Cuba, October 1962.
The Caribbean waters shimmered under a burning sun, but the tension in the air was ice cold.
U.S. Navy destroyers floated like sleeping titans on one side of the maritime border. On the other, the Soviet fleet, equally armed and ready, stood in grim formation. Between them, an eerie silence—no gunfire, no shouting, just the distant hum of radar and the weight of potential annihilation.
Every eye on both sides was watching a single Russian merchant vessel, slowly cutting through the waves toward the red line—the point of no return.
Above, the Blackbird thundered into view, breaking through the clouds like a ghost from a higher world.
Hank, in his new beastly form, hunched over the radar console. "The Russian merchant ship is five hundred meters from the exclusion line. Once it crosses, it's game over."
Charles closed his eyes, letting his telepathy sweep across the sea like a tide.
In a second, he gasped. "They're all dead… Everyone on that ship is dead."
"What?" Moira turned sharply.
"It's Azazel," Charles growled. "He's steering it. Alone."
Without hesitation, Charles reached for the Russian fleet—not to destroy, but to manipulate.
He touched the mind of a Russian officer—one filled with tension and fear—and sent a single command.
> Fire.
From the Russian warship, a missile launched—an ear-splitting roar filled the air as it streaked toward the merchant vessel.
BOOOOM!
The ocean lit up in a wall of flame and steel as the merchant ship exploded, sending wreckage into the air.
"Did we just stopped World War Three?" Alex muttered.
Darwin nodded in grim approval. "Ballsy move, man."
Emma's eyes narrowed as she used telepathy.
"Azazel survived," she said coldly. "Slippery bastard."
Below, chaos unfolded. On the Russian ship, the mind-controlled officer was tackled and subdued by his own men, who shouted in confusion and panic.
Across the sea, American warships went on full alert, bristling with weapon systems.
But the missile had struck their enemy—and now both fleets held fire, stunned and waiting.
The Blackbird circled overhead, engines steady.
Charles exhaled. "They're not firing… they think the Russians did it deliberately. We bought some time."
Sean whooped. "Holy crap! That worked?"
Moira smiled. "You tell me."
Hank grinned. "Plan A just bought us a Plan B."
Emma Frost, seated calmly with legs crossed, smirked. "Now that the opening act is over… Shaw is beneath us. He's hiding. I told you—he's in a nuclear-powered submarine somewhere under us."
Everyone turned serious again.
Logan narrowed his eyes. "Then we fish him out."
"We don't have sonar," Hank muttered. "We can't find it."
Sean raised his hand, "You don't need sonar. You've got me."
Everyone blinked.
Charles nodded immediately. "Open the hatch. Now."
"What?" Hank asked.
Moments later...
The hatch opened.
The ocean wind slammed against them as the Blackbird hovered just above the surface.
Sean stood at the edge, flight gear on—his suit enhanced with retractable wing flaps built by Hank.
Charles and Erik stood behind him.
"You ready?" Charles asked.
"Hell no," Sean grinned. "Let's go anyway."
He jumped.
Midair, he screamed—a sonic burst blasting from his lungs, lifting him higher.
He twisted his body, angling toward the sea, his flaps catching the air like a parachute.
As he skimmed the ocean surface, and suddenly dropped into the water.
Once inside, he let out another high-pitched sonic scream that bounced back in waves.
Back on the Blackbird, Charles locked onto the mental echo, confirming it.
"There! Got him! 3 clicks southeast—underwater, and it's moving."
"Erik," he said before turning. "It's time."
Erik stepped forward, his hand rising slowly. His fingers twitched as he closed his eyes.
The water began to ripple.
From beneath the surface, a shadow emerged—growing larger, darker, more monstrous.
The submarine.
It groaned, metal screeching, as it was dragged upward by Erik's will.
The ocean parted, geysers bursting as the massive vessel broke through the waves, hovering slightly above the water, suspended in magnetic power.
The U.S. Marines on deck lost it.
"Holy shit, is that flying?!"
"Is that a damn submarine?!"
"Who the hell's doing that?!"
The Russian sailors weren't faring much better, pointing, cursing in disbelief, even backing away in fear as the impossible unfolded in front of their eyes.
"Это невозможно…" ("This is impossible…")
The submarine settled with a massive splash, floating but utterly exposed.
Erik is breathing hard but steady.
Emma smirked. "Now that… was impressive."
Logan hadn't taken his eyes off her. "You're enjoying this too much."
She smiled coyly. "We all have our hobbies."
Alex looked at Hank. "You think Shaw's in there?"
"He's definitely in there," Logan muttered, "And this time, he's not walking away."
With the submarine now suspended above the ocean, Hank angled the Blackbird carefully toward the coast. His hands were steady, eyes fixed on the instrument panel, while Erik, standing with his arms raised, kept the massive nuclear vessel levitating through sheer magnetic force.
