What are you going to do?" Charles backed up to the wall and leaned against it.
"Talk," El Sabah Nur replied. "With everyone," he added. The wall behind Xavier suddenly disappeared, and he fell backwards and collapsed into a chair, which immediately paralyzed him, rendering him unable to move.
El Sabah Nur nodded with satisfaction and returned to the abandoned "control panel." He fiddled with it for about twenty minutes, the light flickered again, then two alcoves opened, and Eric and, most likely, Storm emerged from them. I think her name was Ororo in the comics, but I hadn't had a chance to meet her yet.
"Let's begin," External glanced at them with satisfaction, nodding to himself again. Then he approached Xavier and leaned in so that his eyes were directly opposite the telepath's. "You have power. This power is immense. You can be everywhere. At once. Speak to everyone, decide for everyone..."
"I can't," Charles tried to object. "Without Cerebro, I'm not as strong. I can't…"
"Nonsense," External replied calmly. "Cerebro... Crutches. Useless crutches that you limit yourself with." He cupped the telepath's head in his hands. "You don't need crutches when you have me..." Xavier twitched in his grip. It looked absurd, considering only his head could move; the rest of his body was paralyzed. A few seconds of struggle later, he froze, his gaze fixed. External stood before him, holding his head in his hands, which was rapidly beginning to go bald. His hair was falling out in whole strands.
"Incredible power..." Apocalypse said. "Thank you for letting me in, Charles..." At that moment, I felt something trying to touch my mind. I immediately mimicked the Beast, which, by the way, I still hadn't felt. Apparently, the imitation was accurate, because the effect almost disappeared. At least, they weren't trying to invade my consciousness anymore. It was as if they were opening a small channel to something greater, like a router being used to connect to the internet.
I saw this…
"Oh... It's business as usual..." External was saying, and I saw thousands and thousands of soldiers rapidly replacing each other. "But no! No more stones... No more spears... No more bows... No more systems... No more superpowers..."
El Sabah Nur was truly magnificent. He fulfilled his promise: people all over the world destroyed their weapons. They launched missiles, blew up tanks, damaged planes, helicopters, ships… Magnificent…
"No!" Charles's desperate but powerful voice suddenly rippled through the "network." The next second, the "network" fell apart. External released Xavier and shook his head. He showed no signs of life. Well, no. I looked more closely: his chest was heaving, his breathing was weak, his heart was beating, and there was no sign of death. He must have simply passed out from the strain, or he'd knocked himself out to stop what was happening.
Incidentally, I'm kind of at a loss: how long did it all take? Clearly more than a minute, since preparing a nuclear missile for launch, even one constantly locked on to its target, isn't an instantaneous process. Not to mention that it had to be retargeted. And so it was all over the world. So it must have lasted at least a couple of hours, but the feeling of being involved, of being connected to what was happening, completely confused anyone's sense of time.
The External straightened up and walked away from the telepath. He began fiddling with the tables in the center of the room, adjusting, preparing, and adjusting something. Again, more than one or two minutes passed while he was doing this.
Suddenly the pyramid shook. Then again. Apocalypse twitched his cheek in irritation and walked quickly outside.
Eric, the girl, and I followed him. I'd never seen the place from the outside. It really was a pyramid. Not huge, but definitely as tall as a five-story building. Its facets glittered in the sun, and behind it stood a statue three times its size: Apocalypse, enthroned in his armor, majestic, pompous... Hmm, such gigantomania suggests certain thoughts of compensating for some insecurities. Does he have a little... dignity?
But that's a minor detail... Hmm, I'm getting carried away. The main point was something else: about four hundred meters from the pyramid, this strange X-shaped flying machine hung in the air, which you couldn't quite call an airplane. The Summers brothers stood on top of it, firing at the pyramid. One after the other. As if competing with each other. Logan sat next to them on a folding chair, smoking a cigar and sipping beer from a bottle.
