Rogue Replacement: A Marvel Story

Chapter 10

Arc 1 - Ch 10: Repercussions

Date: Saturday, June 5, 2010.

Location: Bronx, New York

The needle glinted menacingly as Ororo lunged towards Jubilee next. Panic erupted in Tyson's chest, his instincts screaming at him to act. Though no speedster, Tyson's absorbed powers gave him reflexes beyond any normal human. He shot out a hand, his fingers clamped around Ororo's wrist with the crushing strength of a vice, halting the needle mere inches from Jubilee's vulnerable neck.

Jubilee shrank back, her usual bubbly bravado replaced by naked fear.

His hyper-focused senses washed over the scene, taking in every detail as his mind raced to make sense of Professor Ororo's inexplicable actions. When logic failed him, animal instinct took over. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as he sought the familiar scent of the woman he now held at bay. Ororo's scent lived in his memory, imprinted from when they'd first met days earlier.

The subtle scent of nature and the faint but unmistakable undercurrent of rainstorms. He first encountered it in the Canadian wilderness, amid the pine trees and fresh, icy air.

Instead of Ororo's distinctive aroma of an impending rainstorm, this imposter carried a flat, artificial fragrance akin to a sprinkler spraying water across a lawn.

His grip on her wrist tightened as the truth clicked into place.

Earlier at the table, this woman's scent also lacked Ororo's unique signature. The fraud had been masquerading as their professor all day.

Any concerns Tyson might have held about leaving the institute were assuaged by the thought that Storm would be watching over them.

But now, with Jean unconscious in her chair, he chastised himself for not staying alert.

Only one person could be standing before him wearing Ororo's face and attempting to mimic her scent.

The shapeshifter, Mystique.

Tracing his eyes over the long-sleeved turtleneck and gloves she wore, he noticed that she was completely covered. It denied him any chance to make direct contact, triggering his power.

Mystique had come aware that skin contact was the key to his ability.

His arm kept her at a distance for now, but his other side was weighed down by Jean's unconscious form leaning against him. Another concern tickled the back of his mind. If events unfolded as in the film, then Mystique was not the only adversary lurking nearby. Sabertooth was no longer a concern, but others remained. Toad, the agile mutant with his lashing tongue. And of course, the grand mastermind himself. Magneto. The thought of facing the metal-manipulating mutant set Tyson's nerves on edge. For all his newly gained strength, Magneto was in a class of his own. Tyson was no match for him, especially here.

A train car was essentially a giant metal box, ripe for Magneto's control.

Tyson's mind raced as he analyzed the situation unfolding. The other Brotherhood members would make their move any moment now. His claws itched beneath his skin, eager to emerge for battle. He imagined tearing apart Mystique, shredding Toad to pieces, then finally killing Magneto...

No.

Those weren't his thoughts. That was the influence of Sabertooth surfacing again. Tyson knew that he was no match for the metal-manipulating mutant mastermind.

Not on his own.

The strain was evident in Tyson's eyes as he struggled with the difficult choice he was now forced to make.

"Sorry about this," Tyson murmured apologetically though Jean could not hear him.

One muscular hand remained locked on Mystique's wrist, while his other arm cradled Jean's limp form. Tyson wrapped his free arm around the unconscious Jean and grasped the fabric of his own shirt, slicing through it with a single claw extended from his fingertip. The shredded fabric fell away, exposing the defined muscles of his chiseled chest and rippling abdomen. As he finished cutting through his clothes, Jean's head lolled toward his bare skin. Tyson hated to take advantage of his friend's vulnerability, but he knew what needed to be done. With Jean perilously close now, Tyson whipped his claw toward the false Ororo's face. The movement caused Jean to slump heavily against his exposed body.

The fake Ororo tilted her head, narrowly avoiding Tyson's vicious swipe.

Her mocking laughter rang out through the train car. "Did you think it would be that easy?" she taunted.

