X-Men: The Raid (Part 6) (Patreon)

In the course of her training as an elite ninja of the Hand, Psylocke had infiltrated fortresses guarded not only by highly trained mercenary operatives, but other ninjas. Often times her opponents had been told the exact time she was coming, all of them on high alert with infrared optics and motion detectors. Those tests hadn’t been merely games either; failing them would have certainly meant death, for the weak and clumsy were not useful to then hand.

In contrast, giving a mob of untrained Morlocks the slip was laughably easy. She’d turned a corner, sprang back into an open window and slipped through so silently, that when her pursuers followed around, it seemed like she’d vanished. They’d predictably frozen, looking around for several seconds in bafflement, then spread out to find her.

The poor dears. They would have had better luck catching smoke with their hands.

Even without her powers, it would have been child’s play to stay one step ahead of them. She could run almost full speed with no more sound than a rustling of leaves, while they fumbled about, calling out to each other, occasionally attacking something they thought she might be hiding behind. Any time they even drew close to her hiding place, she could dart away to another with ease, using their own noise to cover the almost inaudible sounds of her escape.

With her telepathy the game was even more one sided. Not only could she sense where they all were, she could give them mental nudges to look somewhere else or even make them hear or see something that wasn’t there.

In fact, she was enjoying this, maybe even a little too much. More than once, she’d tricked a Morlock into chasing a figment of their imagination and attacking one of their friends on accident. She was a professional and knew this mission was important, but she could confess to having a wicked streak. It had been quite fun to frustrate her enemies, trip them up into Monty Pythonesque slapstick, even toy with them as they tried to hunt her down.

However, suddenly the fun had stopped.

Perched on the balls of her feet at the edge of a windowsill, Psylocke watched with bemusement as all the pursuing Morlocks, as a group, jogged away from her position. One moment they had been yelling at each other and milling around, then one by one they turned and trotted away. It wasn’t quite eerie, as it would have been if they’d all turned at the exact moment, but more like they’d heard mummy calling and were heading home, each at their own pace.

Psylocke frowned, shifting on her perch, the muscles of her legs flexing beneath the ribbons bound around her thighs. She didn’t have nearly Jean’s telepathic power, but she had enough to lay a blanket of irritation over the group’s minds, nudging them enough to continue pursuing her. Now all she felt from her pursuers was a renewed sense of purpose and anticipation. Those feelings didn’t just appear in someone’s mind, not unless someone put them there.

Was someone else communicating with them somehow? And if so, who?

Placing a finger to her temple to help her focus, Psylocke narrowed her eyes, calling on her telepathic abilities once again. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing, but Storm would want to know. Perhaps her team had seen something that could explain what was happening.

A nimbus of pink light flared from her temples, framing her face like a carnival masque as she searched for Storm’s mind amongst the sea of others on the college campus. Jean Grey could link hundreds of minds with relative ease, but unless they were within eyeshot, Psylocke had to apply more focus to the task, seeking out their thoughts before she intruded with her own.

It only took a few moments before she found the X-Men’s leader. Storm was circling the campus, trying to find Jean and her team. Carefully, not wanting to startle Ororo, she let her consciousness slip inside.

Before she could say a word, a hand closed around her ankle in an iron grip.

Startled, Psylocke reacted on pure instinct. She whirled, slashing the edge of her hand into the side of her attacker’s face.

It felt like she’d struck a side of beef.

Behind her, still gripping her ankle, her attacker grinned smugly. She wore a leather vest and matching pants that showed much of her orange skin, as well as muscles that were both large and deeply grooved with definition. Tall, built like an amazon on steroids, it wasn’t hard to guess what this Morlock’s powers were.

And she hadn’t even blinked when Psylocke had hit her.

“Mm,” the orange giantess sneered, “You should see the look on your face.”

Her grip tightened and pain shot up Psylocke’s leg as the bones ground together.

However, Betsy didn’t have long to worry about her ankle, as in the next moment her attacker simply yanked it out from under her. She lurched back into the room with a cry of surprise, before being silenced when her chin banged into the windowsill. Her teeth clacked together and she fell to the floor, the orange giantess still holding her leg like it was a drumstick.

“Surprised?” the muscled Morlock said, “Isn’t much fun when someone gets the drop on you, is it?”

With her leg held up over her head, Psylocke planted hands on the floor and pulled her knee into her chest, coiling her muscles.

