The mechanical chime of the system interface was the only sound in the vacuum of Leon's focused mind. It was a cold, digital contrast to the heat of the unfolding massacre.
[New Mission Generated: Defeat the Hellfire Club.]
[Objective: Neutralize Sebastian Shaw's Group.]
[Reward: 10,000 Desire Points]
A jolt of pure, electric excitement surged through Leon's veins. While the others felt the icy grip of terror, he felt the thrill of the hunt. This wasn't just a crisis; it was an opportunity.
"What's… what's going on?!" Banshee stammered, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the windowsill. He looked as though the only thing keeping him upright was the cold stone of the CIA facility.
"What the hell is happening?!" Alex Summers—Havok—demanded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard against the rising bile of fear.
Hank McCoy, usually the most analytical of the bunch, adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand. Despite his nerves, he forced a professional calm. "It's mutants—other mutants. Only someone with X-genes could pull off a coordinated strike of this magnitude. Regular humans? Not a chance."
In the corner of the lounge, Mystique turned to Leon. Her eyes were wide, darting between the chaos outside and the terrifyingly still young man beside her. "Leon, how are you staying so calm? Look at us! How are you not freaking out?"
The base was under siege. Screams echoed through the vents, and the smell of ozone and gunpowder began to drift into the room. It was a slaughterhouse, yet Leon stood there with an unreadable expression.
"That's easy," Leon said, finally breaking his silence. He turned to her with a cheeky, lopsided grin and a short chuckle. "I'm pretending."
Mystique stared, her mouth slightly agape. Behind her, Banshee, Havok, and Darwin were floored. The sheer audacity of the joke in the face of certain death was staggering. They were practically vibrating with anxiety, and Leon was playing it off like a bad rehearsal.
Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
The rhythm of heavy gunfire erupted from the courtyard. The CIA agents, despite their previous disdain for the "freaks" in the Division X program, had engaged the intruders with desperate bravery.
"Fall back! Get back to your rooms—we're under attack!" a squad leader shouted, his voice cracking. A group of special agents burst into the lounge, rifles raised. They formed a defensive perimeter, placing their bodies between the mutants and the door.
It was a moment of profound irony. These men had mocked the mutants, treated them like lab specimens or zoo animals, yet in the heat of a crisis, they did their duty. They were prepared to die for the very people they didn't understand.
Whoosh!
The air in the center of the room curdled. A crimson blur materialized at the entrance—Azazel. He struck a theatrical, dramatic pose, arms spread wide in a mock-welcoming gesture.
"He's behind you!" Darwin screamed.
The agents whirled around, opening fire without hesitation. A hail of lead shredded the air where Azazel had stood, but the teleporter was already gone.
Whoosh!
He reappeared like a specter of death behind the lead agent. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed the man, turned the rifle, and gunned down the adjacent guard before anyone could blink. He was a ghost in the machine, a predator playing with his food.
Outside, the devastation was even more surgical. A sudden, violent tornado erupted in the courtyard, tearing through the pavement toward the massive "orb" structure—the prototype Cerebro.
In seconds, the delicate machinery was obliterated. This was Sebastian Shaw's primary objective: destroy the one tool that could track his movements across the globe.
The tornado, guided by an invisible hand, shifted direction. It ground against the side of the building, shattering glass and sending masonry flying. As the dust settled, a man with long, flowing hair and a tailored suit stood amidst the wreckage. Riptide.
With Azazel handling the interior and Riptide sealing the exit with a wall of wind, the young mutants were trapped. Despair began to settle over them like a shroud.
"Leon, what do we do?!" Raven cried out, her voice pleading.
"Yeah, Leon, think of something!" Havok added.
In the absence of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, the group had instinctively turned to Leon. He had become their pillar, the eye of their storm.
"Stay here. Don't worry—you'll be fine," Leon said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute, icy certainty.
"But those guys outside won't last!" Darwin argued, gesturing to the dying agents. "We have to leave now!"
Leon turned his head, his gaze sharpening. "That red-skinned freak can teleport. Where exactly are you going to run, Darwin? What's the point?"
The logic hit Darwin like a physical blow. He fell silent, his face pale.
"Just stay put," Leon commanded. Without another word, he moved.
