Medical Bay - Secret Facility
Footsteps echoed sharply down the sterile corridor.
The heavy doors swung open, and a man in a crisp white lab coat strode in.
He pressed a discreet panel on the wall.
Mystique watched in absolute awe as the floor seamlessly retracted, unveiling a suite of highly advanced surgical instruments that ascended into place.
A state-of-the-art, shadowless lamp descended from the ceiling, bathing the room in clinical white light.
The technology was utterly alien to her, far surpassing anything Earth possessed in 1973.
"Is the patient stable?" the doctor asked, snapping on rubber gloves and reaching for a sleek scalpel.
"Hold on, Doctor," Azazel interrupted.
"Surgery isn't necessary. It's a through-and-through gunshot wound to the leg. The bullet is already out. Basic triage is all she needs."
The doctor sighed, lowering his instruments.
"You brought a superficial wound to my trauma bay?" he scolded.
"Even with your clearance, Azazel, this is a flagrant waste of resources. Is she your wife or your mistress?"
As a Level 4 healer, the doctor possessed immense status on Skull Island.
He didn't mince words.
Azazel flushed crimson.
He glanced at Mystique and admitted sheepishly, "She is my woman."
"Ah. The pursuit of romance," the doctor murmured dryly.
"I will address the injury."
He approached the bed. A soft, brilliant white light bloomed in the palm of his hand.
He hovered his glowing palm over Mystique's bleeding leg.
To her astonishment, the torn muscle and skin rapidly knit together.
Within ten seconds, the wound was completely gone, leaving only flawless, unblemished blue tissue.
"The physical damage is repaired, but she has suffered significant blood loss," the doctor stated, peeling off his gloves.
"Eat well. Rest. You will survive."
He exited the room without another word, leaving them in a heavy, loaded silence.
Despite their deep connection and their shared child, ideological divides had kept them apart for years.
"Are you still leaving?" Azazel asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Mystique nodded. "I have to kill Trask. If I don't, I will never find peace within myself."
Azazel knew her vendetta was fueled by the supposed deaths of Emma Frost, Angel, and the others.
He couldn't tell her they were alive and well under Ernst's command.
The secrecy protocols were absolute.
"Let me help you," Azazel pleaded.
"Taking on the humans alone is too dangerous."
"No," Raven said firmly.
"I don't know what secrets you're harboring, but I know you are bound by them. I won't put you in an awkward position."
Azazel's expression tightened. He couldn't defy Shaw and Ernst's grand design.
"What about Nathan?" he asked softly.
"Aren't you going to visit him?"
Mystique looked down, guilt flashing in her yellow eyes.
"Is he alright? Does he hate his irresponsible mother?"
"He's fine," Azazel admitted, his voice softening.
"He misses you sometimes. But he is happy. He has other children to play with."
Mystique exhaled, the tension bleeding from her shoulders.
"Good. As long as he's happy. When this is over, I'll go see him."
"When do you leave?" Azazel asked.
"Tomorrow," Raven said, pulling him down toward the bed.
"Today is yours."
Their lips met, igniting a passionate reunion.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Train Station - Paris
The next morning, Azazel escorted Mystique to the bustling train terminal.
Publicly, they shared a brief, solemn farewell before he walked away.
Privately, Azazel slipped into the shadows, using micro-teleports to ghost her every move.
He wasn't going to let her walk into a trap.
Mystique shifted her molecular structure, adopting the guise of an old, frail beggar.
She intercepted Magneto near a secluded platform, cornering him with a makeshift weapon, demanding to know why he tried to execute her.
Magneto didn't flinch. He explained the brutal, cold logic of his actions.
Trask already had a sample of her blood. Killing her was a tactical necessity to prevent the Sentinels from adapting her DNA.
Mystique understood the cold pragmatism of war.
Her animosity lessened. She dropped her weapon, choosing to spare his life. But forgiveness wasn't an option.
