Together We Stand

Author: Jenskott Summary: A What-If where Xavier and Magneto decided working together instead fighting at each other. How would be the Marvel Universe?
Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I want more! And I have some words to my reviewers. To Harry2: Thanks for your praise and the Legion's bit. To Wanizame: I READ my story. And I run grammar and spell check over it. Several times. And I'm seldom glad with the result. I'm NOT an English speaker, so I'm sort of handicapped, but I try making my best. I'd gladly take up helping.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: They're Marvel's. But I'm treating them well.
Feedback: To But isn't necessary you wrote me telling me what you think or to correct my flimsy English. Really, don't take the effort to type a pair of lines... What do you mean with reverse psychology?

Part Five. Mayhem in the Mall-

Logan had very strict rules when he trained the kids. Charlie amused himself rigging the Danger Room out with countless traps and nasty surprises to hone and tune his pupils' skills. Erik made up complicated and awesome holographic landscapes to show them like win battles and surpass their limits. But if he was bound to teach them fighting skills and martial arts, he would do it in a proper setting.

Hence the Danger Room seemed right now a Japanese dojo, with paneling of wood covering the walls and tatamis on the floor. The illusion was so perfect he could see the gnarled and black-brown branches of a cherry tree blooming with rosy petals out of the window.

Inside the gym the children were clad in their battle garbs and fighting in pairs. A good method to test theirs skill and ascertain theirs flaws. For example, Peter knew hit but not fight, and Pietro relied too much on his speed. Thus Colossus was permanently punching the air as Quicksilver landed several dozens of blows on his armored skin with no effect. However Pietro would wear away his energies eventually and Peter only needed tag him once to win. Both could learn of it, but stubborn and proud Pietro's temper wasn't prone to accept lessons easily. On the other hand Piotr was humbler and would listen.

His first disciples had clear advantage in the fights, since Magneto wasn't as well-versed in physical combat as him. Scott, one of his soft spots, was showing Kurt his amazing agility didn't serve against someone who guessed always his movements. Wanda was sparring with Hank with expression of wanting castrating him, and Warren was wrestling with Bobby with expression of wanting castrating him. Hank was the best and most advanced of them whereas Wanda needed much exercise to keep up with her partners.

An interesting match was Jean against Betsy. Jeannie was one of his best students, with a vicious and merciless fighting style and a stubborn streak, but the English girl was faring fine. Unlike her four partners, she had learnt her arts and showed promise.

Logan was observing them sternly, noting down what they did wrong, when disaster struck. Jean cornered Betsy with a barrage of punches and tried taking her down with a sweeping kick. Betsy hopped, dodging it, and tried a palm chop at Jean's head. Jean blocked it in time with her right forearm, grabbed her wrist and threw a fist straight to the breastbone. Betsy widened her eyes in panic and grabbed the fist with her free hand. Empowered by a surge of fear and adrenaline, she disengaged her arm, arched it back like a striking viper and launched it towards Marvel Girl.

Suddenly purple light flashed, and a blast of crackling lavender embers exploded where the fist connected. Jean screeched in intense, excruciating pain and fell backwards. An intense violet light pulsated on her chest. Stunned and horrified, Betsy pinned a bulged-eyed stare on her, covering her mouth with a hand. A purple glow shimmered still around her left fist.

Logan and Scott rushed instantly to attend her, followed closely by the rest. Luckily Jean stirred in semi-awareness as they circled her. Her eyelids were tightly sealed and she groaned throatily as her digits rubbed her forehead, but otherwise she seemed fine. As Scott squeezed with gentle tightness her hand and helped her to sit on the floor, he wondered why she was feeling pain in a place where she hadn't been stricken. Anyway he was very thankful his visor masked the sidelong glare he was throwing at Psylocke.

Stop that! She isn't to blame! A blaze flared in his mind. Scott winced. Jean's temper was merciless.

Jean shook her aching head with exasperation. As she reached blindly for Scott, enduring a throbbing ache nestled between her eyebrows, Logan kneeled gingerly next to her. His worst fears were eased, but his rough face showed still tender concern. "What has happened you, Jeannie?"

She wrinkled her forehead and her eyelids fluttered. "I don't know. Betsy was throwing me a hysterical jab when of sudden her fist... flares and pounds on my mental shields. I don't know how she did it, but her attack just... sliced them." Jean released a groan and gazed intensely at Betsy. "What did you do, Betsy?"

