Damn, I should have realized that Hydra wouldn't come unprepared. The sudden appearance of the X-Men caught me completely off guard, my heart racing with an adrenaline rush. I had been expecting a confrontation, but not like this. Jean Grey, one of the most powerful mutants alive, was actively trying to read my mind, her psychic powers creating a palpable tension in the air around us. I could feel her probing, like the icy fingers of winter seeking to infiltrate the warmth of my thoughts. While I had safeguards against mental attacks, underestimating her was a grave mistake. Her reputation as an Omega mutant was not merely for show; she could pierce through defenses that others might find impenetrable.
In the heat of the moment, I made a split-second decision: I would accelerate my thought process, creating a mental fog to obscure my true intentions from her prying mind. It was a risky maneuver, but I had to act quickly. I concentrated hard, feeling her psychic presence pressing against my consciousness, attempting to glean my thoughts. The pressure was intense, but I steeled myself, weaving a complex web of distractions to keep her at bay.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself standing near the tree where I had left Emma. My stomach dropped as I took in the horrific sight—her body was utterly destroyed, a chilling reminder of the chaos that had erupted moments before. Guilt and regret washed over me like a tidal wave. I cursed myself for bringing her into this mess; if only I didn't bring her here and made her staye out of range, she might have been safe. The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, turning my insides to lead.
With a heavy heart, I used my tentacles to dig into the ground, each movement deliberate and precise as I buried her remains. The soil was cool and unyielding, but it felt like a final act of love, a way to give her a semblance of peace in the midst of this madness. After taking one last, lingering look in the direction of the X-Men—I turned away, feeling a deep sorrow for my loss. My limited transformation would only last another five minutes, and time was slipping away.
As I slipped into the alley, I halted my transformation and adopted Hermione's guise. I had many options, but revealing my other form was not necessarily . Plus, Hermione's appearance was less likely to attract unwanted attention. After all, her face might have appeared on surveillance cameras.
Just as I stepped out of the alley, I heard a voice call out, "Hey, sweetie, where are you going?" The tone was creepy, dripping with a false bravado that made my skin crawl. Though the comment didn't frighten me, it stirred a sense of pity for the man who spoke. How misguided he was, thinking he could intimidate anyone in this city, especially after what I had just witnessed.
Turning around, I faced a guy trying to act tough, brandishing a chain and a knife, his stance awkward and unsteady. He looked like a third-rate background character who believed he had experience in the streets—a wannabe tough guy desperate to prove something. My eyes narrowed as I sized him up, quickly calculating the odds. He was nothing but a nuisance.
Without a moment's hesitation, I summoned the Nichirin sword from thin air, the blade gleaming ominously in the dim light. With a swift, practiced motion, I slashed at the man's neck, feeling the familiar rush of power coursing through me. In an instant, his head and body separated, both falling to the ground with a sickening thud as blood gushed out in a steady stream, pooling around his lifeless form. I barely registered the act; it was merely a means to an end, a reminder that I had to be ruthless if I was to survive.
After that encounter, I attempted to hail a taxi to Hell's Kitchen, but no one was willing to go there at this late hour. The drivers eyed me warily, their faces reflecting a mix of suspicion and fear, sensing something was off about my demeanor. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still coursing through my veins or the lingering traces of chaos I had just left behind.
Understanding the situation, I decided to spend some time wandering the city instead, allowing my thoughts to swirl and the adrenaline to fade. The urban landscape buzzed around me, alive with a cacophony of sounds—honking cars, shouting pedestrians, and the distant wail of sirens echoing through the night. I was not in the mood to head to a hotel just yet; I needed to clear my head and contemplate my next move in this dangerous game. The thrill of the night began to dissipate, replaced by a cold sense of reality creeping in.
Meanwhile, the X-Men were also reeling from their own emotional turmoil. they were angry, but they understood they couldn't change the situation they found themselves in. Picking up Laura, who was still unconscious, they departed the scene, their expressions a mix of determination and frustration. Before leaving, they met with Coulson and the others, the atmosphere thick with tension. While the agents were not responsible for what had occurred, the X-Men were not in the mood for idle chit-chat. Their focus was on the task at hand, the looming threat that hung over them all.
Jean found that Coulson and the others were not to blame by reading the mind of one member who lacked any form of mental protection. She probed deeper, desperate to uncover the truth about what had transpired. When she attempted to delve into Coulson's mind, however, she discovered that he had a mental barrier preventing her ability from taking effect. The same was true for the other agents, though their defenses were much weaker than those she had encountered in David.
Eventually, she located some individuals who were devoid of any protection. Choosing one at random, she unearthed the troubling information that they had only come after receiving intel, which perfectly aligned with her previous investigations. This revelation only deepened her unease; they were all being watched, their movements meticulously tracked by unseen forces pulling the strings behind the scenes.
Coulson stood by, watching the X-Men's jet depart, his mood souring as he wrestled with the implications of what had just unfolded. He pushed thoughts of that octopus (David) aside, focusing on the pressing matters at hand. The news that some organization had orchestrated this entire scenario to capture mutants was alarming and indicated they were not dealing with a small threat. It was becoming increasingly clear that they were facing a more significant danger than they had anticipated. Now, they were aware of other organizations striving to achieve—or already achieving—what others had failed to do. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him, making him acutely aware that the little hair he had left would soon fall out from the stress