"I thought I was going to die—those were real bullets!" Darwin exclaimed, still shaken from their training session. The life-or-death pressure had forced him to maintain absolute focus throughout the exercise.
Everyone nodded in agreement. The unpredictable gunfire had terrified them all. No one knew where the next shot would land, and a moment's distraction could have resulted in serious injury.
"This is nothing compared to an actual battlefield," Marcus laughed, patting Darwin on the shoulder. "But your adaptation speed has improved, hasn't it?"
The group exchanged glances, suddenly realizing that their abilities had indeed sharpened. Darwin's transformations were happening faster than ever before.
"The rifle was to simulate stress," Marcus explained. "Without that pressure, would you have made any real progress with those playground exercises?"
They reluctantly nodded, understanding his logic. Only under extreme circumstances could they push past their limitations and gain better control over their powers.
"Now I'll teach you some combat techniques so you don't end up fighting like street brawlers when the real action starts."
Marcus demonstrated a series of lethal fighting moves. Though not particularly elegant, they were brutally effective. Everyone paid close attention, recognizing their practical value.
Hank and the others who lacked ranged attacks were especially attentive. They understood that these techniques could make the difference between survival and defeat in actual combat.
As they practiced diligently, the daylight gradually faded.
Despite a full day of grueling training, their spirits remained high. The tangible improvement in their abilities had boosted their confidence.
"Since everyone seems to be adapting well, we'll continue tomorrow," Marcus announced with a smile that promised more suffering to come.
Their collective groans followed him as he headed back to his quarters.
Over the next few days, the training intensified. Though exhausted every night, no one considered giving up. Each day brought noticeable improvement.
That evening, they gathered on the lawn outside their quarters, discussing their progress and imagining future possibilities. Their understanding of their powers had deepened considerably.
"I wonder what Charles and the others are up to," Alex mused as he generated a meter-long beam of red energy from his hand. It resembled a lightsaber from Star Wars—a technique he'd discovered during training that gave him a distinct advantage in close combat.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Charles, Erik, and Logan had captured Emma Frost—Shaw's confidante. She was a telepath who could transform her body into diamond, making her immune to Charles's mind-reading abilities.
Under the combined force of Erik and Logan's brutal methods, however, she was eventually forced to revert to her normal form, allowing Charles to access her memories.
"It's worse than I imagined," Charles said gravely, looking at his companions. "Shaw plans to trigger a nuclear war."
Erik seemed unfazed by this revelation, but the news struck a chord with Logan. He had firsthand experience with nuclear weapons—if not for his healing factor, he would have perished in an atomic blast twenty years earlier.
"Nuclear bombs. Very bad news," Logan growled.
He crouched in front of Emma Frost, extending his bone claws with a soft snikt sound. Without warning, he drove them into her arm. Blood trickled down along the white protrusions as she screamed in pain.
"Where is Shaw now?" Logan demanded, his eyes cold.
"He went to the CIA facility," Emma answered through gritted teeth.
The information hit like a thunderbolt. They couldn't possibly return in time. The young mutants back at the base had only two options: join Shaw or die.
Charles and Erik exchanged alarmed glances. Shaw was targeting Raven and the others at this very moment.
Seeing their expressions, Emma smirked despite her pain. Her capture meant nothing if Shaw eliminated their allies.
Logan, however, remained calm. He picked up a box of cigars from a nearby table and selected one without hurry.
"Don't worry about them," he said as he lit his cigar. "Marcus is far more dangerous than you realize."
Back at the CIA facility, the group relaxing on the lawn suddenly heard an unusual noise from above. Looking up, they saw figures plummeting from the sky—CIA agents being thrown from the upper floors of the building.
"Angel, Hank, Sean—rescue the falling agents!" Marcus commanded. "Everyone else, battle stations!"
Angel immediately took flight, catching falling agents one by one. Sean used his sonic cry to achieve a form of flight, working with Hank to save as many people as possible.
The rest of the team shifted into combat mode, preparing for enemies not yet visible.
Marcus held a pistol in one hand and a dagger in the other, his senses heightened as he scanned their surroundings.
"Right on schedule," he muttered. "But things won't go as planned for you."
A faint displacement of air caught his attention. Without hesitation, Marcus fired a shot toward the sound.
The bullet hit nothing, but the strange noise repeated.
"Teleportation," Marcus realized. "I think I know who you are."
As he spoke, both weapons in his hands began to glow softly as he infused them with void energy.
In a blur of motion, a red-skinned figure resembling a devil materialized behind Marcus, twin blades slashing toward his back.
Clang!
Marcus's dagger intercepted the attack with perfect timing. He turned to face his attacker with a taunting smile.
"Well, aren't you colorful? Did you just escape from hell, or is this your natural complexion?"
As he spoke, Marcus pulled the trigger, aiming for a kill shot.
The bullet met empty air. The moment Marcus fired, the red-skinned mutant had teleported elsewhere.
"Slippery little devil," Marcus muttered.
His eyes began to glow, and the world around him shifted to monochrome. Within this black and white landscape, a pulsing red energy signature moved rapidly.
"There you are!"
Marcus leaped toward the energy signature, his dagger arcing downward in a swift, precise movement.
Thwack!
"ARGH!"
The teleporter materialized several feet away, screaming in pain. Marcus had sliced off his prehensile tail.
Grabbing the severed appendage, Marcus swung it like a whip at its former owner.
Crack!
The improvised weapon connected with savage force, sending the teleporter flying backward.
"Nice whip," Marcus remarked casually. "Thanks for the donation."
His taunt only intensified the teleporter's agony. Severely injured, the red mutant attempted to retreat.
The air around him shimmered and distorted, but strangely, he remained in place.
"Don't waste your energy," Marcus advised. "You can't escape my void field."
As Marcus moved in for the finishing blow, the ground beneath them suddenly transformed. Soil morphed into solid stone, rising rapidly to form a protective wall between Marcus and his prey. Simultaneously, a metal bar shot toward him from behind.
Clang!
Marcus pivoted and deflected the projectile with a backhand slash, but the force behind it was tremendous. He skidded backward more than ten steps before dissipating its momentum.
Looking up, he saw a massive tornado materializing before him, howling as it flung metal debris in his direction.
"I must admit, I'm starting to like you people," Marcus called out. "Your abilities remind me of some equipment I used to have."
The swirling vortex triggered a memory from his gaming days before he arrived in this world—an armor set called "Zephyr: Howling West Wind" that he'd used extensively for high-level missions.
Channeling void energy into his pistol, Marcus aimed carefully at the heart of the raging storm.