July 9, 2009
The soft pink hues of dawn stretched across the New York skyline, painting the city in a deceptive calm. But at a decrepit warehouse by the docks, chaos was about to erupt.
Inside, Nyoirin Henecha paced anxiously, his sharp eyes darting toward the mercenaries he'd hired. Silver Sable stood near the entrance, her dual pistols ready, while Taskmaster adjusted his shield, his movements precise and measured. Bullseye, seated on a crate, casually inspected his knives, tossing one into the air and catching it with an effortless smirk.
"This is taking too long," Nyoirin muttered, glancing at Silver Sable.
"Patience," she replied coolly, her tone unwavering. "If The Hand is coming, they'll make themselves known soon enough."
As if summoned by her words, the sound of muffled footsteps and hushed whispers filled the air. The shadows around the warehouse seemed to come alive, twisting unnaturally as dozens of black-clad ninjas emerged, their katana blades glinting in the faint light.
At their helm was Kwannon, her violet hair flowing like a dark waterfall, her eyes focused and sharp. She gestured silently, and her assassins spread out, moving with deadly precision.
From his perch, Bullseye let out a low whistle. "Well, looks like the party's started." He flipped a knife deftly in his hand. "Let's see how many of these creeps bleed before breakfast."
Silver Sable didn't wait for his theatrics. She fired off a precise volley of shots, taking down two ninjas before they could close the distance. Taskmaster stepped forward, deflecting incoming blades with his shield while delivering punishing counterattacks.
Outside, Peter Parker and Betsy Braddock had just arrived. Still in civilian clothes, they ducked behind a nearby stack of shipping containers.
"Looks like your spider-sense was spot on," Betsy murmured, her gaze narrowing at the chaotic scene unfolding before them.
Peter tugged at his shirt collar, revealing the Spider-Man suit beneath. "I don't need enhanced reflexes to know this is going to get messy."
Betsy nodded, her tone serious. "The Hand doesn't attack without a purpose. If they're here, it means Nyoirin is more than just a rogue yakuza. I'll take the high ground; you keep them off balance."
With that, she leapt into the fray, her psychic blade manifesting as she sliced through the air. Peter followed, fully suited as Spider-Man, webbing his way into the thick of the battle.
"Hey, ninjas!" Peter quipped, landing in the middle of a group of assassins. "Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to show up uninvited?" He shot a web at one attacker, yanking him off his feet, while dodging another's blade.
Kwannon turned at the commotion, her eyes narrowing as she recognized Betsy. With fluid precision, she moved toward her, her katana flashing as she cut down any obstacle in her path.
"Betsy Braddock," Kwannon said coldly, her voice laced with disdain. "You have no place here."
Betsy blocked an incoming strike with her psychic blade, her expression calm but focused. "Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you."
Their clash was immediate and intense, Kwannon's lethal strikes meeting Betsy's agile counters. Around them, the battle raged on.
Taskmaster faced off against a trio of ninjas, mimicking their movements with unnerving accuracy before disarming them with a well-timed strike. Bullseye's knives flew through the air, each one finding its mark with deadly precision.
"Spider-Man!" Silver Sable called out, reloading her pistols. "If you're going to be here, make yourself useful!"
"On it!" Peter shouted back, shooting a web that snagged a group of ninjas attempting to flank her. "You're welcome!"
Amid the chaos, Nyoirin retreated to the far corner of the warehouse, his eyes darting nervously between the ongoing fight and the nearest exit. He muttered a curse under his breath. "This wasn't supposed to go like this."
As the fight reached its peak, Betsy and Kwannon's duel escalated, their movements almost a blur. The psychic interference that had been haunting Betsy flared up again, and for a brief moment, she saw flashes of Kwannon's life—her training, her loyalty to Matsu'o, and her inner turmoil.
Flipping over a group of ninjas to land near her, Peter called out, "You okay?"
Distracted, Betsy barely deflected Kwannon's next strike. She shook her head, focusing once more. "I'm fine. Just... keep them off my back!"
"You got it!" Peter replied, launching a barrage of webbing at the incoming wave of assassins.
Ahead of him, members of The Hand moved with eerie precision, an entire division of them blocking him off from even seeing Nyoirin's new henchmen executing their handiwork.
