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Chapter 176: As a Demon, I Can’t Even Take One Punch!
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 16:43:24 +0000 UTC
BOOM.
CRACK.
The sound echoed through the courtyard like a thunderclap tearing the sky apart.
Hellboy went flying.
His massive frame sailed over a hundred meters before slamming into the ground, shattering concrete on impact. The force spiderwebbed the earth around him, cracks racing outward like a small earthquake had struck.
Guh—!
A guttural grunt escaped him as blood spattered from his lips.
His ribs were shattered. His vision swam.
All from one punch.
One.
---
He lay there for a moment, stunned, barely breathing.
Hellboy—the son of Satan, wielder of the Right Hand of Doom, veteran of countless supernatural wars—had just been flattened.
Not by a demon.
Not by some world-ending prophecy.
But by a teenager in a hoodie.
He blinked.
Tried to process it.
His lungs burned.
His thoughts blurred.
---
What… the hell… was that?
He wasn’t even sure his feet had touched the ground before he'd been launched.
“Wha—?” he croaked, dazed eyes snapping toward Alex’s approaching figure.
Disbelief twisted his face.
The gap between us… is this wide?
He tried to push himself up—hands trembling.
But the moment he moved, agony lanced through his chest, nearly dropping him again.
---
“Stop, Red!”
Liz sprinted forward, placing herself between them. Her arms stretched out as if shielding him from further humiliation.
“I told you—I’m staying! Go back! The B.P.R.D. and I are done!”
Her voice rang across the ruins, final and unwavering.
Hellboy blinked. Slowly, he rose to one knee.
“Because of him?!” he growled, jabbing a finger at Alex. His breath came in short bursts.
---
“This is my life.”
Liz’s tone was sharp now. Ice in every word.
“Since when do you get a say, Hellboy? Since when was it your call?”
“You think you're protecting me, but you’re just making everything worse.”
Hellboy’s expression contorted—shock, then pain.
And then—
“You’re not as important as you think.”
Her words hit like a hammer.
They knocked the fight out of him faster than Alex’s punch ever could.
His shoulders slumped.
His gaze dropped.
---
“…Fine.”
No snark.
No protest.
Just resignation.
He turned away, his hulking frame dragging with each step.
He didn’t look back.
Not once.
---
“You did the right thing. For both of you.”
Raven placed a gentle hand on Liz’s shoulder.
Liz didn’t answer. But her eyes shimmered slightly.
She nodded once.
“Let’s go back.”
---
The courtyard slowly emptied.
The confrontation faded, as though it had never happened.
The demon from Hell?
Gone.
All that remained was the crater—and the silence.
---
Later that day, Alex returned to the training wing.
He was just about to resume psychic drills when—
“Headmaster!”
A familiar voice called out.
Alex turned to find Scott Summers approaching, sporting sleek new red-tinted quartz glasses.
There was a confident smile on his face—a far cry from the frightened boy Alex had rescued.
“Scott. Looks like you can finally open your eyes.”
Alex gave him an approving nod.
The kid had finally started to resemble the Cyclops he was meant to be.
“Whoa. You’re… my age?”
Scott blinked. “I mean, I knew that, but still—it’s wild. You took out an entire lab by yourself.”
Alex smirked. “I had a good reason.”
“How’s the visor working?”
Scott tapped the frame with visible pride.
“It’s perfect! I thought when you said I’d be able to see again, you were just trying to be nice. But this? Everything’s in black and white, but it’s… amazing.”
His gratitude was genuine.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Alex didn’t pretend it was nothing. He’d earned that.
---
Scott hesitated, then brightened again.
“Emma says you shoot lasers too. We should train sometime!”
“Sounds like a plan.”
With a grin and a wave, Scott took off down the hallway, enthusiasm practically radiating off him.
He’s coming along nicely, Alex thought.
The X-Men’s future was finally starting to take shape.
---
“Alex! Cerebro’s ready!”
Raven’s shout came hours later, echoing from the corridor.
Alex’s eyes lit up.
Everything else faded from his mind.
“Show me.”
---
The Cerebro chamber was buzzing with energy.
At the center stood the new Cerebro—a massive dome-like structure with glimmering pulse lines running through its shell.
Inside the room: Hank, Emma, Copycat, Smith, and Number Six—all gathered around the machine like acolytes awaiting revelation.
“Alex, it’s done.”
Hank’s voice was exhausted, but laced with pride.
His fur was matted with sweat, but his eyes gleamed.
“Outstanding work, Hank.”
Alex clapped him on the shoulder.
---
Emma, meanwhile, looked nearly giddy.
The original Cerebro had let her scan within five kilometers.
This version? With Hank’s enhancements?
It was practically god-tier.
---
“What is this? Can it really find our people?”
Number Six was skeptical, eyeing the device.
“Just watch.”
Alex smirked.
Emma settled the sleek helmet over her head.
---
ZAP.
The moment she activated it, a visible pulse rippled through the room.
Emma gasped—not from pain, but from sheer sensory overload.
“Ah—!”
Her body trembled.
Millions of minds flooded into her consciousness.
She clutched the armrests of the chair.
“Emma!”
“Are you okay?”
“Take it off!”
“No! I’ve got this.”
She gritted her teeth. Her breathing steadied.
Then—
A slow grin spread across her face.
“Oh. My. God.”
Her voice trembled with awe.
“This… this is what divinity feels like.”
---
“Can you track mutants like Charles?” Raven asked, eyes shining.
“Charles this, Charles that.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Give me a name. Any name.”
Hank stepped in.
“Fine. Show me Charles and Erik.”
---
Emma’s mind stretched—instantly spanning continents.
Her voice dropped, nearly reverent.
“Charles is teaching. He's in New York. He’s got students—oh! He just felt me. The look on his face!”
She laughed. “He’s trying to probe back. Pathetic.”
“And Erik?”
“Leading the Brotherhood. Wearing a cape. Still dramatic.”
Raven and Hank exchanged tired glances.
Predictable… but it still stung.
---
Then—
“You can really find anyone?”
Number Six’s voice was breathless.
Emma’s face turned serious.
“Of course.”
She focused again.
“One of yours is in Tennessee. Blonde. Curly hair. With a man—ponytail.”
Smith’s eyes widened.
“That’s him. Number Four!”
His voice cracked with joy.
Hope bloomed in the room.
After all these years…
They were finally finding each other again.