Her appearance rippled and morphed before their eyes, her smooth brown skin shifted into a vivid azure hue. Lush white hair shortened and shifted to a vibrant cherry red. Gone was the visage of Ororo; now Mystique stood smugly before them in her true form.

"You're making a mistake," Tyson warned.

Mystique's full lips curled into a self-assured smirk, unperturbed by his grip on her arm. She cocked her head, regarding him with an air of casual arrogance. "Am I?" her response dripped with condescension. "Or is it you who has made the mistake?" She leaned in closer, her face inches from his. "There's no X-Men here to save you this time."

As their tense standoff continued, Jean's limp body slowly listed into Tyson's muscular frame. Time seemed to slow. He could feel the soft brush of her long red locks against his bare chest as her head lolled forward. He steeled himself for the onrush of memories soon to flood his mind, and as the exposed skin of her forehead grazed his chest, Tyson began a mental countdown.

She was playing in a suburban backyard, laughing as she levitated toys around her. She felt fear when she first discovered she could hear people's thoughts. Her powers bursting forth unpredictably made her feel isolated and different. Whispers followed her in school, children pointing and parents pulling them away, not wanting their children to make friends with a mutant. She struggled to keep the voices in her head at bay, but then she was discovered by Magneto and Xavier. The professor created mental walls to contain her power. In her teenage years, she found her place at the institute, a home where she wasn’t an outcast. She was compassionate and protective of those she loved. She bore the weight of her powers with grace, always striving for control. She was a mediator, often the voice of reason. The mental walls Xavier built were beginning to weaken, she could feel something else within her. Beyond the walls was…

One...

Suddenly, a sharp sensation pricked at Tyson's temples, as though a dam had burst within his mind, unleashing a deluge of thoughts, emotions, and voices. He could hear the distant murmurs of every passenger on the train. Their hopes, fears, memories, and desires were laid bare.

It was overwhelming.

The cacophony of inner voices threatened to drown him, each psyche an open book for him to peruse. He sensed the young mother's worry for her child, her fear of judgment from other passengers mixing with warm pride. The anxious thoughts of the young man across the aisle bombarded Tyson, his nerves over an impending job interview plagued by self-doubt. In the back of the car, an elderly woman's nostalgia for her youth washed over him in bittersweet waves.

With Jean's telepathy now intertwining with his senses, he felt awash in a sea of empathy. Tyson could almost taste the kaleidoscope of emotions; the sweet joy of reuniting with a loved one, the spicy arousal of a furtive glance, the bitter tang of jealousy and regret. Each sensation was distinct and overwhelming. The sudden depth of insight was intoxicating. He saw himself reflected in every mind, his hopes and fears mingling with those of the strangers around him. For a moment, the lines between their psyches blurred into a collective consciousness, at once beautiful and terrifying in its intimacy. Tyson clung to his sense of self, even as Jean's power threatened to dissolve the boundaries between himself and all the minds in the area.

Two…

The cacophony of voices echoing in Tyson's head was deafening, each distinct thought and emotion crashing together like waves in a turbulent sea. With Jean's memories came a glimpse of the discipline she had honed under Professor X's tutelage, the mental barriers erected to restrain the full torrent of her telepathic abilities.

But Tyson didn't have those walls.

He was left as a raw, open conduit for the psychic maelstrom. One sensation rose above them all.

Anger.

It may have come from the simmering bitterness of a passenger seated nearby or drifted from some distant mind. Perhaps it emanated from the feral corners of Tyson's psyche, where Sabertooth's animal fury lingered.

But the source did not matter.

The sheer intensity of this anger resonated within Tyson, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He felt the heat of it rising as the emotion built upon itself, resentment feeding resentment. A floodgate had been opened, and with Jean's powers unrestrained, the full force of this rage poured through Tyson's mind unchecked, an unstoppable psychic tsunami.

Three…

Tyson clung desperately to his sense of self, struggling not to be swept away in the riptide as the anger crested. But he was drowning, the mounting fury threatening to dissolve the boundaries between his mind and the others that now intruded upon his thoughts.