“Hai!” she cried, punching her leg out with all her strength, driving her heel into the Morlock’s wrist.

The musclebound woman didn’t let got, but she did wince. Then she glared.

“Oooh,” she narrowed her eyes, “You just messed up, ninja girl.”

With terrifying ease, she turned away from the window then hurled the X-Man across the room. Psylocke could only cry out, feeling like a doll that a bratty, overly aggressive child decided she didn’t want any more.

Betsy had been perched outside what she’d peripherally noticed as an administration office. She flew over several desks, crashed through a cubicle barrier, then finally slammed into a wall-mounted bulletin board, sending thumbtacks scattering. She fell to the floor with a grunt, momentarily stunned.

Psylocke’s ankle was throbbing like a fire alarm. Groaning, she looked at it from where she lay on her side, hoping her foot wouldn’t be turned the wrong way.

Her ankle wasn’t visibly broken, but she’d heard something pop when the orange amazon had used it to sling her around. That could mean anything from a sprained ankle, to torn ligaments and a broken bone.

Whatever the case, it wasn’t good news. She wouldn’t be very good at running and dodging this female tank if she only had one good leg.

“Ha! Not very graceful!” her opponent called, “I thought you ninja types always landed on your feet!”

As Psylocke managed to sit herself up and rub at her aching skull, the orange-skinned amazon was storming towards her, taking the time to smash anything that got in her way. When a desk came between her and her dazed opponent, she bent down to take it under the base, then threw it well aside to crash into its neighbors, as if punishing it for being an obstacle.

Betsy’s first thought was there was no way that should have happened. People didn’t sneak up on her, she snuck up on them, especially this untrained lot. Yes, she had been slightly distracted by trying to find Storm, but she should have sensed the woman coming long before that. Even ignoring her telepathic abilities, the odds that a brute like this brute could come up behind her without her knowledge were zero.

She climbed to her feet, having to lean against the wall more than she liked before her balance returned. Her ankle ached in protest but managed to hold her weight.

The only way this woman could have snuck up on her was not only by being shielded telepathically but also somehow hidden from Betsy’s normal senses. Judging by the woman’s bull-in-a-china-shop method of approach, she seriously doubted the super strong Morlock was doing it herself. Yet it was only the two of them in close proximity and, regardless, there weren’t Morlocks with that sort of power. If there were, they would have been able to make trouble long before this.

“The name’s Shiva,” the Morlock said as she threw a rolling chair out of her path, “Remember that. You’ll be using it to beg for mercy later.”

Psylocke shook off the last of the cobwebs and stepped away from the wall with at least some of her usual grace.

Whatever was going on, she didn’t have time to figure it out right now. She had a big orange giantess to take care of.

“I hate to tell you this,” Betsy said, sinking into a martial arts stance, “But there’s already a Shiva. A few of them, actually. I hope you didn’t think you were being original when you came up with that one.”

Shiva sneered, “Yeah? Well, maybe I’ll think up a better one after I have some fun with you.”

She charged, covering the last several meters between them at a run.

It was what Psylocke had hoped for. These strong types usually attempted a bull rush at some point, thinking they could just plow through their opponent like a freight train. It also made them easy to trip up and avoid.

The nimbus of pink energy flared from her temples once more. After dodging away, a little telepathic nudge would be all it took to make Shiva think she was still in front of her. With any luck, the super strong Morlock would plow right into the wall.

When Shiva came charging in, with her shoulder lowered to drive Psylocke into the wall, the elusive X-Man simply flipped over her. It was perfectly timed, her body almost rolling across her powerful attacker’s shoulders, letting the charge pass her harmlessly by.

She landed behind Shiva, ready to turn and plunge her psychic dagger into the back of her head.

Unfortunately, Psylocke realized a second too late that her opponent was not only shielded from her telepathic senses, but from telepathic intrusion as well; her telepathic nudge didn’t work. To make it worse, Shiva was also much faster than she counted on.

Knowing her nimble foe was behind her, Shiva immediately whirled around with a looping backhand. It was a blind swing and Psylocke ducked under it instinctively, but it still managed to clip the top of her head. With the amount of power the Morlock put into the blow, that’s all it took to make the X-Man’s legs go weak.

“UNH!” Psylocke grunted and staggered.

For a precious second, all Betsy could see was stars, it being all her powerful legs could do to not trip over each other. That second is all Shiva needed to take advantage.

