The night before Christmas Eve brought with it a brutal downpour, the kind that chilled skin and spirit alike. The rain lashed the streets, driven sideways by howling winds that cut like knives. Beneath the stone arch of a bridge, huddled against the cold concrete, sat a girl in soaked pink pyjamas — Christina.
She clutched her knees to her chest, shivering violently, her small form nearly swallowed by shadows and mist. Hours had passed since she was thrown out, abandoned by the people she once called family. Her stepfather had slammed the door in her face, her mother offering no protest. With nowhere to go, Chris had sought shelter here — alone in the dark, her sobs drowned by thunder and rain.
In her trembling hands, she held a jade cross pendant — the last gift from her real father. Though worn and old, the cross emanated a faint, unnatural warmth. It was the only thing keeping her alive, shielding her from the freezing rain like an invisible cocoon.
Tears streaked her already soaked cheeks as she whispered, "Are you watching over me, Dad? What should I do now?"
No answer came. Only silence… and the storm.
Eventually, fatigue overtook fear. Chris curled tighter around the cross and drifted into unconsciousness.
****
The city never truly sleeps, but the storm muffled even its chaos. Somewhere above the bridge, a car's engine faded into the distance — followed by something sharper.
A gunshot. Silenced.
From the shadows emerged five figures. Tactical gear, dark clothing, military precision. Their leader, a man named William, stepped forward and sneered at the faint silver markings glowing on Christina's face.
"Another dirty mutant," he spat.
He approached and kicked her lightly to test if she was awake. She didn't stir.
Behind him, one of the team pulled out a black body bag.
But just as they moved in—
"I think the word you're looking for… is 'elf.' 'Dirty' is what suits you."
The voice came from the side — smooth, calm, and cold. William spun around, raising his weapon.
Through his scope, he spotted a lone man.
Asian. Calm. Not muscular — but cloaked in danger.
He wore the traditional black robes of a Shinigami, a soul reaper from Bleach, with a white haori draped over his shoulders. The man's name was Jue, and though he smiled, his presence made the air itself feel heavier.
"That's not very friendly," Jue murmured, raising a hand.
Before William or his team could react, their bodies locked in place — immobilised as if held by invisible chains. Their arms snapped behind them, and panic filled their eyes.
"What… are you?" William managed through clenched teeth. "A mutant?!"
Jue's gaze darkened.
"No," he said simply, raising his palm.
"Ye Lord! Mask of flesh and bone..." he began — reciting the incantation for Hadō #31: Shakkahō, the Crimson Fire Cannon, a classic Kido spell from Bleach.
As he finished, a glowing red sphere formed before his hand, flaring with dangerous energy. It hovered a moment, then blasted forward — a fiery comet of spiritual pressure.
William and his squad had no time to scream. The fireball struck and disintegrated their gear — and their lives — leaving only the sound of steam and rain in its wake.
Silence returned.
Jue stood alone now, breathing heavily, his form flickering faintly in and out like a dying flame. Christina remained untouched, curled beside the jade cross that had once housed his fragmented soul.
"The spiritual energy in this world is rich," Jue muttered. "But not stable. That blast wasn't even half its usual strength…"
He glanced at the stormy sky.
"So this is the Marvel Universe… the world of mutants and the X-Men, huh?"
With a shimmer of energy, Jue vanished — the jade cross at Christina's neck dimming with his departure.
****
In the sky above, cloaked behind clouds and radar, a black aircraft descended.
The X-Jet.
Its ramp lowered silently in the rain as Storm (Ororo Munroe) and Cyclops (Scott Summers) stepped into the storm, guided telepathically by Professor Charles Xavier.
"She's about fifty meters west of your location," the Professor's voice echoed in their minds.
Through the haze, Storm spotted the outline of a bridge.
"That must be it," she said, racing ahead.
Beneath the arch, they found her — the unconscious girl curled beneath the stone, drenched but somehow… warm.
Storm crouched beside her. "She's been tranquillised, but her vitals are stable."
Cyclops scanned the area, noting footprints — and scorch marks.
"Something's off," he muttered. "Five armed men, heavy gear… but no bodies. No weapons. Just steam and spirit traces."
They didn't hesitate. Lifting Christina gently, they made their way back to the jet.
The hatch closed. The engines roared. The X-Jet disappeared into the sky, cutting through rain and storm clouds as it raced toward the East Coast and the safety of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
****
Beneath the bridge, all was still once more.
The storm faded, the wind softened, and all evidence of what had occurred was washed away by nature itself.
By morning, the park would once again be a place for morning jogs, coffee walks, and cheerful families.
None would know that on that rainy night, the line between soul and mutant, between Shinigami and X-Men, had blurred…