A moment of focus surged through his mind, honing his awareness to a razor's edge. His senses flared, warning him of imminent danger. He felt the hostile intent radiating from a nearby foe; the unmistakable sensation of an enemy poised to strike.

Toad.

Tyson zeroed in on the villain just as his long, slimy tongue shot out towards an unsuspecting Jubilee. Still reeling from the shock of Ororo's unexpected attack and Tyson's forceful response, Jubilee looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, oblivious to the sneak attack.

With a mental shove as forceful as a wrecking ball, he lifted Toad's scrawny frame and flung him across the car. Surprise registered on Toad's face. His trajectory ended with a loud crash as his body slammed into the rear wall and slumped to the floor in a limp pile.

Around them, passengers screamed in terror at the man sent violently hurled through the cramped, lurching train car.

Four…

Mystique struggled against Tyson's iron grip, but his hand remained locked around her arm like a vice. She watched in mounting horror as his free hand swung towards her in slow motion.

She strained her muscles to their limits. Mystique was far stronger than she looked, her shapeshifting powers granting her strength beyond the greatest of humans. But it wasn't enough to break Tyson's grip on her wrist. More than that, some invisible, telekinetic force, gripped her entire body, preventing her from twisting away.

Five…

Tyson guided Jean into the seat beside him ensuring not to make any further direct skin contact. He knew even a few more seconds of touch could prove devastating, if not lethal. "Keep her safe, Jubilee," he said in a low voice. "Don't worry about me. Escape if you can."

His massive hand clamped over Mystique's face, smothering her features from chin to hairline. A ragged cry died in her throat as she felt her life force being leeched from her body in a torturous rush.

She was a young blue-skinned girl shunned by a world that hated her for being different. She attempted desperately to fit in, but hiding her unique complexion was challenging; her power was difficult to control. When she mastered it, the world around her became a canvas, and she was the brush, able to paint herself into any scene or situation. She could become anyone, or anything, with just a thought. She allied with Magneto who shared a dream of a world where mutants wouldn't have to hide who they were. She became whoever she needed to be to plot against those who sought to harm their kind. She was a baroness, a mother, a terrorist, a crime lord, a murderer, and more; she had taken as many titles as she had forms.

As the memories flooded into his mind, Tyson felt his cells become malleable, his rigid form loosening into a fluid adaptability. Along with Mystique's shapeshifting came a measure of mental discipline. Raven Darkholme had learned to control her power by compartmentalizing her mind, a necessity for becoming other people, without losing herself. This ability granted Tyson a sliver of respite against the overwhelming psychic might inherited from Jean. Although far from perfect, Mystique's psychic fortitude gave him a foothold, a chance to filter the barrage of sensations and emotions from Jean's telepathy. His mind calmed ever so slightly as he felt Jean's commanding presence alongside Mystique's cunning intellect, both guiding and influencing him from within. The two mutants' powers and experiences melded into his psyche. Tyson focused, clinging to that foothold, striving to balance their clashing wills with his own.

One…

The clashing psyches warring within Tyson sent contradictory impulses surging through his mind. Aggression vied with passivity. Cunning clashed with timidity. But one drive cut through. They were under attack.

Aggression won out.

Two…

With sudden force born of superhuman strength, Tyson lunged across the train car, dragging Mystique along by her head still gripped in his hand. He slammed her into the wall beside the window. Glass shattered from the impact, allowing outside air to whip wildly into the train. The metal wall groaned and buckled under Tyson's strength.

The abrupt violence sent shockwaves through the panicked passengers. It wasn't only psychological, in his anger, Tyson released a telekinetic wave. Commuters in the immediate area were knocked down or away, out of their seats and into the aisles. Others scrambled and screamed, tripping over abandoned luggage and other passengers in desperation to flee the fight.

Three…

Tyson was merciless in his assault. Mystique's head and torso were now embedded in the battered wall. For Tyson, time seemed to slow, the chaos around him faded as he focused on his target. She struggled furiously, pummeling his arms and clawing at his fingers, but her strength was nothing compared to his might. She was trapped, her life ebbing away beneath his unrelenting grasp.