The blonde girl bit her lip. The usual Jean's grouchiness mitigated partially her guilt, but she remained distraught and fear-stricken. She brought her arm up to her face and scrutinized it with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "I don't know either. I became frightened at the end, and I... lashed out. And something inside my head exploded. Before I realized it, my fist was channeling my psychic power."

Jean frowned thoughtfully. It sounded dangerous and also... interesting. She regarded Betsy with wary attention. "Yes. It seemed a cross between a dagger and a cannonball."

Logan laid an attentive, supportive hand on her shoulder. Not many imagined his burly, rough hands could be gentle and reassuring. "Can you do it again?" His look was piercing her with an eerie, deep intensity.

Betsy looked mutely at her hand and recalled the sensations she had felt. Fear, shock, helplessness, anger. Her dread to lose, her raw yearning for winning thumped in her heart again. She felt her mind speeding up and tapping in unknown resources whose existence she ignored.

Her fist closed abruptly, and purple energy shimmered around it, shaping a flickering flame. Or a blade.

Logan squinted at the wavering, crackling dagger. "Great. If you can master that, you'll get a fine weapon in a fight, darling."

Instead of beaming at the praise, Betsy grimaced. Power streamed along her arm without stopping like a river has overflowed its dam. With a shudder her right hand grabbed roughly her wrist as a claw, and she struggled vainly to restrain it. "I'm afraid that isn't the case now. The power keeps gathering... Look out!" She stretched out her arm, and her fist fired the flaring violet energy in a wide beam.

Jean erected a telepathic shield deflected harmlessly the sizzling bolt. "Eh! Aim that thing at anywhere else, do you want?" She protested with indignation.

Betsy stuttered an apology with grief-stricken face.

Logan doubled over and guffawed. "All right. Practice is over today, kids. Hit the showers before I spill my guts."

"And I'm really, really sorry-"

"For the umpteenth time, apologies accepted. Drop it already, Betsy. I can feel up here that you're sincere. Do you remember?" Jean tapped meaningfully her moist temple.

Betsy flushed and clasped her bra around her breasts. Jean judged that black lace garment was too daring to a girl of her same age, but she didn't voice out loud her opinion. She was still annoyed and Betsy would feel it was an excuse to break out an argument. Besides, if she was truthful with herself, she was a tad jealous of her bosom size.

Wanda unzipped cautiously her skirt, casting uneasy glances at the thin drape parting both dressers. It seemed billowing on its own accord. "Are you sure of the boys won't try and peek us?"

Jean snickered and shook her head. "No. My boys are too scared of me, and they'll spread their panic to the rest. Moreover, your brother would kill them."

Betsy arched a thin, inquiring eyebrow. "And Scott?"

A lewd, wide grin split Jean's face. "If he peeks" she sang "I'm not telling."

The blonde girl laughed as her fingers buttoned her shirt. "You're a devil."

Jean laughed. "And you a butterfly." She closed her mouth abruptly. Her cheerful countenance was now serious and thoughtful. "In the astral plane, you're a purple butterfly, but my shape is a flaming firebird. I wonder what it'll be owing to-"

Wanda smoothed her clothes and tossed her chocolate curls backwards. "Forget it. We have the afternoon to ourselves, and I want going out of the mansion. Would you mind showing us the town, Jean?"

The redhead girl tied carefully her shoelaces before looking up. "I've got a better idea. The ten of us can go to the mall." The rumble of a frightened, hurried race and the noise of hands struggling frantically with a telekinetically locked doorknob sounded across the screen.

Jean sat up, whistling innocently. "Resistance is futile and escape impossible. If someone runs away, I'll personally hunt him down and deal with accordingly. Are we clear?"

A chorus of groans, squeals and protests echoed from the other side. She grinned sadistically.

An hour later, ten mutant teenagers were crowded in front of the mall. The ride had amazingly been peaceful and uneventful. Such ominous calm was very eerie to Scott, and he stared obsessively skywards, searching for the cloud of impeding doom chasing them. Some shit was about of going on. He was downright SURE.

Piotr scratched thoughtfully his huge chin. "So this is what an American capitalism sanctuary looks like."

Betsy shook her head. "So this is what an American mall is like."

Bobby gazed at her horrified and affronted. "This isn't just a mall. It's OUR mall"

She shrugged, actually calculating how much she'd spend. "And why is it so special?"

