Although he hadn't found any staff members left on the third underground floor, Richard had no intention of walking away quietly. If they thought a clean evacuation and a few smashed hard drives would erase what had happened here, they were mistaken. He lifted his hand without hesitation.
"Big Flame."
A surge of blazing orange-red fire erupted into existence, roaring outward like a living thing finally set free. The flames spread fast, crawling across walls, swallowing metal consoles, devouring stacks of components and delicate precision instruments. Within seconds, the maintenance bay transformed into a furnace.
He didn't stop there.
The fire surged outward through corridors and adjoining rooms, racing along the same paths the staff had used to evacuate. Soon, all three underground levels were wrapped in spreading infernos. Thick heat shimmered through the air as equipment melted and wiring snapped in showers of sparks. The underground complex became a sea of fire.
Richard took a final look at his work. Satisfied, he activated Flash and returned to the second underground floor.
Sabretooth and his clone were still locked in combat.
Neither had gained a decisive advantage. Blood covered both of them, but neither looked close to collapsing. Regeneration continued to undo whatever damage the other inflicted.
Richard sighed faintly.
He raised his blade and swung casually.
"Crescent Slash."
A crescent-shaped wave of energy, purple along its edge and white at its core, shot forward at blinding speed. It sliced cleanly through the clone's waist as easily as cutting through soft fruit. The body split in two and collapsed in separate halves.
"Hurry up and finish it," Richard said calmly. "I set the place on fire. Smoke's coming up."
If he hadn't ignited the lower level, he would have let Sabretooth enjoy the stalemate a little longer. But now the ventilation shafts and elevator channels were already funneling smoke upward. Flames would follow soon enough.
He didn't care if the clone burned.
He did care if Sabretooth did.
Hearing that, Sabretooth immediately stepped over to the upper half of the clone's body. Without wasting a second, he grabbed the neck and tore the head free with brutal efficiency.
Richard assumed he would toss it aside.
He was wrong.
Instead, Sabretooth walked over holding the severed head.
"Take me to the square outside," Sabretooth said.
Richard didn't ask why. He simply placed a hand on Sabretooth's shoulder.
Flash.
In the blink of an eye, they vanished from the underground level and reappeared in the square in front of the office building.
The night air was cooler, heavy with distant sirens and the first hints of smoke seeping from lower ventilation outlets.
Without saying a word, Sabretooth strode to the flagpole at the center of the square. He lowered the American flag methodically, detached it, and tied the clone's head to it using strips torn from his own ruined clothing.
Then he raised the flag again.
The severed head hung beneath it, swaying slightly in the night breeze.
Richard stared for a moment.
He had assumed Sabretooth wanted proof of the kill.
Instead, this was a statement.
Sabretooth stepped back, admiring the grim display with clear satisfaction.
Before he could say anything else, Richard grabbed his shoulder again.
Flash.
They reappeared on the rooftop of the building where Clarice and the rescued children were waiting.
The moment they arrived, Sabretooth noticed the group of mutant children and shot Clarice a questioning look.
"They were locked in cages on the third underground level," Clarice explained immediately. "Richard had me bring them out."
Sabretooth nodded once, then turned to Richard.
"What are you going to do with them?"
"We'll figure that out later," Richard replied evenly. "Take them somewhere safe first. I've got something else to handle."
"You're not coming?" Clarice asked.
"I'll follow later."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
Clarice hesitated for half a second, then nodded. There was no time to argue.
"Don't waste time," Richard added. "Go."
Flash.
He vanished again, returning alone to the square in front of the burning office building.
On the rooftop, both Clarice and Sabretooth frowned.
In their view, tonight's objective had already been accomplished. The branch had been infiltrated. Agents had been killed. Prisoners rescued. The facility was in flames. There was no practical reason to linger.
But for Richard, tonight's true objective remained incomplete.
His mission required him to kill twelve mutant agents to complete "Son of the Devil (Part 2)" and obtain Vergil's Phantom Sword. So far, only Benjamin had been confirmed dead by his hand.