"Another ninja ambush? Great. I needed more servings to wake up this morning," Peter muttered, adjusting his mask. "Why can't bad guys ever take a coffee break?"
Without waiting for an answer from the universe, Spider-Man launched himself into the fray. Webbing shot out in quick bursts, entangling one attacker while he flipped over another's sword slash.
Meanwhile, Betsy Braddock—Psylocke—was fighting her own battle nearby. Her psychic blade illuminated as she darted between opponents, her movements graceful yet deadly. Her connection to Kwannon had been growing stronger since their initial encounter, and now, every strike carried an almost instinctive familiarity, as if Betsy were borrowing from a life that wasn't hers.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Kwannon watched from the shadows, her violet hair cascading over her shoulders. Her katana gleamed in the dim light as she stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Betsy.
"Your presence is an affront," Kwannon said coldly, her voice carrying across the battlefield.
Betsy turned to face her, her psychic blade humming with energy. "And yours is becoming increasingly hard to ignore," she replied, her tone sharp.
The two women collided with explosive force, their battle radiating an energy that drew the attention of even the most disciplined of The Hand's warriors. Peter, in the middle of webbing up a group of ninjas, glanced toward them and felt his spider-sense flare.
"Something tells me this isn't just a regular ninja fight!" Peter called out.
Betsy didn't respond, too focused on her duel with Kwannon. Each strike of their weapons created ripples of psychic energy that danced in the air like ghostly fire.
As their battle intensified, the psychic connection between them deepened, fragments of Kwannon's memories flooding Betsy's mind. She saw flashes of Kwannon's life—her training under The Hand, her loyalty to Matsu'o, and her inner struggles. The visions were vivid, almost overwhelming, but Betsy pressed on, determined to hold her ground.
"I don't know who you think you are," Betsy said, deflecting another strike, "but I'm not about to let you overwrite my life with yours."
Kwannon's expression didn't waver. "You don't understand what you're meddling with."
Their psychic energies collided again, but this time, something changed. The clash triggered a sudden surge of power, spiraling out of control. A mystic glyph etched itself into the ground between them, glowing brighter and brighter as the energy swirled around it.
Peter, sensing the danger, tried to intervene. "Hey, maybe we dial it back before someone gets—"
But it was too late. The glyph erupted in a burst of light, enveloping both Betsy and Kwannon. The Hand's ninjas recoiled, retreating into the shadows as the explosion shook the area.
When the light faded, Peter shielded his eyes and cautiously approached the center of the blast. There, he found Betsy—no, not just Betsy. She was kneeling on the ground, her appearance altered. Her body was no longer her own; it was Kwannon's, yet her psychic blade still glowed in her hand, and her expression carried the unmistakable resolve of Betsy Braddock.
She looked up at him, her violet hair falling around her face, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and determination. "I think... something just went very, very wrong."
She tried to stand, wobbling slightly as if adjusting to a body that didn't feel entirely hers. The psychic energy that radiated from her seemed amplified, almost unstable.
From the shadows, Kwannon's voice echoed faintly in Betsy's mind, their psychic connection now irrevocably entwined. Betsy could feel Kwannon's presence—her memories, her emotions—woven into her own.
Betsy stirred, her body aching in unfamiliar ways. As her eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by an unfamiliar reflection in the small, cracked mirror on the wall across the room.
Violet hair spilled over her shoulders, framing a face that was not her own. She sat up abruptly, to discover toned muscles and a lithe frame that moved with unnerving ease. Her breath hitched as she remembered the recent battle—the psychic clash with Kwannon, and the explosion of mystic energy.
"This... isn't possible," Betsy murmured, her voice steady but laced with disbelief.
Her hands trembled as she touched her face, tracing the unfamiliar contours. Her mind raced, flooded with flashes of Kwannon's life—memories of grueling ninja training, missions for The Hand, and an unshakable loyalty to Matsu'o Tsurayaba.
Standing slowly, Betsy tested her balance. Her movements were precise, almost instinctive. A faint hum of energy resonated through her body as she reached for the psychic blade she wielded. It materialized in her hand with startling ease, sharper and more potent than ever.
She took a deep breath, her muscles coiled like springs ready to explode into action. Closing her eyes, she performed a series of fluid martial arts movements—strikes, blocks, and spins—all unfamiliar yet executed flawlessly.