Warren mimicked her shrug, shoulders and wings moving at unison beneath his suit. "It's the only mall in Salem Center where we haven't been banned from so far. We use to come down here to buy supplies as Slim tortures customers with mindgames, Red puts perverts through walls, Bobby gets in mischief and Hank uses my fear to malls against me. Not matter what we do, the salesmen look always at the other side."

Betsy grinned sarcastically, and curling a blonde strand around her finger, opened her mouth to state some slandering barb. Jean's strong and enthusiastic voice stopped her.

"Stop that and let's get on with it!" She voiced impatiently. The telepath latched her strong arms around Scott and dragged him in the mall. The whole crowd sighed, and followed Jean.

They had barely barged in the place when a crackling thunder burst out, reverberating ominously through the sky. People stared upwards in amazement. There were no clouds at anywhere.

Two hours later the group was still meandering in the place. The girls strode in the forefront of the crowd, chattering happily with each other. On the other hand the boys trudged along with theirs heads bowed, hiding their downcast expressions. Boredom bordering on madness was weighing them down. Piotr, Hank and Warren were swaying unsteadily as their arms carried dozens of bags and held towers of colorful packages, which tottered dangerously on uneasy balance.

The partially exultant, partially disheartened team was marching along a hallway, when they walked by a shop window that displayed shelves with rows of thick books.

Barely Scott and Jean spotted the bookstore, a wicked gleam drifted wildly in his red shades and her green eyes, and a giddy grin tugged upwards their corners' lips. Instantly they rushed in the shop, making a two-person stampede.

Betsy, Wanda, Pietro, Piotr and Kurt gaped amazed. Warren, Hank and Bobby released tired sighs and shook their heads simultaneously. Their faces displayed deadpan nonchalance.

"Forget about them. Sooner or later they'll crawl out of it." Warren muttered. "What do we do now?"

Bobby yawned. "Can we stop by some coffee shop and eat something. I'm hungry!" And bored, but he didn't mention it.

Pietro nodded. "Eat would be fine. Besides, I have to go out and breathe fresh air."

Muffled Hank's voice sounded behind the heap of assorted packs his wide arms transported awkwardly. "Our wise leader has spoken. Shall we satiate our cravings in Coffee A Go Go or Harry's Hideaway?"

Warren dwelt on it. "Harry must be wondering where we have been the last weeks."

Hank repressed his urge for nodding. "We must reassure him with our presence. Otherwise, so much tranquillity and peace will kill him."

"Then it's settled!" Bobby pumped up his fist. "Let's go!"

He boiled with so much youthful cheerfulness his friends laughed.

Jean ignored the gleeful, greedy smirks the salesmen got when they invaded the store, and leafed through her book. Her careful hands weighed the volume as her fingers stroked tenderly the dustcover and the spine. They'd already raided the History, Geography, Biology, and Novel sections, and Scott was right now inspecting cookbooks. The cook had evicted him from the kitchen yesterday, and she had mumbled in passing that he was unable of cooking anything edible. Of course he HAD that prove her wrong now. She sighed. That man could...

"I burnt water only once!" An indignant voice sounded behind her. Before Jean turned around, her boyfriend had circled her thin waist with one arm, drawing her in him. She could feel the weight of his chin on her shoulder and the intensity of his look as he scanned attentively her reading material.

"Mythologies of the World." He read the title. "Another book more of that? It's all you read of late."

Jean nodded. "I'm investigating ancient Egypt to find hints about Apocalypse. If that bastard is as old as he claims, he'll have left any kind of mark in the history. And perhaps some clue to defeat him..."

Her voice trailed off softly, as a painting on the book caught her enthralled eyes. It displayed the image of a golden, hawk-like bird with long flowing tail, unfolding its wide wings and soaring amidst an inferno of blistering blazes. Jean was marveled with the delicate beauty of the drawing. The artist depicted the raptor with an uncanny aura of inner majesty and grace. The animal seemed alive, fluttering wildly its wings and shrieking challengingly with its sharp beak. The orange, red and amber were so bright and lively she could nearly feel the heat, and theirs golden glow reflected on her green eyes as she gazed at it with charmed fascination.

Life. Death. Rebirth. An endless cycle. The arising of a new life beyond the ashes of death. For some reason, she had been obsessed with that myth since her infancy. She was especially intrigued in the reason of that symbol existed in at least six cultures on the planet.

