"We did all that information gathering… just to show up late," Kai chuckled dryly, his voice tinged with both amusement and irritation as they blitzed across an empty street. The neon lights of the city centre were already behind them, fading into a blur in the rearview mirror.

Now, ahead of them, the distant coastline shimmered like a silver ribbon beneath the rising moonlight. Sven's hands gripped the wheel with ease, eyes sharp and focused as he pushed the sleek car to its absolute limit, engine roaring like a beast let off its leash.

They were moving like a bullet.

Isaac, slumped in the backseat, looked like he'd just run a marathon underwater. Sweat soaked through his shirt, his breathing shallow and uneven. His eyes were glazed over, barely able to keep up with the world streaking by outside.

He had phased them through obstacle after obstacle, streetlights, parked vehicles, even an entire damn building, and now he looked like he might pass out if someone so much as sneezed in his direction.

But no one had time to stop.

They had reached the outer edge of the city, and looming before them was a massive port - an industrial maze of metal and shadows. Giant shipping containers towered into the night sky, stacked like a precarious puzzle of red, blue, green, and rusted grey.

The car screeched to a halt.

No one waited.

Doors flew open, and they all leapt out, shoes slamming against the cracked concrete as they dashed forward. The salty tang of the sea filled the air, mingling with the scent of oil and rust.

Their original plan?

Stakeout. Surveillance. Watch from a safe vantage point while the Messiah met this elusive figure known only as the Scalpel, before deciding how best to act.

But all that had been thrown out the window the second they realised they only had twenty minutes to cross an entire city teeming with chaos and traffic just to get here.

And who were they kidding? It wasn't like they were going to stick to such a reserved plan.

Now?

Now they were running into the lion's den, blind and loud, hoping luck was on their side.

'Please don't let there be a mutant with sensory powers…' Kai thought grimly as they darted deeper into the port, but it seemed as though it wouldn't matter.

Their only hope was that whoever was meeting here hadn't accounted for uninvited guests with death wishes.

Isaac groaned behind them, stumbling over his own feet as he forced himself to keep up. "This is actual hell…" he muttered through gritted teeth, his legs screaming with each step.

'I should've just stayed back with Amina and that weird lizard guy,' he cursed internally, almost tripping over a loose pipe.

But there was no turning back now.

Ahead of him, Nadya held a pair of explosive spheres, glowing faintly in her palms. Her fingers danced along them like a pianist, the orbs thrumming with restrained energy.

Kai's crimson eyes glinted in the dark, a feral sharpness behind them. His lips curved ever so slightly, not quite a smile, but close.

Sven, meanwhile, looked utterly relaxed. Maybe even amused.

It was rare to see the man genuinely interested in anything that wasn't a woman or fun, but something about an impending fight had stirred something in him.

He cracked his knuckles as they moved, calm as ever.

Because even without confirmation, they all felt it.

The tension in the air. The sharp silence. The way the wind shifted like it knew something was coming.

It felt inevitable.

A fight was brewing, and they by no means planned on avoiding it. If anything, they were the spark...

-

Meanwhile, the meeting between the men who called themselves the Messiah and the Scalpel had already begun.

Kai couldn't help but find it ironic - how every mutant seemed to abandon their given names the moment they awakened. It was as if their old selves weren't worthy anymore. Birth names were too mundane, too human. Instead, they forged new identities with weight and presence. Titles.

He didn't mind his. Red Eyes. Bloodweaver. He'd heard them among others used to describe him, and to be fair… they fit. His appearance made him hard to miss, and his ability made him impossible to forget.

Still, some of these monikers were downright ridiculous.

And the two men meeting at the centre of this dark, industrial port? They were perfect examples.

Three cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, black hoods draped low over their heads. Each bore a golden cross emblem woven into their chests - a symbol that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. The one at the front walked with certainty, each step glowing faintly as he radiated a soft, golden light. It was subtle, but undeniable. Even the darkness bent around him like it knew who he was.

They approached a lone figure already waiting in the open.

No guards. No backup. Just one man standing between towers of rusted shipping containers, as if the possibility of betrayal or death didn't concern him in the slightest.

Whether he had full faith in his abilities, or was just too unhinged to care, it made for an intimidating display.

The lead figure noticed immediately, and his voice echoed smoothly, "You arrived alone, as requested. Quite admirable of you, Krane."

The man in the lab coat didn't flinch. His white coat flapped slightly in the salty breeze, and he looked more like a doctor on break than a mutant of any renown. Cold, emotionless eyes stared through his glasses, fixed on the approaching figure without so much as a twitch.

There was no fear in his posture. Just stillness.

'So that's the Scalpel?'

The man's expression didn't shift as the glowing one removed his hood, revealing a face that could've been carved from marble. Bright golden hair, piercing blue eyes, and a radiant smile - all enhanced by that unnerving light coming from his body.

He looked divine.

He looked like someone who wanted to be seen as divine.

But the man in the lab coat, the so-called Scalpel, stared at him with dead eyes and a face that didn't believe in gods.

'He bleeds just like the rest of them. I wonder what his blood tastes like…' The thought snaked through Krane's mind like a whisper, and for the briefest second, a twisted smile threatened to break across his face.

He fought the urge to reach for the scalpel tucked into his coat pocket, fingers twitching before he exhaled slowly and stepped forward instead.

The Messiah offered his hand, pristine and glowing, like it had never known filth or sin.

Krane took it.

"They call me the Scalpel," he said coolly, gripping the radiant hand with his own pale one. There was a clear undertone in his voice - don't call me Krane again.

"I've heard," the Messiah replied, smiling wider. "And why is it they call you that?"

His voice had a strange quality to it, like every syllable carried just a bit more weight than it should. Charisma seeped through his words, echoing faintly through the quiet port.

The Scalpel didn't smile. He didn't blink.

"You don't want to find out," he replied simply, pulling his hand back.

He glanced down at his palm that sizzled, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, it showed signs of damage. A deep, red burn now marked his skin, like he had grabbed a hot iron.

But he didn't wince. Didn't flinch.

The Messiah's touch had scorched him, but he didn't react.

The golden figure let out a grand, almost theatrical laugh. "You truly are among us - the chosen of God! Mutants blessed to guide humanity through its rebirth!"

The two robed figures behind him remained silent, unmoving shadows.

The Scalpel stood motionless as well. The radiant talk of faith and destiny washed over him like water off stone. He waited with the patience of someone who'd seen too many fools die by their own words.

Eventually, he spoke. "Are we going to get down to business?"

His voice was quiet, flat. But there was an edge to it now, like a scalpel dragging across skin, not yet cutting, but ready to.

The Messiah's grin didn't falter. But something in his eyes flickered.

Krane didn't miss it.

'He's more dangerous than I expected,' the Scalpel thought. 'But also crazier than I am. And that's saying something.'

Just as tension settled like fog between them, the calm shattered in a burst of light and chaos.

Boom!

A pair of brilliant orange explosions lit up the night sky, crackling like thunder as they flared high above the containers.

And descending from the sky, hands still glowing, wind whipping around her wild orange hair, came a powerful voice.

"Hello, fuckers!" Nadya called out.

She burst through the air with a wicked grin, her voice echoing like a grenade had learned to talk.

"We're here to crash this little meeting of yours - and blow everything up!"

Two glowing orbs were already in her hands, and without hesitation, she hurled them straight toward the group below.

The port, once silent and still, erupted into fire and chaos.

And the meet?

Well, it was officially over before it even properly began.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.