"What have I become?" she whispered.
Before she could dwell further on her transformation, the faint sound of conversation drifted far away. Betsy moved toward it, her steps unnaturally silent. She spotted Silver Sable, Taskmaster, and Bullseye standing near a black SUV parked haphazardly near the warehouse.
Silver Sable leaned against the hood of the car, her silver mane catching the morning light. "Well, this is a mess," she said, her tone sharp and businesslike. "Nyoirin's not paying us to sit around licking our wounds."
Taskmaster adjusted the hood of his white cloak, his skull-like mask hiding his expression. "The Hand's coming back in force. This was just the appetizer. We need to be ready for the main course."
Bullseye chuckled darkly, twirling a throwing knife between his fingers. "Let 'em come. More heads to crack means more fun for me."
Silver Sable shot him a warning glare. "This isn't about fun. If we don't keep Nyoirin's operation afloat, we're just wasting time."
Taskmaster nodded, his voice pragmatic. "We need to regroup, gather intel, and prepare. The Hand doesn't back down, and they don't forget."
As they piled into the SUV, Betsy's fists clenched at her sides. The chaos caused by The Hand was escalating, and now, she found herself caught in the center of it. The car's engine roared to life, and the mercenaries sped off into the distance, leaving behind the quiet promise of more bloodshed to come.
Peter's voice interrupted her thoughts from behind. "Betsy? Are you okay?"
She turned to face him, her new body moving with a grace she hadn't yet mastered. His expression shifted from concern to surprise as he took in the change. Peter's gaze lingered on Betsy as she made her way towards him, her silhouette framed by the morning light.
She was still, almost unnervingly so, a sharp contrast to the natural energy he'd come to associate with her. Her new form, the body of Kwannon, exuded an aura of quiet strength and deadly precision. Her violet hair cascading down her back, yet even in repose, she looked like a warrior ready to strike.
"Betsy," Peter began cautiously.
She didn't turn around immediately. She took in her surroundings at the multitude of defeated ninjas sprawled across the ground, her hands clasped behind her back in a posture that seemed too deliberate, too foreign for the Betsy Peter knew. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but distant.
"We need to talk," she said, her tone steady but tinged with urgency. "There's no going back now."
Peter stood and crossed over to her, hesitating a moment before placing a hand on her shoulder. "I can't imagine how disorienting this must be for you," he said gently. "But you're still you, Betsy. That hasn't changed."
She turned to face him then, her striking new features bathed in sunlight. Her violet eyes locked with his, and for a moment, Peter felt like he was looking at someone entirely new. Her body was unfamiliar, but the sadness in her gaze was unmistakably hers.
"I don't know who I am anymore," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I move, I fight, I even think like Kwannon. Her memories, her instincts... they're all here, tangled up with mine. And yet, I'm still Betsy. Aren't I?"
Peter's brows furrowed as he searched for the right words. "You're Betsy," he said firmly. "You're also... something more now. And I know how overwhelming it can feel to juggle different identities. Trust me, I've had my share of identity crises."
She managed a faint smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. "It's more than that. It's not just about who I am—it's about what I am. This body, these skills, they're not mine, but they feel like they are. And the worst part?" She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if testing their strength. "It feels... right. Like this is who I was always meant to be."
Peter's hand slid from her shoulder to take hers, his thumb brushing against her palm. "Maybe it is," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean you have to figure it all out today. Or tomorrow. You've been through something huge, Betsy. Give yourself time to adjust."
She sighed, hanging her head. "Time. That's the one thing we never seem to have enough of."
Peter stepped closer, his voice warm with conviction. "Then let's take what we can. Together. You're not in this alone, Betsy. Not ever."
She turned to him fully then, a flicker of gratitude softening her features. "Thank you, Peter," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his mask. "Hey, it's what I do. I'm Spider-Man. I'm here to catch you when you fall—literally and metaphorically."
That earned a small laugh from her, and for a moment, the tension in the room eased. Peter felt a pang of relief at the sound, even as the weight of her struggles lingered in the air.
As the morning pressed on, the two of them left the area, their hands intertwined for a while before separating to leap out of the scene. Outside, the city buzzed with life, unaware of the battles—both external and internal—that its protectors faced.