Grabbing the kunoichi by the shoulder, holding her elusive foe in place, Shiva drew back her fist, then buried it deep into Psylocke’s stomach.

To say Psylocke wheezed was an understatement. The blow almost completely doubled her over, jutting her rounded rump backwards, while all the air in her lungs whooshed out of her open mouth. Face slack with shock, she let out one long, haunting groan and wilted, her strength momentarily sapped.

When she started to buckle, Shiva grabbed her leotard right where it stretched taut between her breasts, then pulled her back upright.

“Heh,” she grinned easily, “That sounded like it hurt.”

Catastrophically winded, Psylocke couldn’t lift her arms and could barely stand. All she could do was gasp for air and stare in helpless fear as her stronger opponent drew her close and looped her arms around her back.

Psylocke was muscular on her own, her shoulders and arms taut and cut, as were her legs and rump, every inch firm. But as rounded as her muscles were, they were still lean and quick, looking almost miniature when pressed chest to chest with Shiva. She had no hope of powering free, even if she wasn’t desperately gasping for air.

Before she could even try, Shiva threw herself back, slamming her smaller foe to the floor in a spectacular suplex.

Psylocke saw stars once more, flopping onto her stomach in an inglorious heap.

“Heh, heh…” Shiva chuckled again as she stood, “I’ve always wanted to kick a ninja’s ass.”

She leaned down to take a handful of Psylocke’s purple hair.

“Get up, legs,” the Morlock sneered, “Show me some more fancy moves. Do some of your chop socky.”

With a firm grip in the silky strands, she dragged the heroine back to her feet, eliciting a groan of pain.

Being in this woman’s grasp was the last place Psylocke wanted to be. At a distance, she could use her quickness and superior agility, but if Shiva laid a hand on her, those advantages went away. As light-headed as she was, she knew if she couldn’t escape the Morlock’s grip, she’d be all but helpless against her superior strength.

When she was pulled to her feet, Betsy allowed her eyes to roll in her head a bit, her legs to remain wobbly. She slumped, letting her arms hang from her shoulders, even letting out another low groan of misery.

Shiva pulled up a bit higher on Psylocke’s hair, grinning as it made the heroine’s chest push out, her back to arch. With one hand on her waist, she merely held the curving heroine in place for a moment, looking her up and down, enjoying the drunken swaying of the ninja woman’s hips.

“Guess they didn’t teach you how to take a shot in ninja school,” the villainess chuckled, “I didn’t slam you that hard, but you look—”

A spike of pink telepathic energy sprang from Psylocke’s fist and she instantly returned to life. In the same motion, one hand leapt up to grab the wrist holding her hair, while the other drove the psychic dagger under her attacker’s chin. An immaterial, psychic weapon, the tip of the pink spike appeared out of the top of Shiva’s head.

The movements were so quick and with so little telegraphed motion, Shiva didn’t even flinch before the dagger pierced her mind. She stiffened, eyes wide in shock, body frozen like a statue.

Psylocke gritted her teeth and put all her focus into the attack. The psychic dagger was her most simple, potent telepathic weapon. It could be used more subtly, but now all she was doing was shoving a blade into Shiva’s psyche, overwhelming it, scrambling her thoughts. With enough telepathic force behind it, she could force the Morlock to let go, or even render her unconscious.

However, Betsy could feel resistance to the psychic dagger that shouldn’t have been there. Something was definitely protecting Shiva from telepathic attacks and whatever it was dulled the psychic dagger, mitigating its effects. It was locking her up, keeping her mind distracted, but she needed to incapacitate this powerhouse.

The dagger flared brighter as she tried to force it deeper into Shiva’s mind. Too much force could simply fry the Morlock’s brain, killing her, so she had to be careful. But she wasn’t going to risk Shiva escaping either, not when any other weapon she had might as well be spitballs against the super durable amazon. If this ploy didn’t work, she didn’t know what she could do, other than run like hell.

Whoever was using pitting their telepathy against hers was formidable. Betsy didn’t fool herself into believing she was even in the top fifty telepaths in the world and this person certainly wasn’t the strongest either, but it took more than a dab of power to resist her psychic dagger. There was also something slightly familiar about the shield’s signature. Not quite, but almost like…

Psylocke’s thoughts trailed off into horrified shock as Shiva’s hand slowly rose to close around her dagger-wielding wrist.

