Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 92

Arc 7 - Ch 9: Mutant Massacre

Date: Tuesday, August 30, 2011.

Location: The Alley, Manhattan, New York

Tyson began the delicate process of using Magneto's power to remove the nails. He guided them out, and the last came free with a sickening squelch. Then, he formed the metal into tight sheets to dress the wounds and metal bands as makeshift tourniquets to staunch the angel's bleeding. As the mutant collapsed forward, all the metal surrounding him was used to lower him to the ground gently.

Jessica knelt beside the angel. Up close, the extent of the mutant's injuries became even more apparent. His wings were broken, and cuts and bruises covered every visible inch of skin.

"Can you hear me?" Jessica asked softly, placing a hand on the mutant's shoulder. "You're safe now. We're here to help."

The mutant's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glazed with pain. When he spoke, his voice was a dry rasp. "The... the others..."

Logan was at their side, his gruff exterior softening slightly in the face of such suffering. "What others, bub? There are more of you?"

The mutant managed a weak nod. "Deeper in," he gasped. "The Grotto..."

Tyson's expression darkened. "The Brotherhood left Felicia with the Morlocks in the Grotto."

Jessica looked up from where she was tending to the mutant's wounds. "We can't leave him here," she said. "And if there are others..."

"No way in hell we're leavin' anyone down here," Logan assured.

Tyson's decision had been made for him. There was only one real option. "Jessica, can you wrap him up? We don't have time to bring him back to the surface. We need to stop whoever did this."

Jessica nodded, already firing her webs. Tyson surrounded the web bundle in a thin metal sheet and brought it along, hovering behind him.

Logan's grin was feral, promising violence to those who had perpetrated this atrocity. "We're goin' huntin'."

"We find Felicia, save any other mutants, and stop whoever is behind this." Tyson agreed.

The stench of blood grew stronger as they ventured deeper into The Alley. The concrete walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with a metallic tang.

Then, they found the first body.

It was a mutant lying in a pool of blood. The sight was grisly, but it was the mutant's face that caught Tyson's attention. He had mismatched eyes, not unlike how Tysons were before the Battle in Times Square. But in death, they stared sightlessly at the ceiling, sending a pang of recognition, of kinship, shooting through him. Jessica moved from body to body. "They're all dead," she reported in a tight voice. "All of them mutants with... physical differences."

Logan's nostrils flared, his face a mask of barely contained rage. "Ain't just killed 'em," he growled. "They were tortured. I can smell their fear, their pain."

Tyson clenched his fists at his sides, and his power surged in response to his anger. With a thought, he tore metal and rebar from the surrounding walls, the screeching sound echoing through the tunnel like a scream of defiance. The metal twisted and flattened, forming two small platforms that hovered just above the ground.

"Grab on," Tyson commanded.

Jessica's eyes met Logan's, but neither objected. They kneeled atop the hovering metal platforms Tyson had conjured. Behind the pair, the rescued angel mutant lay curled within a protective metallic cocoon.

Tyson launched himself forward, flying through the tunnel. Jessica and Logan trailed in his wake, borne on their metal platters by the sheer strength of Tyson's ability. The wind whipped Jessica's hair as he guided them deeper through the Alley. As they rounded a final bend, the scene that greeted them was one of pure, unadulterated chaos. The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, easily the size of a football field. But there was no game being played here. Instead, it was a battlefield. But this could hardly be called a battle. It was… a slaughter.

A Mutant Massacre.

Mutants of all shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the chamber, and many had already fallen. Those still standing fought valiantly but futilely against their attackers or fled the battle.

The group of attackers did not wear uniforms or have a unified theme.

Tyson's blood turned to ice as his eyes locked onto one of them. He tore through the fleeing mutants. All muscle and sinew, matted hair hanging in greasy ropes, and claws that sliced through flesh like paper.

Sabretooth.

Impossible.

Tyson killed Victor Creed on his second day in this world, absorbing the feral mutant's powers, which he still possessed. Yet here, Sabretooth stood, reveling in the bloodbath with savage glee. The sadistic mutant caught their scent and zeroed in on Logan.

His lips peeled back to reveal a cruel grin. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in!" Sabretooth roared, disemboweling a mutant unlucky enough to stumble into his path. "I've missed you, runt. Let's see if you still scream when I rip out your guts!"

Logan's adamantium claws slid free with a familiar snikt. He didn't hesitate to launch himself at his resurrected nemesis. The two clashed in a flurry of claws, roars, and spraying blood as their feud reignited.

Tyson was stunned as the rematch between Wolverine and Sabertooth began. How had Sabretooth returned? But his mind was pulled back to the mutants dying around him. Right now, they needed his help. Jessica leapt into the fray. At the same time, Tyson took a second to assess their enemies.

Sabertooth was big, but there was another hulking figure in the fight. Seven feet tall and four hundred pounds of solid muscle and fury, he smashed his meaty fists around, pulverizing flesh and concrete alike.

"Who's next?" He bellowed, his beady eyes scanned the area for his next victim, eager to unleash more destruction.

In response, Tyson gestured sharply, splitting his orb of metal into a swirling vortex of jagged metal shards that sliced through the air toward the large man. The makeshift shrapnel barrage failed to cut into the behemoth's exposed skin.

"You can't stop Blockbuster with some paperclips!" he roared in defiance.

Unfazed by the outburst, Tyson focused his powers once more. The swirling metal shards reformed into bands that wrapped tightly around Blockbuster's wrists and ankles. As Tyson clenched his fist, the bands constricted like snakes, wrenching Blockbuster's limbs together behind his back and hardening into unbreakable steel. Though the behemoth struggled mightily, veins bulging and muscles straining, without leverage, he could not break the bonds under Tyson's control.

A crystalline man with a body made from a kaleidoscope of mirrored facets effortlessly absorbed a sizzling energy blast from one of the defenders. The beam dissipated harmlessly through his prism-like form before he redirected it, amplified tenfold, toward a cornered cluster of mutants with nowhere to run. At the last possible second, Spider-Woman came swinging in on a slender webline, her lithe body twisting gracefully midair as she launched a double-legged kick to the crystalline man's torso. Her boots connected solidly, knocking his supercharged attack off target. The redirected beam struck the ceiling above where the huddled mutants stood, raining debris down around them. Jessica crouched atop the crystalline villain, knees bent and fists clenched, ready to strike again as the room filled with dust and rubble.

