Chapter 12

Arc 1 - Ch 12: Aftermath

Date: Sunday, June 6, 2010.

Location: Xavier Institute, Scarsdale, New York

Monitoring equipment beeped and hummed as Tyson lay motionless in the bed, surrounded by an array of machinery. IV lines snaked under the thin sheets, steadily administering fluids and medications. The steady beep of the EKG provided a faintly reassuring cadence, indicating his heart still beat, albeit weakly.

Jubilee sat vigil by his bedside, her vivacious personality dampened by worry. She had shed her signature yellow jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. Her face was etched with concern, brown eyes fixed on Tyson's unconscious form, willing him to wake. Absentmindedly, she twisted one of her hoop earrings between her fingers as she spoke softly.

"Come on, Tyson," she pleaded, a quiver in her usually upbeat voice. "You've got to pull through this."

She reached out and gently clasped his hand in both of hers. She'd added a pair of matching yellow gloves to her outfit for this very purpose, hoping that her touch might stir him.

The room was filled with pensive silence, interrupted only by the rhythmic beeps of the monitors. Then, a faint flicker of movement. Tyson's fingers twitched ever so slightly. His eyelids fluttered, and a soft groan escaped his lips. Jubilee's breath caught in her throat as she watched his chest rise and fall more noticeably. Her breath caught in her throat as Tyson began to stir, the steady beeping of the monitors quickening ever so slightly. She leaned forward, hope and apprehension warring within her.

"Tyson?" she whispered, giving his hand another gentle squeeze.

His head turned toward her, recognition flickering in his amber eyes as they struggled to open. Tyson's strong brow furrowed as he awoke, accompanied by a grimace.

Jubilee smiled encouragingly despite the concern in her warm brown eyes. "Hey," she said, keeping her voice soft and soothing, "you gave us quite the scare, you know."

Though relief washed over her at the signs of his awakening, she could see the lingering disorientation and pain etched into the hard lines of his face.

Tyson's amber eyes were glazed and unfocused. He blinked slowly, taking in the medical recovery room. Recognition dawned on him as his gaze settled on Jubilee, who sat vigilantly by his bedside. Her eyes, usually so full of mischief, were now shimmering with relief, the tracks of tears visible on her cheeks.

"Jubilee?" he croaked, his voice rough. Panic flared in his chest as memories of the battle came rushing back; being bound helpless in Magneto's metallic grasp, the searing pain as the spikes pierced his flesh.

"Damn... he got you too? I hoped I'd distracted him enough that you and Jean would be safe."

Jubilee let out a laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief. She gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "No one got me, Tyson. We are safe. At the institute. You beat him."

Her words slowly sank in through the haze of fatigue that clouded his mind. "Didn't feel like I beat him," he muttered bitterly. In his memory, Magneto had seemed an unstoppable force.

"It doesn't always have to feel like a victory to be one," Jubilee said softly.

"Yeah, guess you're right," he admitted. Already he could feel some of his confidence returning.

Her eyes regained their familiar sparkle. "Always am," she quipped with a playful wink.

Despite the lingering aches in his body, Tyson huffed out a quiet laugh. Trust Jubilee to be able to lift his spirits. He tried to piece together the fragmented memories of the past few hours. Shifting in the infirmary bed, the crisp white sheets rustling, he turned his attention back to Jubilee.

"So," he said, trying to inject some humor into his voice, "what did I miss while I was out cold?"

"Oh, you know, just the usual around here. Epic superpower showdowns, dramatic rescues, primetime news drama. For us, it was a pretty typical weekend." Her tone then shifted, becoming more somber. "When you didn't show up for dinner, Illyana got worried. She went straight to the Professor, saying you two had some kind of telepathic link?"

"We don't have a link, not that I know of. I thought I had a decent resistance to telepathy, and Illyana's no telepath..." He trailed off, making a mental note to ask Illyana about it later.

Jubilee continued, "Well, your big fight with Magneto made the evening news! But they've got it all wrong. They think you're some demonic villain, especially after witnesses reported you attacking that blue shapeshifter lady. By the time the X-Men arrived on the scene, you and Magneto were both out cold."