She immediately increased the power, her eyes narrowing to slits as the psychic spike lit up to its brightest, a dazzling neon. She was no longer concerned with killing the Morlock as much as she was stopping her. Her brow lowered, pretty features scrunching in a scowl of determination.

Shiva narrowed her eyes right back. Her arm trembled, receiving mixed commands from its owners glitching psyche, but even a muddled attempt was more than a match for the X-Man’s merely world-class athleticism. Gradually she began to pull Psylocke’s fist out from under her chin and inch by inch slipping the psychic dagger out of her mind.

In desperation, Psylocke grabbed her own wrist and pushed back, trying to use two arms against Shiva’s one, but the Morlock’s progress wasn’t even slowed. She grunted and even cried out with frustrated effort, putting every ounce of muscle and focus into overcoming the villainess’s might.

It was hopeless. She was already giving the dagger all she could muster and her whole body wasn’t even half as strong as Shiva’s mere forearm. Inevitably, the glowing spike was pulled free entirely, and when it did, the Morlock’s complete control over her body returned.

For an instant Shiva blinked rapidly, looking confused. She shook her head, eyes crossed and even staggered a step, like she’d stood up too quickly. Apparently, the psychic dagger had done a bit of lasting damage, at least enough to disorient her for a few seconds.

Psylocke took advantage of every breath before the super strong Morlock recovered. With frantic speed, she struck Shiva repeatedly with her free arm. She smashed her elbow into the villainess’s nose, then her eye, then her throat, then slammed her knee into her groin. The blows made Shiva wince and turn away slightly but didn’t force her to let go.

Knowing she was running out of time, she leapt up, and planted both feet into the amazon’s chest. Grabbing her own hair closer to her head to keep it from being yanked out by the roots, she arched and pushed with her legs, using every muscle in her body to force herself free of Shiva’s grasp. The grooves in the side of her thighs flexed, her calves tightened, even her abdominals and shoulders stood out more clearly under her blue spandex as she strained to pull away.

She only realized she failed when Shiva turned and spiked her head into the carpet like a football.

“HNGH!” she bounced from the impact, then flopped onto her stomach in a senseless heap.

“Pretty sneaky, sis,” Shiva stood over her, “You almost got me. Too bad your little powers flaked out.”

Her head spinning, Psylocke moved enough to confirm her neck wasn’t broken, but couldn’t even consider trying to rise. The blow to the head left her limbs numb and weak, all her hard-earned athleticism for naught.

It took her a few moments to consider what the villainess had said. Apparently, Shiva didn’t even realize she was being telepathically shielded; she’d thought the psychic dagger just hadn’t worked. Who was behind this?! Was someone helping the Morlocks?!

After a few seconds, Betsy managed to push herself up on her elbows and knees. Her bottom rose first, rounding out the seat of the leotard, before she managed to get her arms underneath her. Her movements were painfully slow, body shaking slightly with effort.

Much too slow for Shiva, it turned out. The villainess was willing to wait a few seconds for her opponent to rise, then reached down and grabbed the back of Psylocke’s leotard. She took two handfuls, one behind her shoulders and the other just above the seat, then jerked her up, leaving Betsy doubled over like a dog.

“Not looking good for you right now,” the Morlock smirked, then began marching her captive forward, “Maybe you waxed on when you should have waxed off!”

Bent over and still dazed, Psylocke couldn’t see where she was being taken, but she knew enough to be embarrassed. Held firmly in an unbalanced position, she had no choice but to stagger right where Shiva wanted, and the orange amazon’s grip was pulling her leotard taut between the polished cheeks of her backside. She grunted in distress and pawed at Shiva’s grip, but the awkward angle made it impossible to get leverage, even if she had been a match physically.

“Did you run out of fancy moves?” Shiva sneered, admiring the view, “I’ve still got plenty.”

She suddenly dashed forward, forcing the hampered Psylocke to clamber after her. Then she came to just as an abrupt stop when she slammed the heroine’s head into the side of a sturdy desk.

Betsy collapsed to her knees with a confused grunt, forgetting where she was for a moment. Still bent forward, she was partially propped up by the desk, her arms dangling uselessly. Slowly, almost cartoonishly, she began to slip down, her cheek squeak faintly against the wooden surface.