Scott noticed her bewitchment, and he considered a challenge start her out of it.

Abruptly Jean felt light fingers sliding along her ribs and tickling her. She all but dropped the book with the start and tried escape, but Scott seized her firmly and increased his merciless onslaught. Jean wished elbowing his belly, but she couldn't even stay upright. Her knees gave out and she slumped over Scott, who went on tormenting her with a smug, evil grin sparkling on his usually serious face.

"You're so dead, Summers! Let me go now!" She protested among uproarious giggles. Tears brimmed on her eyes and her jaw hurt. She twisted her body but he held her firmly as his nails racked her ribcage, sides and armpits. "Stop right now or I'll drag you to the Romantic Poetry section!"

"Ha! Little prize to pay!" He chuckled sardonically. He loved winning.

Betsy lifted her arm, drawing the waitress' attention. "Excuse me. May I get another cup, please?"

"Of course." The young woman smiled and poured sweet-flavored green tea in the mug. Betsy inhaled the steam with a deep intake, relishing on its scent filling her nostrils. Feeling relaxation soothing her limbs, she brought the cup at her pale pink lips and sipped quietly. Meanwhile Wanda engulfed a toasted croissant.

She had to admit that place wasn't bad. The shop was well illuminated, the walls were painted with a nice hue, the tables and chairs were comfortable, the waiters were kind, and the owner had welcomed them with open arms. Her only grief was they had to split the group and sit in two different tables. The six boys were gathered in the next booth as Wanda and she were having lunch quietly.

Her teammate sat up, mumbling something about restroom, and she left the booth. Betsy nodded idly and focused her mind newly in the tea. She was deeply drawn in intense reflection, when a sudden stir on the psychic atmosphere startled her. She sensed alarm, apprehension and indignation. Coming from Wanda. Betsy spun around to see her friend was surrounded by a group of tall, muscular boys.

Wanda was a gorgeous girl, but she had lived in Balkan tiny villages and wasn't used to draw bold and forward boys, so she was hesitant, apprehensive. Betsy noticed she stepped back and knew they'd caught her off-guard. She narrowed her pretty eyes, scanning the crowd. Their faces were friendly and grinning, but she sensed the vibes they were giving off, the lurid thoughts lurked in their reptilian minds.

And above all she was glancing at Pietro out of her eye's corner. His glaring, bloodshot eyes were trained on the boys. And his fist had clutched his glass with such strength he had shattered it. The jagged shards sliced his hand and dropped on the floor with a persistent clink, and his fingers were dripping thick orange juice and blood droplets. But he didn't seem realize it. Betsy regarded his eyebrow's nervous twitch and she realized she had stop Wanda's harassment, or they'd have to look for spots to hide several corpses.

The English telepath pushed backwards her chair and bolted to stand next to the brunette gypsy. She faced the mob with her arms stuck to her sides and fists clenched. Her lips were a tight, determined line and a spark shone with fierceness on her narrowed eyes. "Are you getting any trouble, Wanda?"

One of them -a tall, bulky, blond boy- looked her up and down. "I don't think having met you earlier. Are you a new-comer in the town?"

Betsy saw the leer beneath his puny layer of affability, and acknowledged his words' true meaning. He was delighted of having found another 'hot stuff', and he was pondering ways to get in her pants. She repressed a grimace of repugnance and disdain.

"No, we haven't met earlier, and I'm in a hurry now. Let's go, Wanda." Betsy grasped her friend's arm and steered her back to the booth.

A strong and rough claw grabbed harshly her wrist, tightening his firm grip.

"Hold on, little-" The outraged boy started talking, when a hand grabbed his forearm and squeezed. A faint crunch sounded, and he squealed in pain, loosening his hold. Betsy jerked free her arm and turned around.

Warren grabbed roughly his shirt's front and hoisted him up. Theirs eyes connected and Angel pinned him a heated, baleful glare. Betsy gaped at the sight. She knew Angel was cynical and temperamental but she hadn't imagined his anger made him so frightening. And quick. He had come ahead of Pietro, she noticed with amazement.

Meanwhile the man was staring straight at Warren's eyes. Two bluish orbs glowing with smoldering fury. He gulped nervously. He didn't need look around to know his chummy pals had fled hastily.

"H... Hi, Worthington. I didn't know you were here."