Tyson's eyes widened as realization set in. "Wait, so everyone saw me like... that?" His mind raced, imagining what chaos his demonic form must have caused.

"Yeah. People are freaking out, claiming it's a sign of the end times or something. Magneto's in jail, but there are already activists rallying to free him." She swallowed hard, raw emotion in her eyes. "You told me to keep Jean safe, so I carried her off the train at the next stop. Professor Ororo found us waiting at the next station."

"Good thinking," Tyson said, relief evident in his voice.

Jubilee let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "At first, when I saw the Professor, I thought she was that shapeshifter again. I was ready to fight her off to protect Jean, especially after everything that went down. But then I saw Colossus was with her, and figured if he trusted her, I should too."

Tyson chuckled, picturing the scene. "Sounds like you had quite the evening too."

Jubilee fidgeted with the silver bracelet on her wrist, the metal links clinking together as she anxiously rubbed her fingers over them. She bit her lower lip, gathering her courage before the words spilled out in a hushed whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

She exhaled a shuddering breath, struggling to articulate the guilt that had been gnawing at her. "For not helping. When Magneto attacked... and Mystique..." Jubilee's voice caught in her throat. "I just froze. I was useless. I didn't do anything."

"Do you know what happened after I jumped out of that train car?" he asked gently.

Jubilee shook her head, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "Not really. The Professor only told us it was bad."

"Magneto did unspeakable things," Tyson began, his voice quivering slightly at the memory. "He used metal to bind me, coils that wrapped around and pierced into my body. It was like being caged in a medieval torture device." He paused, inhaling a shaky breath as he relived the torment. "Honestly Jubilee, I don't know how I survived it. And I never, ever want to see you, or any of my friends, endure anything close to what I went through."

Horror dawned in Jubilee's eyes as she imagined the unthinkable agony Tyson had suffered. "But I could have helped!" she cried. "If I hadn't been so useless, so weak, I could have-"

"No," Tyson interrupted, his tone firm but kind. "When you're outmatched like that, if you see a chance to get away, you take it. Promise me."

"But Tyson, I-"

"Promise me, Jubilee," he insisted.

She nodded reluctantly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Okay, I promise."

Tyson's expression softened. He reached out and took her small hand in his, engulfing it in a gentle grip. "Good. Remember, there is bravery in knowing when to fight and when to run. You did the right thing. And look at us now, safe and sound."

Jubilee stared down at their intertwined hands, contemplating his words.

"I know you're strong, Jubilee," Tyson continued gently. "But until you have the proper training and backup, it changes things." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Someday you'll be ready. But until then..."

She yearned for the day when she could prove herself and show that she was more than just a young mutant still learning to control her powers. "Until I'm ready, I'll be careful," she promised.

Tyson's lips curved into a smile, relief relaxing the tension in his features. "That's all I need to hear."

After Jubilee left, Tyson stood slowly, testing his legs. The lingering aches and pains had faded, it seemed his healing factor had repaired the damage from the battle. He began peeling off the flimsy hospital gown, revealing his muscular, sculpted physique underneath.

Just then, the door swung open and Illyana strode in. Her blue eyes widened slightly, taking in the scene of Tyson's naked form standing in the middle of the room. A hint of amusement flickered in her gaze.

"Well," she drawled in her thick Russian accent, "you are certainly in better shape than the rumors suggested."

Tyson didn't rush to cover himself, unashamed of his body. After their last tense encounter, he wasn't sure where he stood with the feisty blonde. Her unexpected arrival had caught him off guard.

"A little warning would have been nice, Illyana," he stated evenly, grabbing his clothes.

As Tyson finished fastening his pants, Illyana's expression softened. "I just came to see how you were doing," she admitted, a touch of vulnerability in her usually brash tone.

Now fully dressed, Tyson allowed a wry smirk. "Well, from the looks of it, you got to see everything," he joked, hoping to break the lingering tension.

Illyana's lips held the faintest hint of a real smile. She was relieved at his easy humor; it seemed that it was his attempt at creating some camaraderie between them, shattering any awkwardness from his nudity and their last contentious confrontation.