On the other side, on a beautiful and seemingly soft carpet, somehow suspended in mid-air, sat a calm Suo, holding a mug of tea. Next to her sat Mystic, holding a movie camera. Behind them, about fifty meters away, on similar carpets sat people of various ages and genders, dressed in the robes typical of mages. Also on the same carpets were people in different styles of clothing. Or rather, in completely different costumes, typical of different peoples and even eras. Among them, I recognized two: Selina and Candra. Apparently, the others were also Externals.
It must have been a group of Observers. Suo acted quickly.
Cyclops's blows... He's a powerful guy, really, when he lets go of control a little. He hits so hard the pyramid shakes and cracks start to snake across its surface. His brother is clearly weaker, but he's no slouch either.
El Sabah Nur stretched out his hand towards the X-jet (oh, I remembered what it was called), his eyes glowed blue, but instead of the X-jet's flying toy, the head of the El Sabah Nur statue fell apart.
"Witch," he hissed through his teeth, "Shoot them down!" he ordered Eric. The X-jet immediately crashed to the ground, as if it had been smashed with a slipper. Except the mutants on it were unharmed. They shook off the sand and dust and continued their interrupted task.
"She's kidding me!" El Sabah Nur growled, but didn't dare attack Suo. Meanwhile, the pyramid was already cracking under the Summers' blows. "Destroy them!" External ordered Eric and Storm. They obediently rose into the air, but space warped strangely, and they both found themselves right in front of Suo, who swiftly placed her palms on their foreheads, after which Eric and the girl collapsed onto the sand like limp dolls.
External gritted his teeth in frustration and rage. He couldn't attack the Supreme Sorcerer right in front of a group of Observers without violating the Treaty, and he couldn't destroy the enemies destroying his home because of her cover. Moreover, judging by the Observers' zero reaction, she was providing this cover without violating the Treaty.
El Sabah Nur clenched his fists. The next moment, he and I were transported directly to the X-Men's spacecraft sprawled in the sand. And this time, he didn't even touch me with his hand.
But the expected panic didn't materialize. Nor did any excitement arise. The Summers brothers stopped what they were doing and looked at us with interest. Logan rose from his chair and walked straight up to us. He burped, unzipped his fly, and began to pee right on Apocalypse's leg.
At that moment, even I was stunned. To say nothing of the super-powerful mutant who had terrorized entire nations for centuries. But I pulled myself together faster than External could react appropriately to the situation. And kept my face stone-still. I was a dumb animal, after all.
Hmm... Stupid animal, huh?
Under the stunned gaze of External and the Summers brothers, Logan finished his task, shook himself, zipped up his fly, and took another swig from the bottle. While the Apocalypse was boiling, I pointedly sniffed the air, drawing everyone's attention to myself. Then I unzipped my fly and repeated Howlett's feat.
What? Everything is completely in keeping with the image and spirit of the Lupines.
The next second, everyone was in pain. Except me and El Sabah Nuru himself. Or maybe it wasn't? The X-winged craft, along with the Summers and Logan, simply vanished instantly, as if it had never been there. I landed softly on the sand and straightened up. The External slowly and dramatically descended before me, using its ability to fly.
He looked at me. Again, if I'd had the Gamer ability, I would have leveled up my "Stone Face" skill another forty levels in those long seconds.
I don't know what he would have decided about me, but he was distracted. The X-jet reappeared (I managed to jump back just as it began to materialize, and only because I was already on edge and expecting a dirty trick, but the pompous External didn't have time). Apocalypse ended up inside this iron contraption, on which the Summers brothers sat down right where they were standing, and Logan walked to a chair and, after taking a sip of beer, gazed thoughtfully at the sky. Apparently, his thoughts at that moment were the most philosophical ones.
Then the X-jet was torn to pieces and Apocalypse flew out, angry as hell. He stared at Suo, who was demonstratively calmly lowering her shiny green thing.
The Eye of Agamotto, I remembered the name of this jewelry with an Infinity stone inside, which I read in a recent "journey to the roots."
El Sabah Nur didn't say anything anymore, he simply growled and bared his teeth, glaring at her, but he didn't try to attack. He was holding back. Apparently, this Treaty of theirs was truly serious.