Foreboding, silent pause. "Obviously." Warren grated.

"And I d-didn't know that girl was your friend."

"Oh, so that you're sorry for getting me angry, not for bothering a girl." He bristled. His eyes narrowed in thin slits. "You'll never learn, will you, Roberts? Boys, enlighten him."

Warren whirled around and tossed him scornfully in the waiting Hank's arms. Beast and Iceman slid their arms around his shoulders and dragged him wordlessly towards the restaurant's door, followed closely by an intrigued Pietro. Neither of them paid attention to his bloodcurdling screams and weeping pleas.

A soft smirk parted Angel's lips as he observed his friends leaving the store with their victim and their ally in tow. His sharp glance swiveled at Betsy. "I know you didn't need help to get ridden from that scumbag, but that idiot annoys me."

The unexpected, blunt statement prompted a perplex blinking from Psylocke. Then she laughed. "That does two of us. Who he is?"

"Him? His name is Ted Roberts. He hit on Jean once with his charming, nice self and she wiped the floor with his face. The four of us stalked him later and beat him up when there wasn't any witness. Slim looked after personally he was incapable of breeding."

Betsy ignored whether being amazed or amused or panicked. "Do you give that treatment to everybody?"

Warren shook his head in denial. "Only to any dick-for-brains who is stupid enough to harass Jean and any X-girl like." His upper lip curled in disgust. "Perverts. I can't stand them."

She offered him a quizzical glance. "You don't? Of what I've heard you go out every day with a different girl."

He chuckled with bitterness. "I don't like getting hurt. So I date brainless bimbos without caring for them, and they'll gloat about having dated Warren Kenneth Worthington the Third without caring a damn for me. It's a mutually benefit deal."

His jaw set in a firm line, and his glare drilled the floorboards as his fists clenched and unclenched. Betsy reeled from the powerful emotions welled from him as a stream. A tide of sarcasm, tiredness, fury, sourness. And above all, grief and loneliness shading all of it. He needed be loved, but he had got so many stabs on his back he didn't dare to look for someone.

She laid tentatively a hand on his shoulder, wishing reassuring him with her gentleness. "Do you want sitting in our booth and talking about it? Or anything else?"

Wanda interjected abruptly. "It'd be a good idea. I haven't finished my meal yet, and I get the paranoid feeling of something is about of happening..."

A massive boom exploded, followed by a racket of screams and yells reverberated from the street. Through the glossy and wide pane they saw a tide of rushed, frightened people running away.

"Something like that?" Betsy stated dryly, and Warren rolled up his eyes. There isn't such thing as 'paranoia' when you are an X-Man. "Let's pay the dinner and look for a street alley. Hank and Bobby must be already changing costumes."

Wanda shot a warning glance at Nightcrawler. "Kurt, take care the bags."

Kurt banged his forehead on the table. Repeatedly.

The street shivered with the footsteps of a towering, nightmarish beast. A four-legged, stout monster of coriaceous brown skin and misshapen head with a gaping maw. Rows of fearsome bony spikes jutted out of his scale-covered, rocky hide and crossed it from the neck to the tailbone. Its fore legs ended in two claws of long nails and its hind legs in hooves left deep cracks on the asphalt. Its enormous size dwarfed the cars, but oddly the beast didn't cast shadow as it walked, punishing the concrete with its paws.

A sizzling fireball fell from the sky, enveloped in melting heat and glowing brightness, and pierced the monster's midsection to explode on the floor in a shower of flickering embers. The monster's figure began to flicker, losing color and solidity, and vanished. That creature had never existed.

When the mirage faded as dew, several figures replaced it. Several men of different sizes, carrying leather bags on his hands. Bags stuffed with wads of bills peeked out of the strained zips. The tiniest of them was a short, stout, brown-haired guy with disproportionate limbs. The biggest one was a huge, fat man, with a gelatinous belly writhed at each step, dressed with a black bodysuit. Another was a bald and thin man, wearing mask and a baggy outfit stripped with gaudy colors. Next to him strode a tall and muscular man of raven hair and grim countenance. And ahead of them marched an ugly man, with lanky hairs and long mustache, dressed with brown clothes.

"Do you see now, Mastermind? I said you that trick would draw too much attention." The fourth man voiced.