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Illyana sauntered forward, the sway of her hips deliberately alluring as she closed the distance between them. Leaning in, she placed her hands on her hips, the posture accentuating her figure. He towered over her and her position drew Tyson's gaze to her ample cleavage. The low-cut neckline of her blouse revealed smooth, alabaster skin that disappeared tantalizingly into the hints of a lace bra. Tyson's eyes lingered for a moment too long, unable to resist the tempting view.

Catching his admiring glance, Illyana asked, "Like what you see?" her lips curled into a coy smile that was playful and challenging. "Not so modest are you mister, peeking down my shirt during class."

"Well, that's hardly a fair trade. A little peek doesn't compare to you catching me in nothing but my birthday suit."

Illyana quirked one golden brow, intrigued. "Oh? And what would you consider an even exchange?" she asked, leaning in closer. Tyson could detect notes of jasmine and brimstone in her scent.

Adopting a mock thinking pose, Tyson looked upward as he tapped his chin in faux contemplation. "Hmm, let me think. Maybe if, next time we're in Limbo, I happen to catch with say… just your sword… then I'd say we're square."

To Tyson's surprise, she gave a slow nod in agreement. "Alright, deal," she agreed.

Blinking, Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, not having expected her to accept.

Illyana's grin turned wicked, dangerous, and alluring all at once. Leaning in until he could feel her breath, she purred, "On one condition."

Tyson met her gaze unflinchingly, excitement thrumming through him at her proximity. "What's that," he challenged.

"Next time we're in Limbo, you help me clear out the demons," she proposed. "Do that, and you'll get a show."

Tyson allowed his fangs to extend, a wicked smile spreading across his face. His pupils narrowed into predatory slits, eliciting a moment's hesitation from Illyana as she sensed the primal danger he radiated. He could smell her fear, and it was intoxicating.

"Deal."

But Tyson reined in his savage instincts, retracting his fangs as his eyes returned to normal.

Seeking to lighten the tension after his shift, he declared dramatically, "A quest! To save the princess of Limbo and slay the demons haunting her. The prize? The hand of the princess herself."

Illyana arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hand? I think not. No touching allowed... that would be too dangerous with you." She winked, referencing his life-draining touch.

Tyson chuckled. As Illyana turned to leave, Tyson called out, "Hey, I've been hearing things about some kind of connection between us. But honestly, I've never sensed anything like that."

Illyana paused, and for a moment her challenging gaze dimmed, replaced by an uncharacteristic vulnerability. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost wistful.

"Limbo is a part of me. There's this lingering resonance of the dimension that never fully leaves me." Her eyes grew distant, as though peering into a hidden realm only she could see. "For some reason, when we returned from our battle with Azazel, I sensed traces of Limbo clinging to you. From the moment we stepped onto that basketball court, it was there." She refocused on Tyson, her tone contemplative. "I don't know if it's because of the time you spent in Limbo, our fight with Azazel, or something else entirely. But during dinner, that connection faded. I couldn't sense you anymore, and I knew you had gone. That's why I told the Professor."

Tyson's brows furrowed as he processed this unexpected bond between them. "Thank you for telling him, Illyana," he said earnestly. "If you hadn't noticed, I might not be alive right now."

For a fleeting moment, Illyana's steely facade softened. "You're welcome," she responded, her voice warmer than usual. As she turned to leave, Tyson caught a hint of satisfaction in her eyes and a subtle swing in her hips.

Illyana smiled privately to herself as she walked away.

— Rogue Replacement —

Huddled together on Jean's bed, Jubilee and Jean's faces reflected a mixture of awe and unease as they watched the shaky video footage. It depicted the epic battle between Tyson, disguised in demonic form, as he dueled with Magneto. Though the video quality was grainy, it clearly displayed Tyson suspended mid-air, radiating power.

"That's... that's gotta be my ability he's using," Jean whispered. Her fingers drifted to the screen as if she could reach through and grasp the raw energy on display. "But how? He seems so much stronger than I've ever been."