With the largest target contained, Tyson turned to the next most noticeable enemy. It was like a tornado had manifested in the center of the chamber, unleashing destruction in all directions. He could tell it was a man, but his body spun with impossible speed, becoming little more than a blur as he sent torrents of razor-sharp calcium projectiles flying through the room. The spikes tore mercilessly through flesh and concrete alike, adding to the already substantial carnage. The maelstrom whipped itself into a frenzy, churning debris and dust that obscured the chamber.

On the outskirts of the whirlwind stood two defiant figures.

The first Tyson immediately identified was Gambit by his billowing brown trenchcoat and the volley of glowing kinetic cards he threw directly into the swirling gale. The energized projectiles exploded inside the maelstrom. In response, the attacker launched more calcium shards back toward their sender. But Gambit's companion, a young woman he didn't recognize, was ready. She pulled jagged spikes of bone from her own flesh. The razor-sharp bone shards intercepted each projectile, protecting the two mutants from the counterattack. The maelstrom released a feral howl, intensifying the winds. The mighty gusts buffeted the bone-wielding mutant, driving her back a step. Gambit narrowed his black and red eyes, charging up another set of cards. Fresh bone spikes burst violently from the woman's skin, ready to counter the next attack.

Jessica swung low, pulling off an acrobatic roll to narrowly avoid the whirlwind's shards. "Watch out!" she called. "That guy's turning the air into a blender!"

A grizzled man with a military bearing methodically fired at targets with inhuman accuracy. He launched nail after nail. Each projectile found its mark, some even detonating in bursts of fire and shrapnel. Tyson recognized the projectile as the same kind that had pinned the angel.

The man locked onto his next target, a figure shrouded in a tattered, heavy cloak. He unleashed a barrage of deadly nails, but as the projectiles neared their mark, something unexpected happened. Five razor-sharp claws extended from each of the cloaked figure's hands. The claws intercepted the incoming nails, shredding them to pieces.

Tyson's eyes widened in recognition. The unique metallic signature emanating from those claws was unmistakable.

Adamantium.

The same indestructible alloy bonded to his and Wolverine's skeletons. But how was that possible?

Undeterred by his failure, the military mutant adjusted his aim and fired again. This time, the nails found their mark, tearing through the cloak and peppering the figure beneath with a hail of projectiles. The force of the impacts sent the cloaked mutant stumbling backward, shredding their garment to tatters. The remnants of the cloak fell away. The figure revealed beneath was not what he had expected. It was a strikingly beautiful woman with delicate Asian features and long, dark hair, but it was a face he knew all too well.

The woman from Alkali Lake. Stryker's assistant.

The nails embedded in her flesh were expelled from her body, one by one, clattering to the ground as her wounds closed seamlessly behind them. Within seconds, there was no trace of the devastating attack she had just endured.

He had seen this woman leave with Stryker. Yet here she stood, very much alive.

The military mutant prepared to launch another salvo. But Tyson utilized his magnetic powers to stop the nails before they could find their targets. Pulling the metal to him to be used as his weapon instead.

A group of mutants attempted to escape, running past Tyson's position. But suddenly, they stumbled as a wave of disorientation swept through them. An unseen force shattered their equilibrium.

A mutant with green hair focused on the hapless victims. "Nobody leaves," she hissed.

Jessica swung toward her, but even Spider-Woman was no match for her powers, and she found herself staggering, fighting to stay upright.

An average-sized guy leaped agilely from ledge to ledge, closing in on his targets while gripping…

A goddamned harpoon.

Its tip crackled once it left his hands and shifted into energy. He impaled victims, the weapon slicing through armor and bone or exploding in a burst of energy before returning to his hand after each throw. His aim was uncanny, guided by some unerring sixth sense.

He turned his sights to the disoriented Jessica. She swung her head towards him; her spider-sense tingled, warning her of the incoming danger, but she was still disoriented. The man wound back the harpoon, ready to spear her through the chest.

In that split second, with a guttural shout, Tyson thrust out his hand, and the harpoon suddenly sprouted vicious metal spikes across its surface. The barbs impaled the assassin's hand, hooking deeply into his flesh. He staggered and released a scream of agony, unable to remove the harpoon without taking his mutilated hand with it.

"I don't think you'll need this anymore," Tyson growled as he liquified the harpoon. The man sank to his knees, cradling his ruined hand. Tyson wrapped him in the liquid metal, hardening it and leaving him bound.

"There's so many of them, and something is making me feel sick!" Jessica called out.

Tyson thrust out his hand. The unused metal from the harpoon shaft warped and distended, the razor-sharp tip blunting as the weapon compacted with a screech of protesting steel. He added the nails the other attacker had fired, and in a second, the deadly projectiles had been reshaped into a smooth, spherical metal shell. The protective cocoon enveloped Jessica, cutting her off from the fight. She felt herself dragged rapidly across the ground, nearly making her vomit.

Guiding the sphere containing Spider-Woman to him with his ferrokinetic powers, he said, "I've got you," as she slid to a stop at his feet. "Stay close while I figure this out."

In the chaos, Tyson saw a nondescript man slipping through the combatants. At first glance, he appeared to be just another defender in plain clothes. But as Tyson watched, the man grabbed the arm of a young mutant flinging fireballs at the attackers. As soon as the stranger's hand made contact, the mutant's flames abruptly died, and his power somehow nullified, leaving him without a way to defend himself. Where the fire winked out, his skin had the texture of a burnt marshmallow.

"Now you're not so special, just ugly," the man sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

Although he may have looked average, Tyson realized this was another attacker. His power seemed to negate other mutants' abilities, making him extremely dangerous. As he turned to disable another mutant, Tyson thrust out his hand. Jagged metal shards broke off Jessica's spherical cocoon. He aimed them precisely, targeting the vulnerable joints of the man's legs. The shrapnel tore through flesh and bone, dropping the assassin to the ground with an agonized scream. He clutched at the mangled ruins of his knees and thighs, rendered helpless by the crippling damage.