Four…

Tyson's inner voices clashed in tumultuous debate, some pleading with him not to take another life with his touch, others insisting they did not kill, that was not who they were. But the darkest parts cried out in bloodlust, reveling at the thought of snuffing out Mystique's life force. Her struggles were weak, it wouldn't be long now… only seconds. But one thought rose above the rest.

Killing her would be a waste.

As Tyson sifted through the kaleidoscope of her memories, an evil grin spread across his face.

He would break her instead.

His skin rippled as it transformed, darkening to a deep crimson, the change creeping from his fingers up his arms like licking flames. Tyson's features contorted; his jaw extending slightly as his face pulled taut over high cheekbones. His eyes flooded black, from sclera to pupil, becoming pools of endless midnight. A wild mane of jet-black hair sprouted from his scalp and a prehensile tail with a spade tip unfurled behind him.

His body shifted into a perfect doppelganger of Azazel.

He pulled his hand back from her face. Mystique remained pinned by an invisible force. His telekinesis held her prisoner against the battered train wall. Her yellow eyes went wide with dismay and recognition. A malicious pleasure radiated from him, an aura of domination and control. He leaned in close, his cool breath tingling her skin.

"I'm back, Raven... and I want our child."

His voice dripped malevolence as he unearthed one of Mystique's deepest secrets.

Tyson, the false Azazel, loomed over her. Though he bore the demon's visage, he lacked Azazel's inherent charm. He could not enthrall Mystique as the real Azazel had beguiled Illyana. But manipulation was not solely the devil's domain.

The train car thrummed with unseen power as Tyson channeled the full might of Jean Grey's telepathic abilities. Psychic energy built like an overwhelming tide, pressing against Mystique's mind. The very air grew dense, charged with psionic potential. She had always prided herself on her mental defenses. Constant shape-shifting made her mind an ever-shifting labyrinth that protected her against telepathic intrusion. But Azazel's sudden appearance, coupled with Tyson's intimate knowledge of her weaknesses, and Jean's overwhelming telepathy, left a crack in her armor. And Tyson seized upon it ruthlessly.

The mental assault slammed into her like a battering ram besieging a fortress. Mystique's golden eyes went wide with dismay as the sheer magnitude of the psychic attack overwhelmed her. The false Azazel leaned in, his breath cold against her skin.

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dripping with cruel certainty. "Forever tainted by my touch."

It felt like invisible fingers worming their way into her mind, unraveling the very threads of her identity. Mystique's defiant facade faltered, her eyes clouding with fear, confusion, and anguish. She recoiled from the mental and physical violation, movements staggered as if struggling through quicksand. The strong-willed shapeshifter suddenly seemed fragile, shaken to her core. The brutal psychic attack and cruel words left a permanent mark on her psyche.

But Tyson's domination of Mystique's mind was interrupted as the train car shuddered. Metal screamed as it warped and twisted around them, causing him to freeze and the hair on his neck to stand on end.

The rigid walls peeled open like the skin of a fruit, metallic tendrils unfurling and reaching for him with serpentine hunger. Above, the roof split apart, unveiling the sky and the figure descending from on high.

Magneto.

He floated down with outstretched arms, radiating raw power. Gravity seemed to bend to his will, his descent steady and deliberate. To Tyson, he looked every inch the messiah come to mete out judgment.

Around him, the train car continued its nightmarish transformation. Under Magneto's control, the metal lining the walls and chairs rippled as if alive, slowly advancing on Tyson. The metal appeared almost liquid while under control of Magneto's power. But Tyson knew that beneath that deceptive fluidity lay a strength when wielded by an Omega-level mutant.

Regardless of the danger looming ever closer, Tyson found himself reluctant to release his captive. Mystique's golden eyes were wide with naked fear. His telekinetic grip kept her pinned.