Leon didn't just run; he launched. With a speed that surpassed the limits of any human-made machine, he tore through the corridor toward the plaza where Azazel was finishing his grim work.
Shing!
Azazel's blade passed through a CIA agent's chest. The teleporter smirked, preparing to move to the next victim, when a shockwave of displaced air hit him.
BOOM.
Leon arrived like a meteorite. His fist rocketed toward Azazel's face.
Whoosh!
Azazel vanished just in time, the punch whistling through the space where his head had been. Leon skidded to a halt, his eyes scanning the courtyard.
"Hmph. What's the fun in bullying regular people?" Leon's voice carried over the sound of the wind. "If you've got guts, come at me!"
He didn't wait for a response. Leon didn't believe in fair fights; he believed in decisive ones. He pushed off the ground, the concrete shattering under his boots as he accelerated to Mach 10 in a heart-stopping burst.
Azazel tried to focus, to find the coordinates to jump, but Leon was already there. The boy was faster than the thought of teleporting.
Leon's fist clenched.
BOOOOOOM!
The impact sounded like a cannon blast. Leon's fist buried itself in Azazel's chest. The teleporter's ribs cracked and caved in instantly, the force sending him hurtling backward across the plaza until he slammed into a reinforced wall, collapsing into a heap.
Leon hovered a few feet off the ground, a golden aura of power simmering around him. He looked down at the surviving CIA agents, who were staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"Go somewhere safe," Leon said calmly. "It's going to get dangerous here. Hurry—get everyone out of the building."
The agents hesitated, stunned by the display of raw, god-like power. But one look at Leon's serious expression was enough to break their trance. They scrambled to follow his orders, dragging their wounded away.
"Holy shit," Riptide murmured from the sidelines, his hands trembling. He had fought alongside Sebastian Shaw through wars and revolutions, but he had never seen Azazel—the man who could be everywhere at once—neutralized with such casual brutality.
"Hmm… I never expected to find someone with such potential hiding in a place like this."
A deep, resonant voice cut through the sound of the settling dust. From the shadows of the main gate, a man in a sleek, dark helmet and a tailored coat emerged. Sebastian Shaw. He exuded an aura of absolute authority, strolling into the plaza as if he were taking a Sunday walk in the park.
Riptide's trembling stopped the moment Shaw arrived. Emboldened by his leader's presence, he flicked his wrists. Two massive whirlwinds roared to life, howling as they swept toward Leon.
Leon didn't flinch. He remained suspended in the air, his arms crossed. The whirlwinds engulfed him, the debris within them acting like a thousand tiny knives. But when the dust cleared, Leon hadn't moved a centimeter. His clothes weren't even ruffled.
High above, Raven and the others watched from the window. They were paralyzed by the spectacle.
"Shaw! This kid is dangerous!" Riptide shouted, his voice high-pitched with nerves. He felt a deep sense of failure; he and Azazel were supposed to be the vanguard, yet he was now begging for backup against a teenager.
"No rush," Shaw replied with a dry chuckle, his eyes locked on Leon. "I'd like to get to know this promising young mutant a little better."
Despite Shaw's nonchalance, Riptide wasn't taking chances. He began to gather the air from the entire courtyard, spinning it faster and faster. The pressure dropped. The wind began to scream.
Leon simply waited. He wanted to see what these "veterans" were truly capable of before he ended the farce.
"This is it!" Riptide screamed, hurling a massive, concentrated tornado directly at Leon's chest.
"Leon, watch out!" Raven's voice cracked from the balcony.
But as the funnel of air reached him, Leon didn't dodge. He took a deep, rattling breath, and as he exhaled, a blast of bone-chilling, absolute-zero air erupted from his lungs.
The sound was like a thousand mirrors shattering at once. The roaring tornado didn't just stop—it froze. The air itself crystallized, turning the massive whirlwind into a towering, jagged sculpture of solid ice.
With a soft tap of his finger against the frozen structure, Leon sent a vibration through the ice. The entire tornado shattered into a million glittering shards, raining down harmlessly on the pavement.
Leon looked down at Shaw, his eyes glowing with an intense, predatory light.
"My turn," he whispered.
To be continued...
><><><><><>
~# Keep the Chapters coming — Support with Power Stones