Tyson took in the motley assortment of powerful foes that remained. Magneto alone could end this conflict, but the fine control needed to eliminate so many targets simultaneously in a battle filled with innocents proved challenging. Illusion seemed the best path to containment.

"Here, Jess," Tyson said. He yanked Magneto's helmet free of his head and placed it atop hers. Instantly, Jessica's nausea and disorientation faded.

He called on his illusion powers to plunge the area into inky darkness.

Instantly, everyone lost their sense of sight, leaving Jessica and Tyson the only ones unaffected within the void. She was safeguarded by Magneto's helmet atop her head and remained the only one not lost in the mirage. The illusion took hold quickly, ending the fight.

Jessica heard the angry shouts morph into bewildered exclamations. Standing, she saw the remaining attacker's dumbfounded faces as they groped blindly, unable to orient themselves.

— Rogue Redemption —

Malice hovered above the battlefield. She was invisible and intangible, her ghostly form imperceptible to the combatants below. She watched with icy apathy as mutants fell before the Marauders. Her spectral eyes narrowed when she spotted Gambit among the defenders.

He was the one who'd recruited them, brought them together. And now, he'd abandoned them to join the Morlocks.

She considered using her power on him. She'd yet to join the fight. But it'd be so easy to seize control of the traitorous Cajun's body. She could turn on the Morlock he'd allied with and kill the grotesque, bony young mutant woman, then leave, returning control of his body.

That would teach him a lesson about betrayal.

But before she could act, the tide of battle abruptly shifted. Three newcomers burst onto the scene, transforming the massacre into an actual fight. Malice focused on the tall, brown-skinned man who effortlessly restrained Blockbuster.

It was the man from the television. He was here.

As she watched him fight, she felt a desire she hadn't experienced before. He was strong, effortlessly taking out Scrambler and Harpoon. He'd make an exquisite host. Though he wasn't a woman, he'd certainly do; the power would make up for it. She had settled for much worse before. Malice drifted closer to infiltrate his mind. But something blocked her. She probed for an opening to the barrier that repelled her incorporeal essence. Never before had she encountered a mind so impenetrably guarded.

Instead, she turned her attention to Spider-Woman. She'd seen news reports on New York's other Spider-hero. She was beautiful and had beaten Prism down in a matter of seconds. If she couldn't have the brown-skinned man, she was the next best target. Malice would be able to turn the tide of battle, plus she'd have the body of a woman again.

But then, the man removed his helmet, placing it on Spider-Woman's head.

Suddenly, darkness engulfed the battlefield. He'd created a psychic shroud so potent that she felt it affected her non-corporeal senses. But she also felt that by removing the helmet, he was no longer guarded against her intrusion.

This was her chance.

Malice dove towards the man's now unprotected mind. She braced herself for the usual struggle, the momentary resistance before she overwhelmed her victim's consciousness.

But the instant she made contact, everything changed.

Instead of inhabiting and taking over his body as her own, Malice found herself in a stark white room.

"What is this?" she hissed, "Where am I?"

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Malice felt something akin to fear. This was not how possession was supposed to work. She was the invader, the conqueror. But here, she felt exposed. Vulnerable.

Then, she was grabbed and spun violently to find herself face to face with the last being she expected to encounter inside this strange mental landscape.

Sabretooth.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded.

This was all wrong. Here she was, disoriented and seemingly at the mercy of... whatever this was.

Sabretooth's fanged smile widened. "Greetin' our newest roommate," he growled with menacing amusement. Before Malice could react, he grabbed her spectral form and tossed her unceremoniously onto a couch.

She landed with an undignified thump beside a man sitting ramrod straight, his mismatching green and blue eyes fixed on some unseen point in the distance. He didn't even acknowledge her presence, adding to Malice's growing sense of unease.

A brunette young woman looked over at Malice, her eyes filled with weariness. "Another one?" she sighed. "I can't stop killing, can I?"

Malice's confusion deepened. What was this place? Who were these people, and why were they all inhabiting this man's mind? Although she had possessed countless individuals over the years, she had never encountered anything like this.

Before she could voice her questions, a white-haired man stepped into view. He looked down at Malice, his eyes sharp and assessing. "No," he said, "This one is different," his voice carried an authority that made even her spectral form want to shrink back. "But she seems strong." The white-haired man extended a hand toward Malice while offering a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Join me, dear," he said. "Together, we can make something of ourselves."

Sabertooth roared, "No. I can touch her. I've been waiting so long. Let me have her first!"

Alarm bells rang in Malice's mind. This was wrong. All wrong. She had never felt so out of her depth, so vulnerable. With a supreme effort of will, she closed her eyes and concentrated, forcing her essence back into its ethereal form.

As she felt herself slipping away from this bizarre mental landscape, she knew with certainty that she had narrowly escaped... something. What exactly, she couldn't say, but the relief she felt as she left his body was palpable.

Back in the psychic darkness that had engulfed the battlefield, Malice retreated. Her usual confidence was shaken, replaced by a wariness she hadn't felt in years. Whatever that man was, he was far more dangerous than she had initially assumed.

Driven by an instinct for self-preservation, Malice searched deeper into the Morlock Grotto. She needed a host, needed to regain her bearings and process what had just happened. As she drifted through the tunnels, she came upon an area where a white-haired woman was held captive. A group of mutants was gathered in the room. These ones weren't disheveled or disfigured like the others.

That's when she saw her. A beautiful woman with vibrant black-green hair. Malice approached cautiously, probing with her spectral senses. Most of the group wore the same helmets as the man, the helmets that blocked her power, except this woman. She sat on a bed of rags as if recently recovered or woken from a nap. But she radiated power, similar to the man she'd just left behind, the man who had so thoroughly unsettled her. But unlike him, this one's mind felt... right. Welcoming, even. She held her helmet at her side, turning it as if about to replace it upon her head.

Malice didn't think twice. She dove in. The transition was smooth and familiar, nothing like the disorienting experience she had just endured. In moments, she had taken control, assimilating the woman's memories and experiences.

Lorna Dane.

