Chapter 46
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, now turning to me. Apparently she'd remembered that this very perimeter had triggered a warning about me crossing the line.
"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 the "red one." She returned quickly, as there were plenty of "red ones" 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 each other, 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 limb.
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 organized Weapon X," Victor corrected Eric. "He developed the technology on people like Logan, and 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, bloodied 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 do the rest myself," with these words he unscrewed the reinforcement from the tree and dragged the limply 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 said to 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 also consider me a 'herbivore'?"
"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.
"Perhaps," she decided not to continue this conversation, "Are you planning on participating today?"
"No," I answered, "I would 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.
Chapter 47
I 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 "stone face" skill 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 the opportunity to be in port taverns, and in soldiers' barracks, I even managed to be the keeper and owner of my own brothel for more than ten years, but still, not to turn red in the face like poppies was only possible 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 one, approaching and drying myself with a towel on the way, "Especially against fools."
- But yesterday...
"Last night, Eric wasn't yet among the Battle's top favorites. He wasn't interesting enough for anyone 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 at the corpses being carried away by the Reds, "are just envious 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 entire 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!"
"Hmm..." Xavier coughed. Apparently, out of 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 figured, walking next to me towards the stands, "If Eric continues to deal with 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 its entire crew. Or an airplane. They didn't even think about trying to retrieve the bodies...
"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 had just reached the stands. Selina was already sitting primly in Suo's box, where she had been yesterday. Surely we shouldn't discuss such things in front of her?
Chapter 48
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.
Suo opened a portal to Xavier's mansion for them, while I retreated further into the jungle, away from the village, and "jumped" to Suo's 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 slowly finished walking down the stairs to 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 have no 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, 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, 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 inherent in your nature, 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 was surprised. "We'll see," he said, touching the wall in another 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 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 even 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'll 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 minute longer. "There are plenty of mutants with abilities similar to mine."
"Because you're the strongest of them all. You've proven your strength more than once. The first time was when you defeated Wolverine in combat, right after he became Weapon X. You did it simply. Playfully. Without straining yourself: you beat him, 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 crack opened into the mind attacking us, and the Beast 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. I "leaped" again, then 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..."
Chapter 49
I 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 standards). But who can I "shove" it to? You'd 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 and 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 bird 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 get anywhere," I eventually dealt with it.