A flash of uncertainty flickered through him as he had a moment of introspection. He wondered if his brutality was the lingering influence of Sabertooth's bestial instincts slowly seeping into his psyche. Or was it a calculated ruthlessness instilled by Mystique's memories, an unwillingness to relinquish control of a nearly defeated enemy? And was it Jean's inherent compassion that now stirred within, urging him to show mercy? Tyson had no answers. The voices of those whose powers and memories he'd absorbed clashed within him. Allies and enemies vying for dominance.

Unsure what Magneto valued more; saving his shapeshifting ally or capturing Tyson for himself caused the young mutant to hesitate. Would the metal-wielding supremacist's devotion to his cause outweigh his loyalty? Indecision paralyzed Tyson, even as his window for action shrank with each passing second. He knew he couldn't afford the luxury of time to think with Magneto descending upon him like an avenging angel.

Tyson had to act, and fast.

Under the perceived slow motion of his enhanced senses, Tyson sprang into action. His muscular arm tightened protectively, almost possessively around Mystique's slender frame. Her shape felt feather-light against his formidable strength as he carried her bridal style, like an awkwardly large football that he now had to safeguard. Each long stride carried them closer toward escape even as the encroaching tendrils of metal slithered after them. Sabertooth's predatory instincts had honed Tyson's reflexes to a razor's edge. Now they guided his every movement, turning the train car into his playground. His enhanced agility allowed him to flow between passengers. He ducked under grasping arms, and pivoted around flailing bodies, using each surface to propel himself forward. The feral power coiled tightly in his muscles unleashed with each dodge and swerve, while Magneto's makeshift weapons lashed just out of reach.

Tyson was a hunter now, with the train exit in his sights. He tuned out the chaotic cries rising around him, focusing only on his target ahead. Just a few more steps until he breached the car, escaping into the city with his prize still in hand. The predator within urged him on, guiding his steps toward the doors.

Until a sudden, invisible force jerked him to a halt.

Confusion flashed across his face as Mystique was ripped from his clutches, her body flying backward through the air.

How?

Tyson's mind raced, searching for an explanation. Then it hit him from within her memories. In his haste to absorb Mystique's past and weaponize it against her, he overlooked something in her recent thoughts.

Magneto planned a contingency in case he might need to use his abilities on one of his own. Mystique wore weighted metal plates concealed under her disguise. And now Magneto was calling to those plates, his power dragging Mystique from Tyson's grasp.

Quickly countering, Tyson tapped into Jean's telekinetic gift, halting Mystique's flight mid-air. Her body went rigid, suspended awkwardly as Tyson's will held firm against the pull of Magneto's power.

In a flash, Tyson's claws sliced through the fabric of Mystique's outfit, shredding it to ribbons. The weights beneath tumbled free. Magneto's hold continued dragging the released metal weights through the air toward himself.

Tyson bared his teeth in a savage grin, ready to reclaim his prize.

He wasted no time in scooping up Mystique and continuing his retreat. In tearing apart the train car to use the metal against him, Magneto had created several holes that offered escape routes.

Suddenly, an impact like a gunshot rocked him from behind. He staggered, biting back a grunt as pain reverberated through him. It felt like being struck by a charging bull. Though his body absorbed Sabertooth's resilience, it couldn't negate the full force of the blow. Then more impacts followed in a ceaseless barrage. After the third crushing blow, he stumbled, dropping Mystique and leaving her in favor of using his arms to defend himself.

Finally, Tyson spun around angry and shocked to see the source of the relentless assault. Magneto's ferrokinesis altered the weights from Mystique's vest, shaping them into menacing bullets. He'd turned Tyson's clever move against him, wielding the weights as instruments of his downfall. Tyson realized these were more than bullets, they were huge, like cannonballs, and accelerated to bone-crushing speeds. With each hit, the train car shuddered under the impacts of their force. His bones shattered with every strike, healing just in time for the next.

Mystique's limp form lay forgotten, as all his focus narrowed to withstanding the bombardment.