That was her name. A mutant with the power to control magnetism, injured in a previous confrontation with Tyson. The very man whose mind had so thoroughly rejected her invasion. This group, The Brotherhood, was led by her father, Magneto, who had the same powers as her. The pieces quickly fell into place for Malice, Tyson had killed Magneto, somehow the mutant was still within his mind.

As she settled into Lorna's consciousness, she quickly put the unsettling man to the back of her mind. Her concerns were replaced with a surge of excitement. Malice felt an inexplicable sensation that Lorna was the perfect host as if they had a connection that was deeper than any of her previous possessions.

Lorna's memories provided a wealth of information about the current situation. The Brotherhood had kidnapped the white-haired woman and brought her to the Morlocks so that one of their members could infiltrate Tyson's group. However, their attack had gone awry. The injured, including Lorna, had been brought back here to the Morlocks to be seen by their healer. Some had been teleported away, but the rest lingered, discussing their next move.

Whatever Tyson was, whatever strange collection of personalities inhabited his mind, he represented a threat like none she had ever encountered before.

Malice, inhabiting Lorna Dane's body, pushed herself up from the ground, placed the helmet on her head, and joined the Brotherhood's conversation.

Wanda's eyes blazed with fury as she addressed the remnants of the Brotherhood. Her voice trembled with barely contained rage. "Get the others," she demanded. "Take us to the House of M. We'll attack him there, just like we intended."

Vanisher raised his hands placatingly. "Wanda, listen. Marko won't come. Mirage got in his head. Just like he was about to get into mine." He paused, swallowing hard before delivering the crushing blow. "Magneto is dead."

The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Anguish washed over Wanda's features. "He killed our father!" she exclaimed, her voice rising to a near-shriek. "We can't let him get away with this!"

Pietro moved closer to his sister, his usual cockiness replaced by a somber demeanor. He wrapped her in a hug. "We won't," he assured her, his voice steady. "But see reason, Wanda. If we couldn't beat him in the open, what chance do we have with less of us and fighting in his home where he's prepared?"

Wanda's gaze darted around the room, searching for support, for someone to validate her desire for immediate retribution. Her eyes landed on Lorna, and her voice softened, tinged with a desperate plea. "He killed our dad."

Malice, inhabiting Lorna's body, saw an opportunity. She stepped forward, joining Pietro in wrapping Wanda in a comforting embrace. "I know," she murmured, her voice perfectly imitating Lorna's sympathetic tone. "But it won't matter if we die trying to fight him."

Pulling back slightly, Malice ensured Wanda could see Lorna's face, pasting on a mask of concern. "We need to get out of here," she urged. "He's going to come for her." She gestured towards the captive white-haired woman. "We need to take time to prepare. He's even stronger now. We can't let him find us here."

Pietro nodded in agreement, relief evident on his face as he saw his sister's resolve begin to waver. "She's right," he added, his voice gentle but insistent.

Vanisher chimed in. "We need to go," he said, his eyes darting nervously towards the tunnel entrances.

Wanda stood silent for a long moment, her internal struggle visible on her face. The desire for vengeance warred with the instinct for survival. Finally, she let out a long, shuddering breath. "Fine," she conceded. Then she turned to Vanisher and commanded, "Take us back to Sokovia."

As the Brotherhood gathered around Vanisher, Malice, still in Lorna's body, allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. She had successfully manipulated the situation, ensuring her own survival and positioning herself within this group of powerful mutants. The encounter with Tyson had shaken her, but now she had a new purpose, a new direction, and a new, perfect host.

Vanisher activated his power. In a flash of light and a rush of displaced air, the Brotherhood vanished from the Morlock tunnels, leaving behind the captive. As the teleportation effect faded, they found themselves back in their safe house in Sokovia. Wanda immediately broke away from the group, pacing the room with frenetic energy. Her hands glowed with barely contained chaos magic, reflecting her tumultuous emotional state.

Pietro watched his sister with concern. "We need a plan," he said. "We can't just rush back without preparation."

Malice placed a comforting hand on Wanda's shoulder as she passed, stopping her pacing. "Pietro's right," she said, "We need to regroup, assess our strengths, and find a way to counter Tyson."

Wanda looked at her, conflict evident in her eyes. The desire for vengeance still burned bright, but their situation was beginning to sink in. She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline of the moment began to fade.

The Brotherhood had been decimated, its leader killed, and its grand plan thwarted. The reality of their situation was beginning to set in, and with it came a creeping sense of despair. Malice, sensing the shift in mood, knew this was her opportunity to step up and take control. "We will rebuild," she declared. "We'll find new allies if we must. Tyson may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. But for now, we need to move. If he has our father's memories, he'll know about this place."

— Rogue Redemption —

The darkness Tyson had conjured drew the battle to an abrupt halt. It brought a sudden silence, where he could hear the distant sounds of Sabretooth and Logan's ongoing brawl. He reached out, feeling for the metal scattered throughout the chamber. Pieces of debris, abandoned weapons, and the metallic ball that hovered just behind him. Tyson focused on the most vulnerable targets first; the injured Morlocks caught in the crossfire. With careful precision, he formed the metal into makeshift platforms. He lifted the helpless mutants, guiding them through the darkness to relative safety behind his position. The strain of maintaining both the illusion and such delicate magnetic control was more mentally taxing than he expected. It seemed he'd need to practice using the powers in concert because even this simple use of his illusions while trying to manipulate multiple objects was pushing his concentration to its limit.

Just as he thought he had the situation well in hand, a new assault hit. Waves of dizziness and nausea washed over him, threatening to break his concentration. Tyson gritted his teeth, recognizing Vertigo's power at work. The green-haired mutant must be broadcasting her disorienting ability indiscriminately.

He locked up briefly. How did he know the woman's name was Vertigo? Suddenly, he realized he knew all the attackers, the Marauders, when he hadn't just a minute earlier.

"Jess, stop her!" Tyson called out, his voice strained, "Knock out the woman with green hair."

He knew Jessica would be unaffected by both his darkness and Vertigo's assault, thanks to the psionic-blocking helmet he tossed to her. She was their best chance at neutralizing this new threat.

The effort of maintaining his illusion while fighting off Vertigo's power was taking its toll. Tyson's control over his magnetic platforms wavered, and he was forced to set them down, not wanting to risk dropping anyone. His focus narrowed to a singular point. He needed to maintain the illusionary darkness, denying their enemies their sight and ability to fight.