Shiva wasn’t even breathing hard. She put her hands on her hips and smirked down at the pained X-Man, admiring her work.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you them all,” she nudged Psylocke’s rump with her toe, “Every single one.”

Groaning, Betsy shook her head, trying to think. She had to get up. Had to… get away. Had to do something. But as desperate and muddled as her mind was, her body was even more so, failing to obey the simplest of commands.

Shiva let the beautiful ninja try to rise for a few seconds, then bent down to grab her wrists. Nonchalantly, in no hurry, she used her grip to pull Psylocke back upright, on her knees, then lifted her foot and placed it between the heroine’s shoulder blades.

“This one,” she grinned, “Is called the Crippler.”

Pushing out with her foot, she slowly pulled back on Psylocke’s arms.

Gradually Betsy’s disoriented groans became a wail of pain. Breasts forced out, back arched, she attempted to thrash free, but she was almost entirely immobilized. She couldn’t use her legs and her arms were locked back, even her torso trapped, leaving her only able to jerk her head about in pathetic desperation.

She gritted her teeth, managing to bite back her cry. She knew Shiva could have easily ripped her arms off, but the Morlock wasn’t trying to kill her, only hurt her. She wanted to humiliate Betsy, make her cry, and she refused to give the bully the satisfaction.

Unfortunately, this only made the villainess pull back harder.

“I… am going to break you in half, sexy ninja babe,” Shiva said, “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Psylocke held out as long as she could, but soon she threw back her head and cried out once more.

It was almost drowned out by her tormentor’s laugh.

-----------

The scent that drove Wolverine mad, that made her have to kill, was everywhere around her. It draped about her in a yellow mist, but though it urged her to cut and rip, it never presented a target to her. She slashed at the cloud then whirled and slashed again, and again, but the floating particles refused to bleed and refused to die. And she couldn’t stop until they did.

“RAAGH!” she snarled, claws cleaving through the air and stirring the mist before she struck again, “NYAARGH!”

A rabid, frustrated animal, every muscle clenched with rage, she attacked in a constant, unrelenting fury. Her silvery claws would have meant instant death to anyone within reach, but as long as she continued her fruitless attempts to murder the scented cloud, everyone outside it was perfectly safe. She was driven by primal rage and instinct, only aggravated by her failure to complete what she being driven to do.

“RAAAA-AAAGH!” she roared again, slashing several more times in a frenzy.

All that mattered was killing the scent. The powerfully built young woman was blind to everything else, even the burning of her own lungs and the pounding of her heart. She would continue attacking until her target died or she did.

To her, the two Morlocks standing a few yards away weren’t even there.

“Almost got it that time,” Miasma snickered, “Yeah, keep swinging. Show those tiny floating particles who’s boss!”

Leaning against a campus announcement board, the jaundice-complected mutant held out his hand to guide the pheromone cloud. He shifted the particles where he wanted, concentrating them in one place to make the young heroine attack it, then guided them to another, keeping her in constant motion. Grinning, he twiddled his fingers, enjoying his teasing, playing with the rage-blinded X-Man.

“You’re definitely going to kill that vapor cloud soon,” he sneered, “Oops, just missed! There it is, it’s moving around—oh, missed again! Good try!”

Beside him, Quartz held the hand Wolverine had amputated earlier against his wrist stump, waiting for the crystals to reconnect and make him whole again. As he did, he watched the savage young woman with interest, thoughtfully pursing his rocky lips. In particular, he watched the way her thighs went taut when she struck, the way her rounded butt shifted the yellow spandex, the flexing of her firm arms and shoulders…

A minute passed and the crystal giant just watched the small but muscular heroine work fruitlessly. He listened to her snarls and his comrade’s sarcastic encouragement, keeping his own council, and waited for his hand to attach. Only after another full minute had passed, did he decide to voice his thoughts.

“She’s kinda buff, ya know?” he mused, “Like, not exactly a gymnast but… sort of.”

Miasma grinned, “Thick with three c’s. Those are berserker muscles, my friend.”

Quartz nodded sagely.

“I like it,” he decided, “She’s not, like, a body builder, and she’s small enough to throw around, but…”

“Compact!” Miasma chimed in, “And look at the endurance!”

“Yeah…”

The two Morlocks trailed off at that, considering the X-Man with appraising stares.

Wolverine’s breath was growing ragged, her roars and snarls mixed with wheezes. Even her athleticism and her powers of revitalization had their limits. Her claws were moving slower, her body looking heavy. She didn’t stop or pause to catch her breath, but she was beginning to stagger as her muscles struggled to support her.

