"What did you just say? Think I can't hear you?"
Quicksilver's silver eyes snapped toward the man who'd just mouthed off. His tone was sharp enough to cut glass. "Don't test me. You so much as blink wrong, and I'll drop you before you finish breathing."
The air around them went heavy—tension thick enough to choke on. Quicksilver and the Punisher glared at each other, ready to explode.
"Alright, enough chest-thumping," Erica said with a dry laugh, stepping between them. "We're here for a mission, not a bar fight. Punisher, holster the gun. We're on Magneto's orders—try acting like it."
"I don't take orders from anyone," the Punisher snapped, his voice low and venomous. "We're just… cooperating."
Still, after a long pause, he shoved the pistol back into its holster.
Quicksilver didn't even glance at him again. He blurred into motion, streaking ahead in a flash of silver light. If it weren't for Magneto's direct command, he'd never team up with this bunch of arrogant, wannabe thugs. But Ryuuto—that damn Red Mirage—had become a real problem. Stronger, faster, unpredictable. The Brotherhood could barely breathe with him around.
That's why they were here. To take him out.
But just as Quicksilver reached the bar, something in the air made him stop cold. His instincts screamed.
"Hold up," he muttered.
Punisher halted instantly, raising his gun. "What's wrong?"
"Someone's been here," Erica said. Her voice dropped, eyes narrowing. "It smells like a trap."
Before any of them could react, a streak of light cut through the air.
"Move!" Quicksilver vanished in an instant.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions ripped through the street. Shuriken embedded themselves in the walls like bullets, detonating in rapid succession. Erica barely dodged, her coat catching fire. The Punisher wasn't so lucky—he hit the ground, coughing dust, face blackened with soot.
"Who the hell—!?" he growled. "Come out, coward! I'll rip you apart!"
A voice answered from the smoke, calm and mocking.
"You?"
A figure stepped through the haze—Ryuuto, blade resting on his shoulder, eyes gleaming with murderous amusement.
"You couldn't even dodge a warm-up attack. Trash like you doesn't deserve to live."
Before the Punisher could even aim, Ryuuto was gone. A flash of motion, a blur of red. He appeared above him, beheading blade already descending.
"Die."
"Damn—!"
The Punisher flinched, eyes wide, too slow to even scream.
CLANG!
The sound rang out like a thunderclap. When he dared open his eyes, Erica was in front of him—both hands gripping her steel fork, blocking Ryuuto's strike.
Her arms shook from the impact. Ryuuto didn't even seem strained. He smiled faintly, almost entertained.
"Oh? Not bad. You've got more fight than this guy, at least."
"Save your breath," Erica spat, teeth bared. "If you're my enemy, you'd better be ready to die."
"Cute," Ryuuto said. "Too bad you're not strong enough."
He leaned forward, pressure spiking like a crashing wave. Erica's arms trembled, her weapon bending under the strain.
"Erica!" the Punisher shouted, reloading his gun in a panic. "Hang on! I'll cover you!"
"Shut up!" she snarled, sweat streaming down her face. "Do something useful for once!"
The decapitation blade inched closer to her throat. She could feel the heat of the steel on her skin.
The Punisher froze as Ryuuto's gaze flicked toward him—a single, lazy glance that made his knees buckle. The machine gun nearly slipped from his hands.
And then came a voice from above.
"Ryuuto! You again!?"
Quicksilver stood atop a telephone pole, his expression twisting between anger and fear. "Let my people go, or I swear I'll—"
"Run?" Ryuuto said, tilting his head. "That's what you're best at."
Quicksilver's jaw clenched. He didn't move an inch closer. He knew better than anyone—facing the Red Mirage head-on was suicide.