Seconds as Tyson held on, every heartbeat a battle against the urge to let the illusion drop. He could hear the sounds of combat nearby, but he couldn't risk using his powers offensively. Dizzy as he was, one misplaced magnetic projectile could hit anyone instead of an enemy.

Finally, mercifully, the assault on his senses ceased. Vertigo's power winked out, leaving only a hint of dizziness.

Jessica had come through.

Tyson carefully assessed the situation through his magnetic senses. The Marauders seemed to be in disarray, many of them holding positions or trying to hide behind whatever they could find in the darkness. The rescued mutants huddled in groups, their fear palpable even without visual confirmation.

Despite the lingering effects of Vertigo's assault, Tyson pushed through, maintaining concentration on the illusionary darkness. He guided the remaining platforms, each bearing injured or frightened mutants, towards the relative safety behind his position. The strain was immense, but he refused to falter. Each life saved was a small victory.

As the last of the vulnerable mutants were secured, Tyson turned his attention to the Marauders. The massive form of Blockbuster remained immobilized, Tyson's earlier maneuver having effectively neutralized the brute. Vertigo lay unconscious, Jessica having removed that particular threat from the equation. She hadn't stopped with Vertigo and was already moving to engage the military-esque assailant, Scalphunter. He trusted her to handle that threat, focusing instead on the more immediate dangers. Though he could not see into the whirling cyclone of shrapnel, he knew that at its heart, the maelstrom of shards was controlled by the Marauder, Riptide.

He called upon his power, drawing filaments of metal debris to him from across the Grotto's floor. With a thought, he launched the makeshift spikes into Riptide's vortex. The Marauder's winds, powerful as they were, could not deflect the unrelenting salvo. His control was reduced as his focus split to maintain the illusion so it would not be a gentle takedown.

Amidst the roaring winds came a cry of pain. Seizing the opportunity, Tyson focused his will upon the shards now embedded in Riptide's flesh. In an instant, the metal unfurled, wrapping around the Marauder's body and grinding his deadly tempest to a halt.

His attention shifted to the crystalline form of Prism, deeming him the next greatest threat. The mutant's ability to absorb and redirect energy attacks made him a wildcard. He encased the crystalline mutant in a cocoon of metal, effectively neutralizing him. At the same time, Jessica reached Scalphunter. The Marauder, blind in the darkness and under assault from Spider-Woman, stood little chance. He went down within moments.

As the last of the Marauders fell, save for Sabretooth, who was still locked in combat with Logan, Tyson allowed himself a moment of relief. The immediate threats were neutralized. With a deep breath, he finally released his hold on the illusionary darkness. The strain that had been building behind his eyes eased.

As vision returned to everyone in the Grotto, Tyson took in the scene before him. The chamber bore the scars of intense battle; gouges in the walls, scattered debris, and the fallen forms of mutants.

Jessica stood near the center of the room, her costume torn in places but her stance still ready for action. Gambit leaned against a nearby wall with his bo staff extended as he caught his breath. The Cajun's smirk was in place, but Tyson could see the weariness in his eyes.

The sounds of Logan and Sabretooth's ongoing brawl echoed through the chamber, a reminder that at least one threat remained active. Tyson considered intervening, but the rivalry between those two ran deep, and with his adamantium claws, Tyson guessed Logan had the advantage.

Instead, Tyson turned his attention to the rescued mutants huddled behind him. Many wore expressions of fear and confusion, while others showed signs of injury or exhaustion. A pang of sympathy shot through him. These people had already suffered so much, and now they had been caught in the crossfire of yet another conflict.

One by one, he lifted the unconscious mutants onto his metal platforms, guiding them to him and hastily establishing a recovery area.

Jessica reached his side. Her costume was torn and smudged with the grime of battle. In her hands, she held the psionic-blocking helmet that had proven so crucial in their fight against the Marauders.

"Here," she said, offering the helmet to Tyson. "Thought you might want this back."

Tyson managed a tired smile as he accepted it. "Thanks, Jess. You really came through back there."

His eyes scanned the chamber, settling on a mutant who seemed relatively unharmed. Splitting his focus, Tyson addressed the mutant while continuing to manipulate the magnetic fields around them.

"You. Do you know where the white-haired woman is? The one brought here by the man wearing this helmet?" he asked, gesturing to his head. The mutant nodded. "Good," Tyson continued. "Can you lead Spider-Woman to her? Jess, can you free Felicia? Please? I'm sorry, but there's so much for me to do here."

The pleading in Tyson's voice tugged at her heart. "No problem," she assured him. "I'll get her. You do what you can to help here."

With that, the mutant took off deeper into the Grotto. Jessica followed close on his heels, leaving Tyson to his task of triage and rescue.

She followed her guide through the winding tunnels of the Grotto for a few minutes until they entered a small side room. Felicia Hardy sat slumped against the rough stone, her wrists bound by heavy cuffs fixed firmly to the wall.

Despite her predicament, she smiled as Jessica entered. "My hero!" Felicia called out, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Spider-Woman? Not the hero I was expecting, but I'll take what I can get."

Jessica rushed forward, relief flooding through her at the sight of Felicia alive and relatively unharmed. Without thinking, she wrapped the bound woman in a tight embrace.

"It's good to see you, Felicia," Jessica murmured.

As she pulled back, Felicia raised an eyebrow, her smile taking on a more intrigued quality. "Not that I'm not appreciative," she purred, "but aren't you being a bit familiar, Spider-Woman?"

A blush crept up Jessica's cheeks. "Sorry," she stammered, suddenly flustered. "I'm here with Tyson."

Felicia's eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked Jessica up and down. "I don't mind at all," she said.

Jessica's blush deepened, and she busied herself with examining Felicia's restraints, trying to regain her composure. The cuffs were solid and hadn't offered any opportunity for Felicia to use her skills to escape.

"Let's get you out of these," Jessica said, her voice more businesslike as she focused on the task at hand. The easy banter and the flirtatious undertones all perfectly matched the memories of seeing Felicia at Midtown High, which she'd inherited from Peter. But like Gwen, Felicia didn't know her.