“Can you make her tear her top off?” Quartz asked brightly.

Miasma shook his head, “I’m not controlling her mind. I’m recreating her trigger scent to make her go nuts.”

Quartz blinked. Wolverine yowled and swiped so hard she almost fell to the ground.

Miasma looked askance at the larger Morlock, looking a bit smug as he explained.

“These guys wanted her to be an assassin. So, they made this chemical scent that would trigger something in her brain, make her go nuts and kill whatever they put the scent on. So all I did was recreate that scent with my powers and…” he gestured with a flourish, “Voila! All new, all sexy Wolverine is basically hopped up on catnip! Except more murdery and more… she can’t stop it.”

Quartz slowly nodded, “Oh. That makes sense.”

The pair went back to watching in silence.

Wolverine attempted another roar of fury, but it was weak, her voice cracking. One of her legs buckled and she fell to one knee and though she almost immediately pushed herself back up, she was clearly tiring. She swiped again at the cloud and staggered like a comic drunk, barely having the strength to catch herself.

Quartz looked down at his recently removed hand, wiggling the fingers. Letting go with his other hand, inspected his wrist, then turned it over, checking to make sure the seam between stump and hand had healed together.

Nodding, satisfied, he made a fist. However, now that he was whole again, something else came to his mind.

He turned abruptly towards his comrade.

“Hey! How do you know that stuff?”

Miasma grinned, enjoying watching the X-Man using up the last of her energy.

“Huh?”

“I mean, all that stuff with the guys and her being an assassin!” Quartz’s brow lowered in a scowl, “And why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Miasma blinked, his grin fading. He hadn’t considered that.

“Maybe instead of cutting off my hand,” the giant grumbled, “You could have sicced her on her friends!”

Miasma continued waving his hand to keep Wolverine “entertained”, but he slowly turned to meet his comrade’s eyes. He looked stymied, continuing to blink dumbly, not having an answer.

When he paused to think about it, he didn’t know how he’d known that stuff either. The knowledge of both the trigger scent, and how to use his gas powers to simulate it, had simply come to him when he’d woken up, like a spark of inspiration. It felt like he had learned it in passing, though he had no idea from where, then suddenly remembered he’d known it.

But he couldn’t explain all that to his large friend and expect him to understand. He didn’t even understand it himself.

Wolverine lashed out clumsily and fell to her knees, no longer able to roar or even growl between her wheezing breaths. She was much slower in getting up, her arms hanging like wet noodles.

“Hey!” Quartz waved his hand in front of Miasma’s face, “Wake up! I’m talking to you!”

Miasma shook himself, then scowled.

“Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes, “Everybody knows about the trigger scent thing. It’s common knowledge.”

If Quartz had been more confident in his own intelligence, he might have pushed back against this statement. However, he’d often been wrong about such things before, and Miasma’s response took the wind out of his sails.

“Well…” he blinked, “Yeah, but, I mean… not everyone…”

Miasma was quick to press his advantage.

“And if you recall, I barely got to do anything before I got sucker punched. AND your hand grew back! What are you complaining about?”

Quartz ruefully rubbed his wrist, “Yeah, fine. Okay.”

“How about I never did this, huh?” Miasma snapped, “I figured out how to take her down and you’re bitching at me!”

“Yeah, well, from where I’m sitting, she’s not down yet!”

No sooner had Quartz said this than Wolverine made one last, pitiful swing, then toppled forward into the grass. She landed with a resounding thud.

The two Morlocks turned, immediately forgetting their argument. They stared at her, momentarily stunned. Their plan had been to wear her out until she was easy pickings, but they hadn’t thought it would be as easy as just waiting for her to collapse.

Wolverine lay flat on her face, arms splayed out on either side of her like a cross, claws still protruding from her gloved knuckles. Her snarling was gone, replaced by heavy breaths that heaved her shoulders and came with whimpers of distress. The muscles in her shoulders and thighs twitched from over exertion, her rump standing out prominently like a small hill along the flatter surface of her back.

Quartz and Miasma looked at each other. Slowly they approached, still slightly intimidated by the diminutive but muscular figure. Their eyes were on her claws, remembering the speed that they could lash out and the results they could create.

Quartz spoke the thought in both their minds, “Is… she really down?”