Jubilee leaned in, squinting at the pixelated images. Her yellow jacket was draped haphazardly over the back of the desk chair, forgotten in their absorption. "Maybe he touched Magneto at some point and borrowed his abilities? Coulda happened off camera."

Jean slowly shook her head, red hair spilling over her shoulders. "Even if he did, look at how he's flying. And it's more than just controlling metal. He seems to be manipulating everything around him." She furrowed her brow. "I can't fly, or exert that level of power and he's doing both at the same time."

Jubilee chewed her bottom lip as she studied the incredible display of Tyson's abilities. “Uh Jean, I heard about you kinda floating the other day on the basketball court during gym class.” She said. Still, seeing Tyson command such raw force left her awestruck. "So what does this mean? Is he getting way stronger or something?"

Jean took a deep breath, closing the laptop. She met Jubilee's concerned gaze. "I don't know."

Jubilee responded, "Maybe there's still a lot about your powers we still don't understand."

— Rogue Replacement —

Magneto's cell was sterile, every surface molded from thick panels of transparent plastic. Devoid of even a scrap of metal, the room was designed to isolate his abilities, rendering the master of magnetism helpless. The minimalist furnishings; a cot, table, and chair were all made of hard plastic polymers.

Yet Magneto carried himself with unbowed dignity, his posture erect and authoritative. His hair was neatly groomed, and his eyes stared defiantly at the walls of his enclosure. But even his stoic demeanor could not completely mask the occasional winces at the pain that lanced through his leg. A heavy plastic cast encased his femur, purple bruising visible beneath its transparent shell, a lingering reminder of his ferocious battle with the mutant Tyson. The youth's raw power and potential lurked in Magneto's thoughts. Tyson had proven a worthy adversary, giving Magneto a challenge he had not experienced in some time.

Leaning back, Magneto brooded, ignoring the throbbing of his leg. His injuries would heal. What concerned him more was the world outside this cell. Their fight had been too public. Tyson's abilities would stir things, change them, and open new possibilities. For Magneto, this meant opportunity.

Outside, the guards monitored their prisoner through security feeds. The plastic prison was proof of the fear Magneto provoked, despite his current helplessness. Now, to the guards, he was just an old man in a cast, lost in contemplation.

With a gentle hum, a bridge extended from the wall, allowing Professor Charles Xavier access to the cell, rolling in a plastic wheelchair. Once inside, the two locked eyes, their shared history rippling between them.

"Erik," Xavier greeted solemnly.

"Charles," Magneto replied, his tone tinged with irony, "I wasn't expecting company. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Xavier exhaled heavily, "I came to speak with you about your methods, old friend. The violence, the anger... it isn't the solution."

Magneto chuckled mirthlessly, "Ever the idealist, Charles. But the world is not as black-and-white as you perceive it."

"It's because there is so much gray that we must lead with compassion," Xavier countered, "Understanding and communication can achieve what force cannot."

Magneto shifted, leaning forward slightly and wincing as pain flared in his injured leg. The movement pulled at the still-healing bone, again reminding him of his recent defeat at the hands of the very boy at the heart of their discussion.

"Do you remember when we found Jean?" he asked, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "The raw, untamed power within her? It was...magnificent. But you took that and dimmed it, smothered it behind your walls and teachings. You made her less than she was meant to be."

"I helped her control it, Erik. So she wouldn't hurt herself or others."

Magneto waved this off impatiently. "Control. Always control with you. That boy, Tyson, possessed the same power, but unfettered by your restraints. And what happened when he unleashed it? The world trembled beneath that power. But you..." His voice took on a mocking lilt. "What will you do? Shackle it? Diminish it as you did with Jean?"

Xavier met his old friend's zealous gaze steadily, his voice calm but resolute. "What happened was hundreds of innocents suffered. You caused millions of dollars in damage and turned the Bronx into a war zone. You're fortunate Tyson maintained his guise as Azazel. His deception painted you as a hero to the public, instead of someone trying to abduct a minor. And you're even luckier he didn't kill you." Xavier paused, inhaling slowly to maintain his composure.

"I will guide him, teach him to understand himself, and his place in this world."

"And if the boy does not fit neatly into your little boxes, Charles?" He gestured sardonically to the plastic prison surrounding them. "Will you try to cage him too?"