"Tyson's been worried sick about you," Jessica said as she manipulated the cuffs. "We all have."

Felicia's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through her mask. "I knew he'd come," she said softly. "He always does."

With a final twist, the cuffs sprang open. Felicia rubbed her wrists, wincing as circulation returned. "My knight in shining armor," she quipped, but there was real gratitude in her eyes as she looked at Jessica.

Felicia's expression turned grim. "The Brotherhood," she explained. "They kept me here. A while ago, I overheard them. They retreated back here when they started to get hurt during the fight with Tyson. They left right before you arrived, figuring he was coming this way and didn't want to face him again..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "The Morlocks have a healer. He was out in the direction of the fighting, though."

Jessica said, "We should get back to Tyson. Can you walk?"

"Lead the way, Spider-Woman. I'm more than ready to blow this joint."

As they prepared to leave, Felicia paused. She fixed Jessica with a look of genuine warmth. "Thank you," she said simply. "For coming. For caring."

Jessica felt a flutter in her chest. Peter had always had a crush on Felicia, though he'd hardly ever spoken with her. "Of course," she replied.

Together, they made their way back through the winding tunnels of the Grotto, towards where Tyson was no doubt still working. As they walked, Jessica was comfortable with Felicia's presence and how they fell into step with each other.

— Rogue Redemption —

The coppery smell of blood hung heavy in the air as Tyson continued his grim work. His hands moved precisely, using his magnetism power to guide thin metal sheets to staunch wounds and fashioning sutures from metallic threads. It was far from ideal medical care, but in the aftermath of the battle, deep under the city, it was the best he could offer.

He focused intently on sealing a particularly nasty gash across a young mutant's abdomen. The girl whimpered, her eyes wide with fear and pain.

"Shh, it's okay," Tyson murmured. "You're gonna be just fine."

He willed the metal to bend and weave, creating a patchwork of silvery lines across her skin. The girl gasped, then relaxed as the bleeding stopped.

Tyson stilled as arms wrapped around him from behind him. He'd caught the scent as she neared; vanilla and jasmine with a hint of leather and cedarwood.

"Felicia," he breathed, turning to ensure she was alright.

She stood there, her white hair matted with grime, and her clothes were torn. But her eyes, those piercing green eyes, were as vibrant as ever. "Hey there, handsome," Felicia said, smiling weakly. "Miss me?"

Tyson wrapped her in a tight embrace. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, and her scent filled his senses.

"You're doing great, Ty," she encouraged. "These people owe you their lives."

Tyson shook his head. "It's not enough. There's still so many..." He trailed off. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

Felicia shook her head. "Nothing I couldn't handle." Her arms tightened around him. "It'll take more than that to keep this cat down. But these people..." She gestured to the injured Morlocks around them. "They need you more than I do right now."

Reality came crashing back. The groans of pain, the metallic tang of blood, and the urgent calls for help all flooded Tyson's senses once more.

He reluctantly stepped back from Felicia. "You're right. I need to…"

A pained cry cut through the air. Tyson's head snapped towards the sound.

"Go," she said, giving him a gentle push.

He knelt beside a young mutant boy, his scaled skin marred by deep gashes. As Tyson began to work, using his powers to create metal sutures, he felt Felicia's presence beside him while moving to the next victim, an older man with a mangled leg. As he worked, he felt a second presence behind him. He turned to see Gambit, the Cajun's red eyes glowing in the darkness.

"You got some tricks up your sleeve, mon ami," Gambit said.

Tyson didn't look up from his work. "Yeah, well, when life gives you powers, you do what you can do with them." As he finished, he glanced around to see who needed him next. Bodies lay everywhere, some moaning in pain, others eerily still. "Too many," he growled. "We need real medical help down here."

Jessica said, "I don't think there is a good chance of that happening anytime soon. We're on our own."

Felicia interrupted, "Wait, where's the Healer?"

Tyson finished with the man's leg and stood. He mumbled, "What healer?" He surveyed the makeshift triage area they'd set up. They'd saved many, but so many more needed care that he couldn't give, and there were others who were beyond help. But taking a minute to look around, Tyson noticed that the most grievously wounded were being brought to a single individual, a man with a thick beard and a bandage wrapped haphazardly around his head. When he approached, Tyson was in awe of what he witnessed. The bearded man held his hand over an injured mutant, and the wounds began to close before Tyson's eyes. Flesh knit together, bones realigned, and in moments, the previously critical patient stood and walked away.

But the cost was immediately apparent. As the healed mutant departed, the bearded man doubled over, coughing up a spray of blood that spattered the floor of the Grotto.

Tyson moved closer, his enhanced senses picking up on details he initially missed. The Healer's leg bore a deep gash, blood oozing steadily from the wound. There was a slash across his abdomen, where his other hand desperately held back a spill of intestines. While the abdominal wound was gruesome, the pool of blood from his thigh wound was more troubling. It was too large; unless he got a transfusion, Tyson was sure he'd die.

"You can't heal yourself?" Tyson asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

The man shook his head weakly, his face pale and drawn with pain. Despite his condition, he smiled. "Thank you for helping us," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if you're Magneto or the Mirage from the surface, but I appreciate you."

Before Tyson could respond, the man's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. His hand, which had been holding back the tide of his own innards, fell limply to his side. The sight of intestines spilling onto the floor sent a shock through Tyson's system.

"No…" Tyson muttered, dropping to his knees beside the fallen Healer. They needed him. His mind raced, trying to recall every scrap of medical knowledge he'd ever learned. It wasn't much, but Sabertooth had survived several wars, and even though he wasn't a medic, he'd seen enough at work.

He had to try.

With careful concentration, Tyson lifted the spilled intestines, guiding them back into the abdominal cavity as gently as he could manage.

Once the intestines were back in place, Tyson formed a thin sheet of metal, molding it to cover the abdominal wound. It wasn't sterile, and infection was a very real concern, but it would at least keep everything in place for now.

Next, he turned his attention to the leg wound. Another band of metal constricted firmly above the gash to stem the blood flow. Tyson could feel the Healer's pulse through the metal, weak but still there, barely, and growing weaker with each beat.