She delivered a sharp, painful strike to his gut before disappearing into the crowd.
In the shadows, Azazel let out a tense breath.
If Magneto had twitched aggressively, the Red Devil would have decapitated him without a second thought.
Satisfied she was temporarily safe, Azazel aborted his surveillance and warped back to base to report to Shaw.
He only allowed her to walk alone because he knew the resurrection protocols were active.
Mystique had a safety net. If she didn't, he never would have let her out of his sight.
- - - - - - - - -
The White House - Washington, D.C.
The board was finally set.
Mystique relentlessly pursued Trask.
Professor Xavier, his telepathy fully restored after abandoning the serum, attempted to dissuade her via Cerebro.
Her mind remained fiercely closed.
Deducing her location from intercepted flight manifests, Xavier, Logan, and Hank rushed to Washington.
Simultaneously, Magneto prepared his own apocalyptic strike.
He intended to hijack the Sentinel unveiling and turn humanity's ultimate weapons against them.
High above the White House lawn, Ernst materialized in mid-air.
He was cloaked by a powerful invisibility ward.
He had rested well, enjoying a lavish dinner and a full night's sleep while the Red Queen crunched the temporal data.
Now, he was here for the climax.
The impending battle excited the world, but Ernst was only interested in Logan.
When Logan's consciousness violently snapped back to his decimated future, it would rip a microscopic hole in spacetime.
Ernst intended to map those exact coordinates to breach parallel dimensions.
Below, his psychic perception locked onto Mystique.
She was disguised as a Secret Service agent, navigating the dense crowd, her hand hovering over a concealed pistol.
Simultaneously, Xavier rolled into the plaza, flanked by a tense Logan and the Beast.
Suddenly, Ernst looked up, his eyes fixing on the horizon.
A titanic, localized magnetic field was approaching rapidly.
Magneto had arrived, and he was dragging RFK Stadium through the sky with him.
President Nixon stood at the podium, proudly unveiling the first generation of Sentinel robots.
Trask stepped forward to accept the applause.
Mystique drew her weapon. Xavier mentally froze the crowd, battling desperately for her mind.
Before the ideological clash could be resolved, the hijacked Sentinels activated.
Chaos erupted instantly. The massive robots went rogue, their programming overwritten by Magneto's magnetic frequencies. They began firing into the panicked crowd.
Magneto descended from the sky like a dark, vengeful ghost.
He dropped the massive iron and concrete skeleton of the stadium directly around the White House, forming an impenetrable, jagged barricade.
Seizing control of the broadcast cameras, Magneto projected his terrifying, supremacist ultimatum across the globe.
High above, Ernst watched the theater unfold with a faint, entertained smile.
He had no intention of intervening.
He was just here for the show.
- - - - - - - -
Black King's Chamber - Secret Facility
The global broadcast lit up the monitors in Shaw's underground bunker.
Shaw slammed his fist into the heavy oak desk, his eyes burning with fury.
"Eric, you bastard," Shaw hissed, glaring at the screen.
"What is he doing? Doesn't he realize the consequences? This will ignite a global war!"
He turned toward the shadows of the command center.
"Azazel! Emma!"
"Boss, your orders," the extraction team answered in perfect unison.
Azazel, the White Queen, Angel, and Riptide stepped into the light.
"Deploy to the White House immediately," Shaw commanded.
"Retrieve that arrogant fool, "
Shaw paused, watching Magneto declare war on humanity on live television.
The stadium locked down the perimeter.
"No. It's too late for a quiet extraction. Hide in the perimeter shadows."
Shaw's eyes narrowed into slits.
"If Eric attempts to execute the President, stop him. We cannot afford that level of retaliation yet. But if he is in mortal danger... find a way to save him."
The four elite operatives nodded in silent obedience.
They clasped hands, forming a tight circle.
With a thunderous crack and a thick cloud of brimstone, they vanished into the fray.
-------------
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