"Mystique!"
Wolverine's eyes locked fiercely onto the woman at the front.
Her skin shimmered in deep blue, adorned with natural, scale-like patterns. Her figure was breathtaking—every curve perfectly defined, rivaling even Storm standing beside her.
Logan had every reason to grit his teeth.
Just this afternoon, he had been toyed with by this very woman.
She had infiltrated Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, left Professor Charles Xavier unconscious… and taken Rogue away.
"Heh, Beast, I'm not your opponent today."
Mystique licked her lips, wagging a finger at Wolverine before shifting her gaze—
Toward Peter.
"And who are you?"
It was obvious at a glance—
Peter didn't belong with the X-Men.
Even Logan wore a specialized suit designed to withstand the G-forces of high-speed flight.
But Peter?
Soaked casual clothes.
A worn-out backpack slung over his shoulders.
He looked completely out of place.
"Ah, so you finally noticed me?"
Peter grinned as he slowly took off his backpack and set it gently on the ground.
"I don't really like being ignored. I'm not as arrogant as some people… but I do enjoy being the center of attention."
"Oh?"
Mystique's lips curled into a smile.
"Well, you have my full attention now… little cutie."
Despite her youthful appearance, Mystique was far from young. As Charles Xavier's adopted sister, she had lived for decades. While both Xavier and Magneto had aged, she remained unchanged—eternally in her prime.
Peter coughed lightly.
"Uh… ma'am. Or should I say—uh, maybe that's a bit rude…"
He tilted his head, speaking rapidly.
"But could you change your tone a bit? When you talk like that, I can't help but think of you as someone around my mom's age. Actually—wait, does that sound like I'm complimenting you for looking young? I mean, I know you're actually pretty old. You know, I read a lot—books from all over the world. In my culture, there's a concept called 'respecting the elderly and caring for the young.' So I should show you more respect."
He paused.
"Sorry about that."
A beat.
"I was wrong… grandma."
…
The effect—
Was immediate.
Mystique's originally blue face flushed with a very noticeable shade of red.
Clearly—
She had felt that "respect."
"Shut up, you little brat!"
Her eyes burned with fury as she snarled.
"Take them down!"
Her shout snapped everyone out of Peter's relentless verbal barrage.
Right—
They were here to fight.
To save the world—
Or destroy it.
"RAAAH!"
SNIKT! SNIKT!
Gleaming metal claws shot out between Wolverine's knuckles.
Opposite him stood a towering brute—larger, more savage, with sharp fangs and clawed hands like a beast.
Sabretooth. Victor Creed.
Wolverine's own brother.
And yet—
Neither of them remembered.
Two immortal beings, stripped of their pasts.
Though perhaps it didn't matter.
Because even without memories—
They still fought like sworn enemies.
The moment they collided, the ground trembled.
Enhanced with adamantium, Wolverine's weight and impact were overwhelming. He slammed into Sabretooth, sending both of them crashing and rolling off to the side.
Elsewhere—
A silver blur streaked across the battlefield.
Quicksilver.
A core member of Magneto's Brotherhood.
Fast—too fast.
"Jean! Can you hold him still? I can't get a lock!"
Cyclops shouted.
"He's too fast—I can't catch him!" Jean replied, brows furrowed. "Ororo—freeze the ground!"
The X-Men and the Brotherhood were old enemies.
As soon as the fight began, everyone found their respective opponents, employing tactics tailored for each other.
But—
This time—
The center of attention was someone else.
"I said it already."
Peter looked at Mystique, who was now walking toward him with barely restrained rage.
"I want all eyes on me."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Oh, by the way—could you transform into Sophie Marceau? Her younger version, please. I've always had a preference for… younger beauties."
…
Critical hit.
Mystique's teeth clenched so hard they nearly cracked.
Her physique might rival that of a super soldier—even surpass it.
Back when she fought Wolverine one-on-one, his massive weight and adamantium skeleton meant nothing to her. She had kicked him around like it was nothing.
And now—
Her long, powerful leg lashed out.
A furious strike, slicing through the air with a piercing howl—
A kick strong enough to send a 300-pound Wolverine flying.
But—
Midair—
It stopped.
"…Not bad."
Peter casually held her leg in place.
"Nice shape. Honestly, if it were a bit smoother, I wouldn't mind using it as a pillow at night."
Mystique's proportions were flawless.
Long, straight legs. Perfect muscle tone.
Strong, yet elegant.
The only downside—
Those scale-like textures on her blue skin.
Probably not great to the touch.
"You—!"
Fury and shock surged through her.
She tried to pull her leg back—
But it wouldn't budge.
Not even an inch.
"Alright, alright… fine wine should be enjoyed in moderation."
Peter loosened his grip.
"Let's talk again once you turn into Sophie Marceau."
With a light push—
Mystique staggered backward, letting out a startled cry. She barely managed to regain her balance.
When she looked up again—
Peter was gone.
Vanished.
Like he had never been there at all.
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T/N:
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