"Fuck you, Unus." Mastermind snarled and steered his attention to the redhead girl who was levitating towards the ground, circling an arm around a boy's waist to hold him. A faint golden nimbus surrounded them and several bags floated behind them. His eyes narrowed in a dirty, but inquisitive, glare.

Across the street Cyclops and Marvel Girl touched the tough pavement with their feet and crouched in fighting stances simultaneously. "I knew it was an illusion." Jean mumbled as she cracked her knuckles and built up her power. "There wasn't any brain into that thing, not even reptilian."

"Knowing that is a relief, Marvel Girl" A light-blue blur of speed whipped them with the wind its trail arose, and Quicksilver stood beside them. The remainder X-Men arrived shortly after, clad in fighting costumes.

Bobby frowned and a blue sheen of frostbite swirled around his fists. "Who are those creeps anyway? They seem circus freaks."

"Eh!" The shortest man yelled, bouncing over and over. "Maybe I'm a creep, and maybe I seem a circus freak, but... but..." His voice trailed off. "Did he say anything else, Blob?"

"Shut up, Toad!" His massive and overweight partner roared. "Let's beat those brats and get out of here, guys!" His hands twitched and closed relentlessly like if he was yearning for clutching on someone.

Without further words, both groups charged at each other. Colossus headed instantly for Blob, and threw a powerful punch in his underbelly, pulling back his strength to no kill him. His strike connected, but the layers of fat cushioned the impact and clung on his forearm. Piotr gasped, shocked of seeing his arm sunk in viscous Blob's stomach, stuck into that mass of adipose flesh. He struggled to extract his limb, but it was deeply imbedded in the abdomen.

Blob grinned and backhanded Colossus off-handily. He crashed on the floor and winced. His jaws ground together in ache. The hit hadn't harmed his metallic frame, but his head was reeling. An ugly, greasy smile lighted up his foe's lips as he stared him down.

"Dork! Nobody can move me as my feet are touching the floor!" Fred J. Dukes laughed.

Scarlet Witch, who was observing the fight from afar, smirked. Flinging forward her hands, she fired her power around Blob's legs. Abruptly the floor rose and fell as a wave, throwing Blob upwards violently.

He yelped when someone grabbed roughly a fistful of his suit. With a fearful, sinking feeling, he peeked upwards. His eyes met grim Colossus' face, which was glowering and seething with fresh rage. With a silent, murderer glare, Piotr reared his fist and hit Blob, sending him far, far away.

Wanda laughed as she watched his corpulent but obese body streaking across the clouds and tracing a downward loop. She was so absent-minded that she didn't see Kurt lunging at her and tackling her, at the same time a bang exploded and a hissing bullet sliced the air right above her head. Their tangled bodies landed unceremoniously on the tough asphalt, and she laid a shivering hand atop her forehead. A slight, slashing scratch stung as hell with throbbing hurt.

Kurt straddled over her body to check her state. A relieved smile soothed his fretful, anxious features before rage replaced it. Briskly he flexed his knees in a crouch and spun around to face their assailant with a piercing glare. His fanged mouth let out a bestial, terrific snarl as he squinted at the shooter.

"Murderer trash!" He growled. Inwardly he was feeling the same blinding fury and seething anger he had felt in Germany, chased by men and fire and fear and fanaticism. "How do you dare?"

The bald, brittle man uttered a mild profanity and holstered his long gun, still steaming from the shoot. He threw at Nightcrawler a frown wrinkled further his withered face and he vanished suddenly. He didn't flash or shimmer or was swallowed in smoke. He simply vanished.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. An ominous amber glow glinted on them. "So that's your game, mein freund?"

With those acrid, menacing words, sulfur and brimstone burst around him.

Wanda crawled back on her feet, ignoring the pounding ache on her head. She was glancing dizzily at the lavender billows floated on the air, remnants of Kurt's teleport, when a racket drew her attention.

Warren was kneeled on the floor, with his wings bent in an awkward angle and clutching his blond head. Beside him crouched her brother, glaring forward and gripping his fists in impotent fury. In front of them stood the man named Unus. With his arms folded in front of his chest and a haughty, relaxed stance, he was glancing down at them with indifferent, haughty contempt.

"You're wasting your time, idiots. No one can break my force field. For that I'm the mightiest mutant ever."

"Moron." Angel mumbled, rising his head. His eyes showed the pain of a splitting headache hammering his temples, but he managed glaring at him. "Sue Richards has a force field capable of enduring a Hulk's beating, and she doesn't brag around telling how cool she is."