"Almost there," Hank muttered.
But then — a violent clank echoed from the submarine.
The upper hatch burst open, and Riptide emerged.
His expression was twisted with rage. With a scream, he raised his arms and twirled his body like a human cyclone, summoning howling vortexes of compressed wind.
"Hang on!" Hank shouted as the tornado raced toward them.
He yanked the controls to the side.
The Blackbird veered, avoiding the full blast — but not without consequence. The powerful wind tore through its stabilizers, sending the ship spiraling.
Both the submarine and Blackbird crashed down near the shoreline.
A violent shake. Sparks. Metal crunching. But somehow… no one was severely hurt.
Moira coughed, pulling herself out of a pile of rubble. "Everyone okay?!"
"Still alive," Alex muttered, limping to his feet.
Emma, in her diamond form, stepped out of the wreckage unscathed, her crystalline body glistening under the Cuban sun. Logan had instinctively thrown himself over Raven, taking the brunt of the impact on his back.
As he stood, blood ran down his forehead—but the wounds quickly sealed shut with sizzling steam.
"You alright?" he asked Raven, brushing sand off her shoulder.
Raven, still in her blue form, nodded. "Yeah."
He turned to Emma. "Get ready."
He stepped closer and whispered something in her ear. Her diamond brow rose, intrigued, but she gave the smallest of nods.
Across the beach, Riptide, Azazel, and Angel Salvadore stood with a sinister grin.
Behind them, Charles stepped forward, trying to regain control.
"We'll keep them distracted. Erik's going after Shaw. Emma, stay close."
Emma dropped her diamond form, resuming her human appearance. But Azazel didn't wait.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished—and reappeared behind Emma, his sharp tail and dagger, aiming to drive it through her back for her betrayal.
Snikt!
Before he could strike, Logan was already there.
His claw arm blurred through the air—and Azazel screamed in agony.
Blood sprayed across the sand as both of his tails and left hand were severed in a single, fluid motion. He teleported again instantly, vanishing from the strike zone, reappearing beside Riptide—clutching his bleeding arm, eyes wide with horror.
"Son of a—" he growled.
Riptide snarled, powering up his body to unleash another whirlwind. But before he could react—
But Emma's eyes narrowed—a flicker of telepathic energy surging toward him.
His body froze mid-motion.
Logan charged forward in a blur, he crossed the sand and raised his claws high.
Emma dropped the mind control at the last second.
Too late for Riptide to react.
Shhhkkk!
Riptide's head fell clean from his shoulders in one brutal strike.
The body crumpled to the ground.
For a moment—everything was still.
Shock rippled across the team.
Alex staggered back. "What the hell just happened?!"
Darwin's eyes were wide. "Did he just—kill him?!"
Angel screamed, flapping her wings and took flight before spitting acid in fury on Logan.
He sidestepped the shot effortlessly and, without hesitation, ripped out one of his own claws and threw it like a dagger.
It spun through the air, slicing across the top of Angel's wings with pinpoint precision.
She screamed in pain, spiraling downward. But Sean was already in motion, catching her mid-air.
They landed roughly as Darwin sprinted toward her. "Stop fighting," he said firmly, crouching beside her. "It's over."
Raven approached too, her eyes locked on the shredded wing. There was concern in her gaze—not vengeance. Her eyes darting to her mangled wing. "It's bad… you won't be flying again soon."
Meanwhile, Charles's voice rang out like thunder across the field. "What the hell are you thinking, Logan?!"
Logan turned slowly, blood still dripping from his claws.
"You just killed someone!" Charles said, storming toward him, face pale with disbelief.
Logan looked at Azazel, still trembling and bloodied but very much alive.
"He tried to kill Emma," Logan snapped. "He'd have done the same to any of us."
He flexed his hand and shnk—his missing claw regrew.
Then he added coldly, "Shaw dies today. Anyone who stands in the way… dies with him."
Charles moved towards him. "You crossed the line."
Logan stared at him coldly. "I didn't come here to play by your lines. I came here to survive."
Then he turned toward the shattered hull of the submarine.
The twisted metal still steamed. Logan dug his claws into the damaged outer shell, ripped it open, and climbed inside.
Erik, now recovering from his earlier disorientation, followed behind.
"He's not yours to kill," Erik growled. "Shaw is mine."
Back on the beach, tension remained thick in the air.
Charles turned to Emma, still shocked. "You helped him do it."
Emma arched her brow. "Saved your life. You're welcome."
Sean helped Angel sit up while Darwin offered her water.
Hank groaned from the Blackbird's wreckage but gave a thumbs up. "Still breathing…"
Suddenly—Azazel vanished again.
The Cuban shore had gone quiet.
But the real storm had just moved into the heart of the submarine.
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Author's Note:
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