Miasma narrowed his eyes, further concentrating the cloud of trigger scent around her head.

“Well, she’s not faking it,” he said, “She can’t not attack if she catches a whiff of that. Looks like she passed out!”

As he drew within a few yards, he turned his hand over and the yellow mist returned to its master, his palm seeming to suck it up like a vacuum cleaner. He stopped beside the young woman’s body and nudged her shoulder with his toe, his grin growing.

“Yeah, she’s all used up,” he turned to smirk at his friend, “I’ll give her a little…”

He stopped when he noticed Quartz wasn’t beside him.

Looking over his shoulder, he blinked in surprise to see the crystal giant standing several yards back, nervously rubbing his wrist. He stared for a moment, then rolled his eyes.

“The scent only affects her, you big pansy!”

Just then, Wolverine groaned and shifted slightly.

This triggered a chain reaction. Miasma leapt into the air and shrieked like a scalded cat, then tried to whirl around and flee at the same time, getting tangled up in his own legs. He landed on his hindquarters with eyes the size of saucers.

Quartz drew in a sharp breath as well, taking a step back.

However, their surprise and fear were unfounded. Wolverine turned her head so she wasn’t breathing into the dirt, then groaned again and went still. She was so exhausted, that little amount of effort left her panting even heavier than before.

It took a few seconds for the Morlocks to regain their confidence but seeing her moaning and helpless made it return stronger than before.

Miasma’s grin broadened and he stood up, dusting himself off.

“Heh, t-toldja!” he cleared his throat, “She’s all but done. She’s too tired to even move her arms.”

Not quite convinced, Quartz took a few careful steps closer while his friend strode around toward Laura’s head.

Bending at the waist, Miasma leaned down to smirk into the formerly dangerous heroine’s face.

“All tuckered out, huh?”

He patted her head.

“Something tells me the real Wolverine wouldn’t go down this easy,” he sneered, “Him I wouldn’t even try to mess with. You? You’re not nearly as terrifying.”

Seeing his friend’s mocking disdain lent Quartz courage. He strode forward, a grin of his own growing on his face, as he looked down at their fatigued enemy.

Laura’s eyes were hidden behind the white lenses of her mask, but her pouty lips were agape, cheeks flushed. She vaguely remembered picking up the dreaded trigger scent, but nothing that came after. Her vision was cloudy and tinged with red, her head pounding and thoughts moving in slow motion. She barely recognized the two men looming over her as enemies.

“You’re nothing compared to that guy,” Miasma taunted, “You do look better in the suit, though.”

“Yeah!” Quartz waved at her, “We nailed your sweet little ass! And when we get you back to the fortress, we’re going to ride you like a pony!”

Their words stung Laura somewhere in the back of her mind, but after such prolonged, intense rage, she was emotionally numb. She coughed feebly, drunken, unable to focus.

“Face it, hon,” Miasma brushed some of her dark hair from her face, “You’re just a cheap imitation.”

Having had his say, the jaundiced villain stepped back and crossed his arms. He looked up at Quartz and grinned.

“You wanna finish her off?” he gallantly offered.

Quartz rubbed his hands together. It sounded like someone was raking a stone across glass.

“Oh yeah…” he bent down, reaching towards her.

The world spinning around her, feeling somewhat detached from what was happening, Laura pushed up with trembling arms, trying to rise. She didn’t get far before massive fingers closed around her chest and squeezed tight.

“Un-unh…” she grunted as some of the air was forced from her lungs.

The spinning of her head only grew worse as she found herself lifted off the ground. Her arms dangled and she couldn’t even manage to kick her legs, barely understanding what was happening.

Groaning faintly, she blinked as she was lifted up before a large, crystal face, wearing a nasty grin.

“You’re done, sweetie,” Quartz squeezed tighter, causing Laura to gasp, “This is for cutting my hand off.”

Laura was still trying to piece together what he was talking about, when the giant turned and slammed her head-first into the ground like a tent stake. Instantly, any thoughts she’d started to form were obliterated, along with her consciousness.

Miasma gaped at his friend’s work as Quartz stepped back, grinning with satisfaction. Then he burst out laughing.

Driven into the turf all the way up to her shoulders, the ferocious Wolverine looked like an ostrich trying to bury its head in the sand. Her knees were tucked beneath her, arms splayed out flat beside her and, most notably, her rump directing its full, heart shape towards the sky. It looked almost preposterous that she would stay in that cartoonish position, like her weight would simply flatten her out, but with her head stuck deep in the ground she was fixed there like a comical statue.