Quicksilver snickered, and leering newly at his enemy, got ready to attack again. Though a slender hand laid on his shoulder and a violet, female shadow slipped between them. Betsy. Pietro eyed her cautiously and flinched. Her smug face was lit up with a very scary smirk. A very eerie, twisted grin.

"Hold on, Pietro. Mere physical force won't damage his shield. Leave it in my hands."

Unus peered with curiosity and certain distrust at the self-assured girl of broad smile combed downwards her wavy blond locks in a playful manner. "And who you are?" He demanded.

Her grin widened. A purple blaze danced on her eyes. Instantly he howled in excruciating pain, feeling thousand daggers stabbing his head.

Betsy narrowed her eyes in slits, noticing the air wavering and gleaming around him, and bolted onwards, tensing her fist, trying using again her new power. A dagger-like flare flashed around her knuckles and she slashed downwards. Her psychic blade drew a dazzling loop, disrupting the field's energy and breaking its flow, smashing the shield in translucent smithereens.

Unus sensed the backlash blowing his brain with overwhelming strength, and he stepped back, clutching his skull. Warren's fist struck his lower jaw with enraged vengeance and Pietro pounced on him.

Far from them, Wanda smiled with the sight of her brother unleashing his anger on the mutant. Glad of seeing the situation under control, she steered her eyes at other battle. Scott and Jean were cornered in a wall, fighting against something she couldn't see. Fear and fury shone on their constricted features.

Her lips opened with a faint gasp of realization. They were being attacked by another illusion. And how they couldn't deduce reality from lie, they didn't dare to strike back aggressively.

Her mesmerizing dark eyes searched for the man capable of spawning those deadly mirages. She spotted him across the street, staring at the two teens with a filthy smirk twisting his ugly features. There was something sinister and dark and fowl in that face struck Wanda with an icy dread. She hurled a hex sphere at him.

Mastermind was focused in romping gleefully with both youths' minds, tasting the thrill of rocking their brains and ravaging theirs heads with impossible and unbreakable hallucinations, when a sudden force yanked his cloak upwards and wrapped the fabric around his head.

Spitting a muffled curse, he pulled back his brown robe just in time to watch a giant firewall rushing towards him and slamming him on a wall with crushing, burning force. As his knees gave out and he slid to the littered floor, he hurled a hate-filled, burning glare at the redhead girl. She was aiming her open palms towards him, glaring back with an unyielding look and enfolded in a fading nimbus of orangish brightness. Her long mane was floating back over her shoulders.

"Your little bitch- Argh!" A crimson blast pummeled his body, rendering him unconscious.

Scott glared savagely, with clenched fists, at the loathsome shape prostate among scattered debris.

"No one messes with her. Understood?" He grated. With a last baleful glower he turned at the brunette who was approaching both resolutely. Wanda raised a hand in greeting and smiled faintly.

"Thanks for the help, Wanda" Jean smiled back. "We knew it was an illusion but we couldn't break it."

"And we were afraid of hurting someone if we struck back. And I'm sure of that jerk was looking forward to it." Scott muttered. The girls nodded sagely. That man... his greedy, evil leers... gave them creeps.

Jean shut intensely her eyes and shuddered. "Now we've taken care of that issue, what do we do?"

Scott glanced sideways at the direction where Beast and Iceman were surrounding Toad. "We sit down and watch the show." He deadpanned sarcastically. The girls giggled and he merely shrugged.

Meanwhile the mutant runt was hopping, bouncing and flipping with amazing agility, dodging the snowballs and ice spikes blasted from Iceman's fingers as he tried scamper off them and escaping right away. Though there wasn't place where Beast couldn't chase him, and his endurance was wearing off quickly. He needed distracting him, confusing him.

Ducking from a glacial blizzard of ivory snow, he opened his mouth and his long and sticky tongue stretched outwards as a red whip, slapping Hank's face with his gluey tip and smearing it with glistening drool. His lengthened muscle recoiled backwards instantly, but a steel vice-like fist clamped it and squeezed tightly. Using his tongue as a whip, a very annoyed Hank McCoy slammed Toad brutally on the roadway. Bobby exploited the chance to freeze air around him in a coffin of solid, glossy ice.