"I need help over here!" Tyson called out urgently. "Is there anyone else who can heal?"

The surrounding Morlocks shook their head. Tyson sat back on his heels. He'd manipulated metal countless times in combat but never used his powers for something so delicate, so vital as trying to save people's lives.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

That was Magneto, not him.

A hand on his arm startled him from his reverie. Tyson looked up to see one of the Morlocks, an elderly woman with kind eyes.

"You tried," she said softly. "Our Healer. Without him, so many more will die today." Tyson shook his head, feeling the weight of his own inadequacy. "You have given us hope. Shown us that there are still those on the surface who care about our fate."

Her words hit Tyson like a physical blow. He had come to the Grotto to rescue Felicia, to stop the Marauders. But in doing so, he had stumbled into something much larger, much more complex. The Morlocks were forgotten and persecuted, living in the shadows beneath the city he called home.

There were mutants exiled to the sewers in his city, and he hadn't even realized.

Prejudices forced them to live in hiding and without basic necessities. Tyson's fists clenched at his sides. He couldn't walk away from this, couldn't pretend he hadn't seen the suffering of these people.

Something had to change.

"What's your name?" he asked the elderly woman.

"Annalee," she replied. "They killed my daughter. She was a healer too, and she could've helped."

Tyson's eyes took on a faraway look as he knelt beside the unconscious Healer. While his gaze was unfocused, his eyes remained fixed on the pale, drawn face of the man who had sacrificed his life to save others. The Healer's chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin was ashen and clammy; all the signs spoke of his failing body. Tyson knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in his stomach, that the man wouldn't survive.

Jessica and Felicia flanked Tyson as if to shield him from the harsh reality of the situation.

"You've done all you can for him," Jessica said softly, her hand resting on Tyson's shoulder. "There are others who need your help, who still have a chance."

Felicia's voice joined hers, gentle but insistent. "She's right. You can't save everyone. But there are lives you can still save if you act now."

He winced at Felicia's words, but his gaze never left the Healer's face. She was right. There were others he could save if he acted now. The weight of the decision before him pressed down, threatening to crush his resolve.

"I killed Magneto," Tyson said suddenly. "I absorbed him. He's in here." He tapped his temple. "Even he hates what happened here," Tyson continued, his voice taking on a distant quality. "As bad as he was... he would've been sickened to see so many mutants killed. By other mutants, no less."

"I think he's having a nervous breakdown," Jessica murmured to Felicia.

Felicia leaned in, her hand gently squeezing Tyson's arm. "If he doesn't snap out of it, more will die," she said.

"I don't think you just snap out of it," Jessica replied, sounding concerned.

Tyson's gaze finally lifted, meeting Jessica and Felicia's worried eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

Felicia stroked Tyson's arm through his sleeve. "It's okay," she soothed. "You did so well. We did more than anyone could have asked."

A single tear streaked down Tyson's cheek. "Fuck," he whispered, "This is all so fucked." He took several deep breaths, steeling himself for what was to come.

"I wish I had something better to say," Tyson began, his voice filled with resignation. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one. And I think you understood that because you healed until your last moment."

"Was that from Star Trek?" Jessica mumbled.

Tyson continued, heedless of her observation. "I don't know you, but I will. You won't be forgotten, and I promise to honor your memory."

With those final words, Tyson placed his hands on the Healer. The Healer's body jerked, his back arching as Tyson's absorption power began to siphon away his life force.

Felicia gasped as the full weight of Tyson's behavior crashed down upon her, finally making sense. He hadn't been having a nervous breakdown. He had been trying to convince himself of the necessity of what he was going to do.

"Fuck," Felicia breathed. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Tyson. That's not what I meant. Are you sure you want to do this?" Tyson didn't answer, but he didn't let go either. She suddenly became acutely aware of the potential consequences of a hero witnessing what amounted to murder. She stepped between Tyson and Jessica.

"Look, Spider-Woman," she said, "this is mutant and House of M business."

But Jessica interrupted her. "I'm with you." Felicia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. But Jessica pressed on. Her words came tumbling out in a rush. "He's all I have. I came here to help him, to help you. And I was ready to fight Magneto with him. He offered me a place at House of M. I'm staying. I'm with you."

And she meant it. Earlier that morning, Jessica had felt accepted for the first time. Jubilee, Jean, and Tyson had assured her that they'd help her and that she had a place with them. She had found people who understood her, and she wouldn't have to face life alone. But now Jubilee was dead, and Jean hadn't come back after the Battle in Times Square.

Tyson was all she had.

Felicia felt the honest conviction in her words. The tension drained from her posture, replaced by a weary sort of relief. "Good," she said softly. "Because he's going to need us soon."

By the time they finished speaking, it was over.

Tyson released his hold on the Healer, his head bowed low, shoulders slumped with the weight of what he had done.

Five seconds.

That was all it had taken.

Five seconds of his touch for a life to end, for a soul to be absorbed, for the burden of another's existence to be added to the weight Tyson already carried.

He remained kneeling, his body slightly trembling as he processed the rush of memories, power, and life force that now coursed through him.

Felicia was the first to move, kneeling beside Tyson and wrapping her arms around him. She said nothing. There were no words that could ease this kind of pain. Instead, she simply held him, offering what comfort she could through her presence.

Jessica didn't move at first. She struggled to reconcile what she had just witnessed with her understanding of heroism and morality. But as she watched Tyson's shoulders begin to shake with silent sobs, her hesitation melted away. She joined Felicia, enveloping him from the other side, creating a protective cocoon around him.

They remained like that for several long moments. But the needs of the many could not be ignored for long.

"Tyson," Felicia said gently. "I know it hurts. I know it's unfair. But there are others who need you now. Others you can save."

Tyson's head lifted slowly, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "You're right," he said. "I can't waste his sacrifice."

As Tyson rose to his feet, a change came over him. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowed into slits, and he gained a focus that had been absent before. Without another word, he moved to the nearest wounded mutant. His hands, which had moments ago brought death, now glowed with the promise of healing. As he held them above the injured Morlock, wounds began to close, bones knit, and vitality returned.