“That’s… AWESOME!” Miasma laughed, applauding helplessly.

Quartz clapped his massive hands together and shook them over his head in triumph, accepting the cheers as his due.

Still laughing, the mirth-stricken Miasma approached her heavensward-poking butt. Stopping beside her, he draw back his hand then swung with all his might.

“WE!” SMACK, “BEAT!” SMACK, “YOUR!” SMACK, “ASS!”

Cackling, he continued to lay into her rump with meaty claps, which only encouraged his hysterical laughter. This was the Wolverine, the X-Man everyone was scared of, even more than the more powerful members of the team. They might knock you out, but this psychopath could take your arm off, or even kill you, and not even stop.

And now… he was spanking her.

He wound up on each blow, smacking her with enough force that each time it rocked her hips forward. Her rump would rise up higher, pushed forward, then would fall and bounce back into place for the next punishing spanking. It was like clockward, bouncing the Wolverine’s butt up and down in a jaunty rhythm.

Finally, after pummeling her rump until he was satisfied, he bent down to take her ankles. Waddling back, he dragged her legs out straight, but was stopped from pulling further when her head refused to come free of the ground.

He blinked in surprise, then laughed again as he jerked harder at her legs.

“Damn!” he leaned back, tugging hard, “You really got her… in there good!”

Quartz chuckled but watched his friend warily. Arms crossed, he tapped one heavy finger on his bicep, mulling something over as he observed Miasma’s work.

When the yellow-skinned mutant finally popped her head free of the hole with a victorious laugh, he decided to speak his mind.

“So, uh…” he scratched his head, “Who gets to keep her?”

Miasma dragged the unconscious young X-Man away from the hole, flattening her out, then hurried around to her side. He bent down to roll her over.

“Well,” he reached under her shoulder and hip, then flipped her like a pancake, “Me. Obviously.”

Quartz jerked at that. He’d expected a discussion, maybe even some bargaining, not for his friend to take everything like it was a foregone conclusion.

“Hey!” he glared, “Why do you get to keep her?! I’m the one that finished her off!”

Miasma knelt down, putting his knee onto her stomach.

“Yeah!” he cupped beneath her head, “Because I let you! As a favor, cuz she cut off your hand!”

Quartz shifted in place and paused before responding.

“N-no—I mean, yeah! But… I was here the whole time!”

Tilting her head up, Miasma took a moment to look over the girl’s face. One of the ears of the mask was crumpled down from the impact, one of the eye holes torn. Her skull had probably been crushed, but for her healing factor that meant nothing more than a headache and nap time, though for how long was unclear. Her head looked completely healed already.

“I’m the one that had the plan and the powers that made it work,” Miasma pointed a finger and spritzed a small cloud of gas into her face, “Besides, I’m the one that’s going to be keeping her out.”

Laura stiffened for a moment as the powerful sedative hit her system, but she was as vulnerable to it as any other girl. After an instant of tension, she sighed and relaxed, fainting away into a deeper sleep.

“Nighty night,” he whispered, reaching for her mask, “Let’s get this off. It doesn’t really fit you…”

While Miasma slipped the mask over Laura’s forehead, Quartz clenched his fists in frustration.

“But… but I’m the one that knocked her out!” he exclaimed, “I… I should get SOMEthing!”

Miasma gave his big friend a quick, tired look, before returning his attention to unmasking the Wolverine. He smoothed the hood back over her hair, then let it fall, admiring the surprisingly innocent, pretty face beneath.

“Fine!” he sighed, not wanting any more interruptions, “You get your pick of the cheerleaders. AND if you help me declaw her, I’ll let you keep the claws as a trophy.”

Quartz stroked his rocky chin, considering this.

“But,” Miasma smoothed his thumb over her soft lips, “You have to agree I’m the one that beat the Wolverine. She’s mine by law. Deal?”

The giant pondered for another moment. Technically, he admitted, his friend didn’t owe him anything, but now he was getting some cheerleaders out of it. Plus, those shiny claws would be awesome trophies.

“Deal,” he agreed, “But… how are we going to get her claws out?”

Miasma lifted his eyes to grin nastily at the giant, “What, you’ve neve dug a splinter out of your hand before?”

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