Sprawled on the floor and encased in a crust of chilled humidity, Mortimer felt impeding doom. Hank advanced slowly towards him, managing a grim glare despite his face and mask were laden with viscous slobber.

"I don't get paid enough for this." Toad croaked hurriedly before a well-placed kick sank him in oblivion.

Hank proceeded to wipe the blotches of dense saliva smudged his face as he glared at slumped Toad's shape, numb and motionless over the sidewalk. Part of him felt tempted of kicking the buffoon again. Actually he ached for doing it. But it was a tiny part.

His mind was more troubled with his last stammered phrase. Were those misfits working for someone? Who might that person be and what purpose harbored? Steal anything or testing the X-Men?

While he pondered the doubts churning in his brain, his teammates came closer to him.

Telfford Porter, bank-robber and costumed villain named Vanisher, regarded from a roof the streets below him. Undaunted by the height and the wind flapping his robes, he watched closely the scene unfolding on the winding road. His partners had been knocked out or seized, and the brats were relatively unscathed and crowding together. He pondered his options. He could shoot them from his parapet, or he could run away right now. Since he didn't care for his allies and his marksmanship left a lot to be desired, he was settling for the second...

"Planning going to anywhere?" A throaty voice rasped right behind him, starting him. He spun around to find Nightcrawler perched on the roofing. His four limbs touched the brick's surface, flexed and ready to pounce on his prey, and his prehensile tail coiled and curled in a tense, rage-filled movement. Anger blazed on his golden eyes narrowed in slits.

Both mutants' eyes connected for a millisecond. And something in Kurt's glare, something incensed and outraged churning and pulsating underneath the superficial rage, infused a staggering, abject terror in Vanisher. Cowed and fear-stricken, the bald mutant teleported out of that place instantly.

A second's fraction later he materialized on a nearby alley, darkened for buildings' shadows and sheltered from curious eyes. He exhaled a sigh of relief.

One second later a hard fist smashed his jaw, and his back hit a wall. Awareness left him and his fainted body landed on the murky, filthy floor with a thud.

Kurt grinned with smug complacency, undeterred by the itch on his fist. He massaged soothingly his knuckles, almost regretting having hit him so strongly. Almost. "I'm a teleporter too, dummkopf. You can't run away from me."

A slight and repeated clicking perked up his pointed ears. Kurt Wagner turned around warily and stared upwards.

A man was taking snapshots of him. With his feet planted on a tall ledge. And he was hanging upside down, stuck to the inferior rim. Kurt was got used to climb the wall -literally-, but he was feeling dizzy just staring at that stranger.

The man -he couldn't tell his age since a red-and-blue outfit dressed his full body- stopped photographing him and stored his tiny device inside a fold on his belt. He looked straight at him, scrutinizing him gingerly. His mask's large and blank eyes unsettled greatly to Kurt. He shivered.

"Great work, guys. You have future beating loonies in underwear." The costumed man complimented before flinging sideways an arm. A weird and thin string shot out of his wrist, flew across the alley and was attached to a gutter.

"Wait a minute!" Kurt yelled. "Who do you-"

"A friendly neighbor. See you later!" The man hopped off the wall and swinging on his rope, he swayed out of the alley. He turned around the corner, and Kurt didn't see it any more.

Nightcrawler, blinked, perplexed. He remembered now. That guy was supposed to be a New Yorker hero. According some newspapers at least. However the reason of his presence in Salem Center, capturing the fight on film, remained dark and unknown to him.

"America is full of weird people or it's only my imagination?" He mused, shaking his head in disbelief.

Notes: Ted Roberts isn't an original character but he showed up during the early years -although he wasn't so jerk-. I thought making a reference to X-Men: Evolution and using Duncan Matthews in that scene, but I doubt it'd look good after vowing repeatedly that my story isn't based on that cartoon.

That Mutant Brotherhood line-up has never existed in the comics but his members did: Vanisher showed up in UXM 2, Blob in UXM 3, Toad and Mastermind in UXM 4 and Unus in UXM 8. By the way, who do you believe gathered that Brotherhood? First Hint: He/she isn't Magneto or Mystique. Second Hint: I've not said he/she isn't a shape-shifter.

Next Chapter: The X-Men have fared well his battles so far. Though they haven't gone through excruciatingly tough fights and they have always beaten up his enemies using sheer numbers force. What will happen when Apocalypse himself strikes New York? Will they be able to prevail?