Jessica and Felicia watched as he moved from one patient to the next. The sounds that filled the Grotto, the moans of the injured and dying, were slowly replaced with gasps of relief and murmured thanks. As the critically injured received Tyson's healing energy, the women remained by his side, supporting him. He healed the Angel, he healed Gambit's wounded side, and so many other Morlocks he lost count.

"That's enough," Felicia said as she placed a gentle hand on Tyson's arm. "You've done more than anyone could have asked. You did what you had to do, Tyson. Look around you. All these people are alive because of your choice."

Tyson's gaze remained fixed on the spot where the Healer had lain. Someone had moved the man's body; now, there was just an empty space marked by a small pool of blood. "I killed him," he whispered. "I took his life, his power... everything he was. And he hadn't done anything to me. He hadn't attacked me, wasn't aggressive. He spent his life healing the downtrodden."

Jessica's eyes were filled with sympathy. "You saved lives, Tyson. Dozens of them. That has to count for something."

"Does it?" Tyson asked. "Where's the line, Jess? How many lives saved justify taking an innocent one?" He stared down at his hands. The anguish in his voice was almost palpable. "I'm a monster."

Felicia's grip on his arm tightened slightly. She knew where his line of thinking was going. Her voice sharpened as she said, "It's not about justification. It was an impossible situation, and you did the best you could. No one else in this would could have saved these people. But you did."

Jessica nodded in agreement. "You're not a monster, Tyson. A monster wouldn't be tearing himself apart over this decision. A monster wouldn't have used that power immediately to help others."

"I can feel him," he admitted. "His memories, his feelings... they're all part of me now. He was scared at the end. He knew what was happening." Tyson looked between them, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "How can you stand by me after what I've done? I'm a killer. No different from the Marauders we came here to stop."

"Bullshit," Felicia snapped, her voice sharp enough to make Tyson flinch. "The Marauders came here to slaughter innocents. You made an impossible choice to save lives. There's a world of difference."

Jessica's tone was gentler but no less firm. "Intent matters, Tyson. Your intent was to help, to save as many as you could. That doesn't erase what happened, but it does mean something."

Tyson closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know how to live with this," he admitted. "How to reconcile what I've done with who I thought I was. With who's inside me and who I am. It was a year. A whole fucking year that I lived without killing anyone with this damned power. And now twice in one day."

Jessica's hand moved to cup Tyson's cheek. "You live with it by remembering why you did it," she said softly. "By honoring the lives you saved and the sacrifice you made."

Felicia added, "I can see the toll this is taking on you. I can see it in your eyes. They're so different. When we get home, we'll take care of you. We'll get through this."

Tyson looked between them, his eyes searching their faces for any sign of doubt or revulsion. Finding none, he let out a shaky breath. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.

"Tough," Felicia said, her usual sass creeping into her voice. "You're stuck with us."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Tyson's face, there and gone in an instant. But it was enough to show that beneath the weight of his actions, the man they knew was still there.

"What now?" Jessica asked.

The immediate crisis had passed, but the aftermath of the Marauders' attack was still evident in the haunted eyes of the survivors.

Tyson straightened, his posture shifting as he seemed to draw strength from some internal well. More than that, his tone shifted completely, like he was a different person.

"Now," he said, "we care for our people."

Felicia's eyes narrowed for an instant before she nodded approvingly.

Tyson found the old woman from earlier. "Annalee, I want you to know that this isn't the end. I'm going to do everything in my power to help your people. To make sure something like this never happens again."

Annalee's eyes widened, a flicker of hope battling with ingrained skepticism. "You would do that? For us?"

Tyson raised his voice, cutting through the murmurs of the gathered Morlocks.

"My name is Mag… Mirage," he began. The slip didn't go unnoticed by Felicia and Jessica, who exchanged worried glances. "I've come here today not just as a fellow mutant but as someone who wants to make a real difference in your lives."

Tyson's eyes swept over them, taking in the faces marked by hardship and suspicion. He saw the scars of a life lived in shadows, the weariness of constant struggle. "You've been forced to hide away underground, treated like outcasts," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "That ends today. I'm going to help all of you. You won't need to live in fear anymore." A murmur ran through the gathered mutants. Some looked hopeful, others doubtful. He pressed on, his conviction growing with each word. "I'm going to welcome you all and create a place for you in the world above. A place where you can live openly, proudly." His gaze intensified, sweeping across the crowd. "And I swear to you, I will keep you safe."

With a soft 'snikt,' Tyson released his adamantium talons. The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the Grotto, all eyes fixed on the gleaming blades extending from his hand. He drew the razor-sharp edge across his palm.

Blood welled up immediately, bright crimson against his skin. Tyson held his hand out, allowing the blood to drip onto the floor of the Grotto.

"Today, I bleed with the Morlocks," he declared, his voice ringing with an authority that surprised even him. The words felt heavy on his tongue, charged with a power he didn't fully understand. "From this day forward, I swear to protect you as my own. Your struggles are my struggles. Your triumphs, my triumphs."

A strange energy pulsed through the Grotto as the last drop of blood fell. It was a subtle shift in the air, a collective intake of breath, but undeniable. He felt it resonate within him.

For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, from the back of the crowd, a voice called out. "Pretty words, surface dweller. But how can we trust you? How do we know this isn't just another empty promise?"

Tyson's eyes found the speaker, a mutant with scales instead of skin. "You're right to be skeptical. I can't erase what happened in the past. Nor can I erase what just happened here today. But I can offer you a future. A chance for something better." He gestured to the carnage around them. "This. This can never happen again. And it won't, not while I draw breath. This isn't a promise. It's a vow, sealed in blood and witnessed by all of you."

Felicia stepped forward, her presence providing steady support at Tyson's side. "He means it. I've seen what Mirage can do and the resources he commands. If he says he's going to help you, you can bet your life on it."

A ripple of hope seemed to pass through the crowd. Tyson could see it in their eyes. A cautious optimism, a willingness to believe that maybe things could be different.

"So what say you, Morlocks?" Tyson asked, his voice softer now but no less intense. "Will you give me, give us, a chance to make good on this promise? To build a future where you no longer have to hide who you are?"

Slowly, at first, but with growing momentum, nods and murmurs of assent began to spread through the gathered mutants.