I sniffed, and it seemed like a dampness had wafted in, and a cool breeze had sprung up. Then I jumped ten meters into the air. Only this time, it wasn't from danger, but from surprise. Try not to jump when lightning strikes the ground five meters away!
Ah, no, not into the ground, I realized when a slightly smoked External landed nearby, even angrier than before. I looked up: half the sky was already taken up by a huge black thundercloud, and somewhere closer to its center, Storm, arms outstretched, was flying in all her glory and power, her hair fluttering in the wind, her white, glowing, sparkling eyes.
Then a cracking and rumbling sound came from the pyramid. Everyone turned in that direction with interest. And there, the pyramid slowly emerged from the ground and "soared" into the sky. All at once. With its entire underground section, which was three times larger than the above-ground one.
The structure rose about a hundred meters from the ground and began to "crumple" in mid-air, collapsing in on itself. As it did so, small, crushed stones began to crumble, revealing the metal structure underneath.
A stunning sight. The scale of what was happening was staggering. It was obvious to me that Eric had joined the "piss off External" game. But Magnitik himself was nowhere to be seen, which was perfectly appropriate: his WWII experience was telling. The "dig deep first, and then smash the bastards" tactic had been thoroughly drilled into Max by me and the Germans back then. So he dug himself in. You won't be able to dig him up again. Or, more accurately, you won't find him.
Staring at the rubble crumbling from the great ruler's former citadel, I forgot about Storm again. And I should have. Because the cloud had already taken up the entire sky, and Storm hadn't forgotten about the Apocalypse. So the next lightning strike made me jump almost as high as the last one.
The second lightning was followed by a third, then a fourth.
El Sabah Nur extended his hand towards the Storm and used his power, which completely pulverized his own statue, so that not a trace of it remained.
External growled loudly and turned to Suo. She demonstratively unfurled a large, colorful umbrella over herself and her neighbor. And as soon as she did, the rain began to pour. Heavy rain. With powerful lightning bolts that, as if tied together, struck the same spot.
Meanwhile, all the stone crumbled from the pyramid into tiny fragments, leaving behind only metal. And there was a fair amount of metal left. All this metal suddenly compressed into a single, dense lump. Something inside it exploded powerfully (somewhere around four or five kilotons), but the force holding it all aloft was such that the lump didn't explode, but "gurgled." That is, it expanded sharply and then immediately compressed again, without releasing any fire, blast wave, or shrapnel. It was quite a sight. Then, from the finally formed lump, long, sharp "icicles" began to extend, shooting at El Sabah Nur with the speed of a machine gun.
He used his power at full capacity to defend himself from this barrage, destroying the projectiles before they even reached him. A sort of impenetrable sphere was created, with External standing at its center. A very angry External.
A precarious dynamic equilibrium was established. And my "freeze frame" kicked in.
Without thinking twice, I "leaped" inside External's defenses and slashed his entire armor with my katana. And him, too. Then I "leaped" back into my spot and "released" the "freeze frame." And I did it with control. This so shocked me, plunging me into the abyss of my own thoughts, that a terrifying scream from Apocalypse made me flinch.
I returned my gaze to him: his armor had crumbled, his arm had fallen to the ground, terrible wounds all over his body. His head, unfortunately, had held together, and he hadn't disintegrated into pieces of flesh, as I'd hoped—that's what a heightened healing factor means. But it didn't save him. The second he'd been distracted by the pain proved fatal: he was riddled with Eric's metal stakes, simultaneously being scorched by Thunderstorm's lightning bolts, no longer protected by his armor. Then the Summers brothers joined in, firing their own bolts of unknown origin at the agonizing External.
"Yeah, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes," I sighed, looking at what remained of the terrible Apocalypse. Or rather, at the complete nothingness. Nothing remained of it. Not a single molecule. Only a crater in the sand. Then I glanced at Suo and Mystique, calmly drinking tea. Mystique put down her movie camera, shuddering involuntarily. Looking at their faces, I sympathized with Eric with all my soul, who was in no hurry to dig himself out, even though the metal ball had already landed on the ground. And even the rain had begun to stop...
And I still have to explain things to my wife today... Maybe I should bury myself somewhere too?