The sparring session had just ended. The air still crackled with residual energy from my last exchange with Bastion, and my muscles hummed with fatigue and adrenaline. But something wasn't right.
The entire mansion shook beneath our feet—sharp, abrupt tremors that rattled the lights overhead and sent several inactive sentinels crashing to the floor like toppled statues.
Bastion immediately connected to the surveillance feed, his cybernetic eyes flashing as he interfaced with the mansion's systems. I turned to him, brows furrowed, even as dust and debris began raining down from the rafters above.
Then we saw it.
On screen, a massacre was unfolding.
Sentinel units—state-of-the-art, heavily reinforced—were being torn apart like paper dolls. Limbs, heads, cores... dismembered in rapid succession. Explosions burst like fireworks across the front perimeter. One by one, Bastion's proud creations were reduced to sparking heaps of scrap metal.
At the center of the carnage was a towering man, at least 6'7", carrying a futuristic rifle nearly the size of a motorcycle. He moved with brutal efficiency, switching between close quarters and long-range fire like a seasoned war machine. His face was grim, jaw tight, eyes burning with purpose.
It didn't take long for me to recognize him.
"Cable," I muttered.
The name hit Bastion like a spike to the core.
Cable. The son of Scott Summers and Madelyne Pryor. A mutant born of legacy and war—raised in a future ruled by chaos, tempered by survival. He wasn't just a soldier; he was a symbol of what mutants could become when pushed to the edge of extinction.
But he wasn't alone.
Flanking him was Jean Grey—powerful, graceful, a telepath who had transcended mortality more than once. And beside her stood Scott Summers, Cyclops, his ruby-red visor gleaming ominously beneath the flashes of battle. Together, they cut a swath through Bastion's defenses like a blade through silk.
In just under a minute, the entire front gate was reduced to molten slag. Bastion stared at the feed in disbelief.
"Impossible," he said, eyes wide with disbelief. "No one should be able to destroy my sentinels like that. Who is that man?"
"His name is Cable," I said coldly. "A mutant from the future. The spawn of Madelyne Pryor and Scott Summers."
At the mention of Madelyne, Mr. Sinister, who had been watching in silence, chuckled darkly.
"So that's the child," he muttered.
"He grew fast."
Of course he did. Sinister remembered everything—how he had once infected the boy with a techno-organic virus, forcing his parents to send him into the future just to survive. The monster probably considered this reunion poetic.
More camera feeds flickered and died as the trio carved their way through the mansion, heading straight for us like a guided missile of vengeance.
Bastion clenched his fists. "I'll deal with them myself—"
"No," I said, stepping forward, placing myself between him and the door. "Let me handle this."
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
"You would dare stand in my way?"
I didn't blink. "Let me prove myself to you. You've had doubts—I know that. Let me erase them."
There was a pause. The silence between us was thick, almost suffocating. Then, slowly, Bastion nodded.
"Fine," he said, voice low. "But I want them dead. All of them."
I gave a single nod and turned.
This was my chance. My test.
And maybe… my reckoning.
_________
The battlefield was chaos. Smoking sentinel corpses littered the grounds. The air was thick with heat, ash, and the scorched ozone stench of energy weapons. Scott stood tall amidst the wreckage, visor humming, preparing another blast. Jean's eyes glowed faintly as she extended her telepathic senses, and Cable scanned the corridor, gun raised.
Then my voice came from above.
"Touching," I said. "A family reunion in a house made of nightmares."
They looked up in unison. I dropped from the shadows above, landing in a crouch. My eyes met theirs. My armor gleamed under the low light. And something in my expression must have shaken them.
Jean was the first to speak, her voice trembling with hope. "Cole? Cole, is that you? We thought you were in danger."
"Danger?" I gave a small, joyless chuckle. "No. Take a good look. You're seeing me clearer than ever."
Scott stepped forward, his concern evident beneath the coldness of his visor. "You don't have to do this. Come back. We can talk—figure this out."
"Figure what out?" I snapped. "You all turned on me. After everything I did for you—fighting alongside you, bleeding for you—you cast me out. Blamed me for Xavier's condition without a second thought."
Jean stepped closer. "We were wrong. We know that now. And we'll make it right."
I shook my head slowly. "Too late. I already found where I belong."
Before they could reply, Cable moved. He raised his rifle and fired—an experimental plasma shot that whistled through the air like a comet.
I didn't flinch.
My arm transformed instantly, morphing into a dense, glowing energy shield. The plasma collided and bounced off in a flash, ricocheting back toward Cable and sending him flying through the air, crashing into a reinforced metal wall.
"Cable!" Scott shouted.
"I'm good," Cable groaned, standing slowly. The hit had hurt, but it didn't break him.
Scott retaliated. His optic blast surged toward me like a tidal wave of light. I dodged the first, then surged forward, closing the distance. I slammed a heavy punch into his gut, knocking the wind from him. As he staggered, I followed with an uppercut, launching him back into Cable's arms.
Jean reacted fast, her telekinesis enveloping me in a crushing field of force. My limbs locked mid-stride, pressure constricting around my chest.
The old me would have been immobilized.
But not now.
I gritted my teeth and powered through the field with brute strength alone. The enhancements Bastion and I had honed over the last few days surged to the surface. Metal screamed against invisible force as I broke through, lurching forward.
Jean gasped in shock as I lunged, my hand transforming into a clawed blade and tightening around her throat. She struggled to breathe, eyes wide. A flash of energy erupted from my claws—but before I could deliver the final blow, Scott fired again.
The blast struck me dead center, knocking me backward. I absorbed then dashed forward knocking Scott off and grasping cable on the throat. My hand then morphed to a blade before something erupted.