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Chapter 147 – The Kryptonian Scapegoat
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 16:39:53 +0000 UTC
The younger X-Men had rushed in at Professor Xavier’s word, but Mystique… Mystique hesitated. She knew better. Fighting Jean wasn’t the answer. Not today. And not when Charles’ secrets had helped light the fire now threatening to consume her.
So Mystique did the only thing she could: she stepped forward slowly, voice soft, palms open, as though approaching a wounded animal.
Jean didn’t lash out—at least not at first. Her breath came ragged, eyes glowing faintly, but she didn’t attack. And for a moment, it looked like Mystique’s gamble might actually work.
Charles let her try. Maybe he wanted to believe someone could still reach Jean. Maybe he was simply desperate, flailing for any solution. He even froze Beast’s finger on the trigger and stopped the surviving cops from firing their rifles, locking their thoughts in psychic stasis.
The officers couldn’t be blamed, not entirely. Most mutants weren’t bulletproof. Against an unknown threat, their first instinct had been to pull the trigger, not run. But now, weapons hung slack in frozen hands, as powerless as their owners.
Mystique crept closer, inch by inch, until finally—she reached out, fingertips brushing Jean’s arm.
If Jean had leaned into that touch, maybe the story would’ve ended here. A desperate hug, a few tears, and a fragile truce.
But the Phoenix doesn’t forgive.
The instant contact was made, Jean erupted. Power slammed outward like a shockwave. Mystique was hurled away with the force of a cannon shell, carving a trench through yards, fences, and asphalt. She vanished in a spray of dirt and splintered wood.
Jean’s eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the destruction, horrified by what she’d done. For one trembling second, she looked like she might run to help.
Instead, she turned her back, lifted herself with a pulse of telekinesis, and shot into the sky.
Charles released his hold on the others. The officers stumbled, blinking, then scrambled to help their pinned comrades. Beast lowered his weapon, his face a mask of confusion.
“What just happened? Where’s Raven?” he demanded, turning to Xavier.
Charles lifted one shaking hand, pointing toward the ragged scar torn across the town. The trench was so deep his wheelchair couldn’t possibly reach it.
Beast sprinted. The trench stretched nearly a kilometer, plowing straight through homes and streets, ending in a small hill of earth and wreckage. There, at last, he found her.
Mystique lay crumpled in the crater, groaning, too broken to climb out on her own. Beast dropped into the pit, hands gentle as he tried to lift her. But every touch wrung a hiss of pain from her throat.
He managed to pull her free—only for the ground itself to stir.
A hand burst from the soil. Then another. And then a dirt-streaked figure clawed his way out of the earth like a zombie escaping its grave, coughing and cursing.
“Son of a—! Thought I was gonna suffocate down there!” Henry spat, dragging himself up and gasping for air.
Beast blinked in shock. “You? What—what were you doing under there?”
Henry shot him a look, brushing mud from his shoulders. “What do you think? Playing human shield. Otherwise your shape-shifting friend back there would’ve been kabob’d on a fence post.”
Because the truth was, the moment Jean’s power detonated, Henry had moved. Faster than anyone could see, he’d thrown himself behind Mystique, taking the brunt of the blast and riding it into the ground with her. The trench carved through Red Hook? That was courtesy of Jean Grey and one very annoyed Kryptonian.
Not that he’d been dumb enough to step directly in front of the attack. No—Henry had already clocked the way Jean’s telekinesis worked. It wasn’t a beam or a wave. It was targeted—pushing on specific objects. Stand between her and her target, and she’d simply hit both of you.
And from the way Mystique had been launched, her trajectory would’ve carried her straight into a jagged wooden post. Without intervention, the veteran shapeshifter would’ve been skewered like a frog on a stick.
Her morphing ability made her tougher than the average human, but she wasn’t Logan. A splinter that size through the chest would’ve ended her.
So Henry had intervened. Begrudgingly.
Beast, apparently rattled enough to forget how physics worked, jabbed a finger toward the trench. “Wait… you’re telling me you did all this?”
Henry snorted, kicking dirt from his boots. “Oh, sure. Because digging a mile-long ditch is exactly how I like to spend my weekends. Newsflash: it was your girl who blasted us halfway to Jersey. I just happened to be along for the ride.”
“You could’ve mitigated the damage,” Beast pressed, voice tight, like he needed somewhere to unload his frustration.
Henry’s expression hardened. “You’re the brains of this outfit, right? Then use ‘em. Look at that trench. Look at the volume of earth displaced. That’s raw force. Now imagine me stopping it cold. You know what happens to the person stuck between me and her power?”
He jerked his chin toward Mystique, still trembling in Beast’s arms.
“She’d be paste. Do I need to draw you a diagram?”
Comments
GodOfDestruction 2.4
You seem to of removed the stupid "joker Henry" part? 🤔 Good decision tbh
