----
The outside wind howled through the shattered window until Ororo Munroe reentered the building, clutching Logan in her arms.
"You—!" she growled the moment her feet touched the floor.
Logan's body was limp, his entire frame seemingly reduced to jelly his muscles soft, bones unresponsive.
But within moments, his body began to regenerate, bones knitting, tissue reforming. His healing factor kicked in automatically, restoring what had been shattered.
He landed on his feet, his chest heaving with rage, eyes locked on Nolan.
"You're a devil," Logan growled. "One day… I'll gut you myself."
Nolan calmly deactivated his Demon Ring, withdrawing the surging power within.
Smiling as Logan spat his threat, he replied casually, "I could use a new test subject. If you get captured again, we'll see if your beloved professor still comes running."
The rest of the X-Men formed up.
Bobby Drake radiated cold mist from his hands. Sunspot's skin darkened into obsidian, solar heat rippling off his body.
Ororo hovered in the air, her irises glowing white, with storm winds swirling around her like a halo of fury.
But Max Dillon, now pulsing with lightning arcs, was already bracing for a command. One signal from Nolan, and he'd unleash hell.
Even Norman Osborn wasn't idle—he discreetly pressed a button beneath his desk.
Whrp-whrrr—thup-thup-thup.
Outside the broken window, four military helicopters rose into view, miniguns swiveling toward the mutants inside.
"You sure you want to do this?" Nolan asked, his coat billowing in the wind. "At the very least, Beast dies first."
Ororo's white eyes glared down at him. In her mind, Professor Xavier's voice echoed gently.
"Ororo. Bring them back. Now is not the time to fight Nolan."
"But Professor…"
"I said no. Nolan is not our enemy—at least not yet."
Xavier's tone hardened with authority.
Ororo slowly allowed her powers to fade. Her pupils returned. The wind calmed.
She dropped to the ground and stared daggers at Nolan. "We're leaving."
As much as it pained her to retreat, Xavier was right—now was not the time to provoke a new war.
"…Fine," Beast muttered, rubbing his sore neck. He knew they could've done damage—but not without casualties.
Sunspot and Iceman hesitated but eventually followed her lead. The room dimmed as their powers receded.
Logan stood last, still trembling with rage, but a voice in his head—Charles again—warned him not to escalate.
They left.
Nolan watched them go in silence, unreadable.
Once they were gone, Norman approached. "Sir… why not take them down now? I had the Reaper Corps ready on standby."
Norman had no idea of the X-Men's full potential. To him, it was simply a numbers game.
"We wouldn't win," Nolan said flatly. "And except for Logan, they're not our enemies."
He exhaled slowly. Despite his growing strength, the pressure in his chest hadn't eased. Not yet.
If Ororo had truly let loose, a focused tornado could have flattened the OsCorp building.
"Still not strong enough…" Nolan thought.
He knew letting Logan go would draw the X-Men's attention. But he needed that regenerative gene not for power, but for survival. In a world of gods and monsters, immortality was his insurance policy.
He turned to the case in Norman's hands.
Inside were the genetic samples of Storm, Iceman, Cyclops, and Xavier.
Iceman and Storm would be used to enhance pulmonary functions, replicating super-breath abilities.
Cyclops' optic blasts would be studied to fuse with his ocular pathways.
And Xavier's DNA? Insurance against future telepathic attacks. Even a weak expression of his power would create a new tier of mental defense.
Even watered-down versions of these powers would elevate Nolan to a whole new class.
—
Meanwhile, in Hell's Kitchen…
Wilson Fisk sat in his penthouse office, puffing on a cigar.
Across from him stood Madame Gao, seated politely with a faint smile on her face. Behind her, two short, robed Asian men stood silently, their eyes sharp and wary.
"Mr. Fisk," Gao said with a measured tone, "we've lost something valuable. I'd like your assistance retrieving it."
Fisk's brow furrowed. Bullseye stood quietly behind him, silently assessing how to kill Gao in one shot.
"I can't help you," Fisk replied.
"You were responsible for the delivery," Gao said, her voice still pleasant. "We signed an agreement. You were to ensure it reached us safely."
Fisk ashed his cigar with a dry chuckle. "I moved the shipment. That was the extent of my obligation. I delivered it to your people—the Hand. Our agreement ended there."
He recalled the reports.
The Hand's facility had been slaughtered. Bodies everywhere shattered, not sliced. It wasn't ninjas or mutants. It was brute force.
Inhuman strength.
Fisk had his suspicions. All signs pointed to one man.
Nolan.
Madame Gao's gaze sharpened. "You control Hell's Kitchen. The artifact was lost on your turf. As our ally, you should help us recover it."
"Was that Alexandra's idea?" Fisk asked coolly.
Gao nodded slowly. "Yes. And the others agree. All five of us want that item back."
Because it wasn't just Black Sky they had lost.
They had also lost the Dragon Bone.
Black Sky could be replaced just a matter of time and money.
But the Dragon Bone?
That was their source of longevity. Their life extension.
Without it, their wealth and power meant nothing.
And whoever had taken it had done so with unfathomable strength—even Black Sky, merged with the Beast, hadn't stood a chance.
Now, desperate, the Hand had come threatening their own allies.
They knew it would fracture the alliance, but they had no choice.
The Dragon Bone was irreplaceable.
Fisk stared at her for a long moment, then finally spoke.
"…Nolan."
Gao's eyes narrowed.
"Nolan?" she repeated. "You mean…"
"…Superman?"
----
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