"He deserves a chance, Erik. Just as you did. Just as we all did." Xavier's voice rang with quiet conviction.

Magneto's expression hardened, all traces of mockery gone. "The world has changed, old friend. Power is the only language it understands. And the boy Tyson... he speaks it fluently."

Xavier met his old friend's steely gaze unflinchingly. "Then I will teach him to use that voice for good."

Magneto barked a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Our definitions of 'good' have always differed, Charles. But by all means, try. It will be...entertaining to watch."

Xavier sighed heavily, realizing this visit likely would not bear the fruitful reconciliation he had hoped for. "Remember the man you were, Erik. Before the world tried to make you believe you had to become someone else."

Magneto held Xavier's earnest gaze for a long moment before looking away. "Some memories are best left buried in the past."

As Xavier silently rolled his chair down the corridor, he couldn't help but wonder if some small part of the old Erik, the friend he once knew, still lingered deep within, buried beneath the layers of pain and cynicism life had forged.

— Rogue Replacement —

The grand trophy room was shrouded in somber stillness, the air heavy with the musty scent of aged wood and worn leather. Along the walls hung the severed heads of predators that stared down with glassy, lifeless eyes, lions, tigers, and other beasts frozen in timeless scenes of savage moments.

At the room's center sat a rugged man atop a luxurious leather chair, its deep mahogany hue contrasting his tanned skin and the white lion fur draping his broad shoulders. With one hand clutching a vodka bottle and the other a glass, his muscular arms rested on the armchair like a king overseeing his kingdom. Deep wrinkles carved from years of intense expeditions crisscrossed his weathered face. Dark hair, streaked with gray, was slicked back from his high forehead, framing intense eyes that once burned bright with the thrill of the hunt but now stared, empty and disillusioned.

With each sip, not for pleasure but for escape, his restlessness grew. The world's deadliest beasts had all fallen before him, leaving a haunting void. Tilting the bottle, he refilled his glass and lamented, "Is there nothing left that can challenge me?"

Seeking anything to spark interest, he turned to his computer and browsed the news. One headline caught his eye.

'Mutant Battles Demon in the Bronx.'

Out of curiosity, he clicked the article from New York City. A shaky video loaded, showing chaotic scenes of a mutant locked in heated combat with a red-skinned figure, its arrow-tipped tail lashing through the air.

He scoffed, muttering, "A hoax. Tricks of lighting and camera."

Yet as he scrolled, more videos appeared, each from different angles, all depicting the same.

The demon was real.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and a striking woman strode into the room. She was tall and slender, with smooth cocoa skin. Her almond-shaped eyes were dark and piercing, framed by long lashes. The woman wore a figure-hugging forest green dress, slit provocatively up one thigh to reveal a toned leg decorated with swirling tribal tattoos. Her mass of raven curls cascaded down her back, with a few loose tendrils framing her sharp, elegant facial features.

An intricate gold necklace adorned her neck, its blood-red gemstone pendant pulsing with an inner fire. Golden bangles chimed softly on her wrists and ankles as she moved with predatory grace. Her full lips were painted a deep crimson. Everything about the mysterious woman whispered of faraway lands, ancient rituals, and supernatural allure.

The woman's lilting voice interrupted the man's thoughts as she draped herself lazily over his shoulder.

"What has you so intrigued, my love?" she purred.

He gestured wordlessly at the computer screen, where shaky footage showed a horned, red-skinned figure battling wildly above the streets of New York. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with newfound interest.

"A demon. In New York City."

The woman leaned closer, studying the blurry images. A genuine smile crossed her face for the first time in months. If chasing this supposed demon was what it took to reignite his passion, she welcomed it.

"Perhaps this is the challenge you've been seeking," she mused, trailing long nails lightly across his shoulders.

A familiar spark flared in his eyes as a wolfish grin spread across his face.

"If this demon is real, I will be the one to hunt it," he declared.

The woman's smile widened, pleased that the man she loved had rediscovered his thirst for the hunt. Together, they would uncover the truth behind this supposed demon and finally end his restless boredom.