Pietro opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Wanda shot him a warning look and gave a small shake of her head. He swallowed whatever he had planned to say, though his expression remained stubborn.
"This isn't fair," he muttered anyway. "You have a dozen powers. I've got one."
"Fairness is something you discuss in court," Richard replied evenly. "Not on a battlefield."
He shifted his gaze to Wanda. "Your turn."
Pietro felt young in moments like this—impulsive, competitive, still measuring strength in pride. Wanda, though only minutes younger, carried herself differently. She stepped forward without hesitation.
Crimson energy began to coil around her hands.
Chaos power.
Richard's posture subtly changed. He had seen it through Shaw's memories, but witnessing it directly was different. The air itself felt altered around her, charged with something older than simple telekinesis.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind.
I wonder what it feels like to absorb this directly.
At Wanda's gesture, the desert responded. Sand lifted in waves, rising as though animated by invisible strings. Within seconds, a storm surged toward Richard from all directions.
He did not teleport.
Instead, he invoked magnetic field control.
An ultra-dense magnetic barrier snapped into existence around him, invisible but absolute. The first wave of sand struck and dispersed, unable to breach the field. Grains scraped and spiraled but never touched him.
Though he had only acquired magnetic control the night before, his familiarity with power manipulation bridged the gap. Three months of constant combat had refined his instinctive command of new abilities. Unless the power was uniquely abstract, he adapted instantly.
Wanda narrowed her eyes.
The sandstorm condensed. What had been scattered assault became a towering cylindrical vortex, wrapping around Richard's magnetic sphere like a coiling serpent. It roared with force, rising over a hundred meters high.
Inside the field, Richard's silver hair didn't so much as flutter.
Wanda exhaled sharply and shifted tactics again. The vortex collapsed at her command, dissolving into nothingness.
Then she raised her right hand and unleashed chaos power directly.
Crimson energy surged outward, engulfing the magnetic barrier in a strange, flickering glow. The air vibrated with unstable force.
Richard responded immediately.
Energy absorption activated.
If Wanda possessed her comic-level mastery, this would have been suicidal. At full potential, she could have stripped him of his powers before he even began absorbing.
But she didn't.
She didn't even know what chaos magic truly was.
The crimson energy pouring over the magnetic field began to thin, then vanish entirely as Richard absorbed it. The sensation differed from any energy he had taken before. It wasn't simply power—it carried texture, unpredictability.
If normal energy was plain water, chaos power was aged wine.
Wanda felt the shift instantly.
Richard didn't give her time to react.
He redirected magnetic control, this time toward the metal necklace resting at her collarbone. The chain snapped upward and struck gently beneath her chin, just enough to break her concentration.
Her eyes dropped instinctively.
When she looked up again, the Authentic Blade hovered millimeters from the tip of her nose.
She froze.
"You're more creative than Pietro," Richard said calmly. "That matters."
Wanda lowered her hands. "I still lost."
"It's expected," he replied, dismissing the blade back into his system space. "You've never had structured combat training."
She nodded quietly.
"All right," Richard said. "We'll head back."
He prepared to teleport.
Then he felt it.
A magnetic signature.
Not his own.
His gaze lifted instantly. Super vision sharpened the horizon until he saw a small black figure approaching at high speed, wrapped in controlled magnetic flux.
Magneto.
Richard's brows lifted slightly.
Why is he here?
"Something wrong?" Wanda asked.
"Magneto," Richard said, pointing upward.
Pietro squinted. At first, he saw only a dot. As it drew closer, the shape became clearer—a man suspended midair, encased in a shimmering field.
Magneto descended and landed a short distance away, boots touching sand without sinking.
His eyes moved first to Richard.
"That magnetic field," Magneto said. "Was that you?"
"It was."
"When did you gain magnetic control?"
Richard met his gaze calmly. "I don't owe you an explanation."
Magneto held his stare for a moment, then nodded slightly. "Curiosity. Nothing more."
His attention shifted to Wanda and Pietro.
He had never seen them before. Yet something about them tugged at his perception. Familiarity lingered without clarity.
"Who are they?" Magneto asked.
Richard watched him carefully.
"They're the Maximov twins," he said deliberately. "I pulled them from a Hellfire Club facility last night."
Maximov.
The surname struck.
Magneto's expression changed subtly.
He knew that name.
Irina Maximov.
A memory surfaced—dark hair, sharp laughter, a relationship that had ended abruptly years ago.
"Eighteen," Richard added casually. "They turned eighteen this year."
Magneto's gaze sharpened instantly.
"Your mother," he said slowly, eyes fixed on Wanda. "Irina Maximov?"
Pietro frowned. "You knew her?"
Magneto's world narrowed.
The surname. The age. Wanda's features—uncannily similar to Irina's.
They're mine.
For a man who had faced armies without flinching, the realization shook him. His composure faltered just enough to show disbelief.
Wanda and Pietro instinctively moved behind Richard, wary of the sudden intensity in Magneto's stare.
Richard understood exactly what had just happened.
If he had been in Magneto's position, the shock would have been worse.
"Let's continue this somewhere less exposed," Richard said calmly. "Hotel."
Magneto glanced once more at the twins, then nodded.
"Fine."
.....
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