Eleven more.
The system hadn't specified that it had to be tonight. He had time.
But why delay something that could be finished now?
He had no interest in making another trip.
Procrastination was a bad habit. Plenty of people left tasks unfinished until the last possible moment, scrambling at the edge of deadlines. He wasn't one of them. If something could be done early, he would do it early.
Back in the square, Richard did not reenter the office building. Nor did he bother torching the upper floors.
Instead, he walked toward the shattered remains of a Sentinel robot.
He methodically rearranged the broken metal components, stacking armored plating and torso segments together. Using the debris, he constructed a crude but imposing seat—a throne built from the corpse of a machine designed to hunt mutants.
When it was complete, he drove his blade into the ground beside it and sat down.
He rested one arm casually on the metal wreckage and waited.
While the Operations Department agents were mobilizing toward the Los Angeles branch, news stations across the city began receiving reports of an attack in progress.
Despite the lack of preparation, local networks reacted fast. News helicopters were dispatched immediately. Field reporters scrambled toward the scene.
Within minutes, helicopters hovered above the square.
Searchlights snapped on, illuminating Richard's silver-haired figure seated atop the mechanical remains. Cameras zoomed in from multiple angles, broadcasting the image live.
He made no attempt to drive them away.
In fact, he preferred this.
If the next battle unfolded under full public view, so much the better. It would ensure there was no quiet cover-up, no convenient narrative control.
Yes, this would likely make him one of the most wanted criminals in the country.
He didn't care.
From the first day he arrived in this world, he had understood that anonymity was temporary. Unless he intended to kneel and become an obedient tool of the government and the Mutant Affairs Department, conflict was inevitable.
Might as well make it loud.
The image of him seated on a throne of Sentinel wreckage spread instantly.
Within a minute, online viewers began reacting.
"Isn't that the guy from that deleted video a few days ago?"
"The one with the Class A warrant?"
"Did he attack the branch because of the wanted notice?"
"His hair's longer now."
"Silver hair actually looks cool."
"Where are the agents? Why hasn't anyone arrested him?"
"Are those Sentinel parts he's sitting on?"
"Impossible. No mutant beats a Sentinel."
"You still can't catch Magneto and you call them the natural enemy of mutants?"
Comment sections exploded.
Some mocked him. Some doubted him. Many assumed he was committing suicide by publicity.
Among the viewers were countless mutants watching silently. Unlike the louder commentators, they didn't type.
They simply stared at the screen.
Many of them had once imagined a moment like this. Standing openly against authority. Refusing to hide.
They just never had the strength—or the nerve—to do it.
The live broadcast wasn't limited to Los Angeles. Other states could access the feed. Online streams spread even faster.
New York. Westchester.
Inside the School for Gifted Youngsters, the office door opened without waiting for permission.
Cyclops stepped in, still wearing a jacket over casual clothes.
"Professor," he said, voice tight. "The Los Angeles branch is under attack."
He picked up the remote and switched the television to a Los Angeles news channel.
At first, Professor X only frowned slightly. But when the camera angle shifted and revealed clearly what Richard was sitting on, his expression changed.
Sentinel remains.
Even within the X-Men, not everyone could take down a Sentinel alone. Facing multiple units was an entirely different matter. As the founder of the team and the school, he understood the machines' capabilities better than most.
He also knew exactly which generation the government had deployed.
Cyclops spoke again.
"His name is Richard Wesley. He's the only son of Los Angeles billionaire Roy Wesley."
"Roy Wesley founded a mutant organization called Crimson Manor near Los Angeles."
"A week ago, Roy Wesley was identified as an unregistered mutant and arrested by agents from the Los Angeles Division."
"A few days later, three agents and a special operations team were sent to capture Richard and other members of Crimson Manor."
"In Santa Ana, those agents and special forces members were killed by Richard and Victor Creed."
"The incident was recorded by bystanders and uploaded online. The footage spread quickly before being taken down."
"On the same day, the Los Angeles branch issued a Class A warrant for Richard."
.....
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