The Daily Bugle's Midtown press building hummed with its usual morning activity, the rumble of printing presses blending with the distant sounds of New York City traffic. Peter Parker adjusted the camera slung around his shoulder as he stepped into the lobby, waving a quick hello to the security guard at the front desk.
Another day, another assignment. He barely had time to process last night's skirmish with The Hand before being called in to snap photos for an upcoming feature. As he rode the elevator to the third floor, his thoughts drifted to Betsy. She was supposed to be headed back to the apartment to recover, still grappling with her transformation.
The elevator dinged, and Peter stepped out into the bustling newsroom. The familiar clatter of keyboards and ringing phones greeted him, along with the sharp bark of J. Jonah Jameson's voice echoing from his office.
"PARKER!" Jameson's voice thundered, cutting through the noise. "If you're late with one more set of photos, I'll—"
The newsroom trembled. A deep, reverberating rumble shook the floor beneath them, silencing every conversation. Peter instinctively crouched, his Spider-Sense flaring like a siren.
"What the—" a reporter muttered, but the words were drowned out by a deafening crash as the building's front doors exploded inward.
Through the haze of dust and debris, a squad of masked figures in crimson garb poured into the lobby, their movements eerily precise and coordinated. The Hand had arrived.
Peter bolted toward the nearest stairwell, shedding his civilian guise as he moved. By the time he reached the lobby, he was Spider-Man, clinging to the ceiling to assess the situation.
The Hand operatives fanned out, subduing security guards with swift, brutal efficiency. One of them, a towering figure wielding twin katana blades, barked orders in Japanese, gesturing toward the elevator banks. They were targeting something—or someone—within the building.
"Hey, fellas!" Spider-Man called out, dropping from the ceiling with a theatrical flip. "Didn't anyone tell you? The Bugle doesn't do walk-ins!"
The operatives turned as one, their eyes narrowing beneath their masks. Without hesitation, they charged, blades flashing in the dim light.
Spider-Man leapt into action, webbing up the first wave of attackers with rapid-fire precision. "You guys really need a new recruitment pitch," he quipped, dodging a spinning shuriken. "Because I'm not impressed!"
One operative lunged at him, swinging a chain weapon that whistled through the air. Spider-Man caught it mid-swing with a web line and yanked, sending the attacker sprawling into a colleague.
The fight spilled into the open space of the lobby. Spider-Man darted between columns and furniture, using his agility to stay one step ahead of the assassins. But for every operative he incapacitated, two more seemed to take their place.
As he dodged another flurry of strikes, a troubling thought gnawed at him. How many of these guys are out there? And why hit the Bugle?
The leader of the group stepped forward, his movements unnervingly calm amidst the chaos. He gestured, and the remaining operatives shifted their focus, surrounding Spider-Man in a tight circle.
"Uh-oh," Spider-Man muttered, glancing around for an opening. "Let me guess: this is the part where you monologue about your master plan, right?"
The leader said nothing, raising a hand in a silent command. The operatives attacked in unison, their coordination almost impossible to counter. Spider-Man's reflexes saved him from the worst of the blows, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
As he fought to break free from the encircling assassins, his mind raced. The Hand doesn't make random moves. They're after something—or someone. And if this is just a distraction, what's the real target?
With a burst of strength, Spider-Man launched himself upward, clinging to a support beam near the ceiling. From his elevated vantage point, he surveyed the scene below. The Hand operatives regrouped quickly, their eyes scanning for their elusive prey.
"Alright," he said, crouching and preparing to dive back into the fray. "Let's see how many of you I can web up before my coffee gets cold."
The fight raged on, the echoes of battle reverberating through the building. But even as Spider-Man held his ground, a nagging question lingered in the back of his mind. How far has The Hand's reach spread? And how much time do we have before they strike again?
The streets of New York hummed with the usual chaos of morning traffic. Betsy Braddock moved swiftly through the alleys, her steps light but purposeful as she made her way back to Peter's apartment. The early morning light caught the violet strands of her hair, a striking contrast against her new form. She had barely begun to comprehend her transformation and the flood of Kwannon's memories now swimming in her mind.
Fatigue tugged at her, but the streets ahead erupted in a cacophony of screams and crashing debris. Betsy's sharp instincts, heightened by the psychic bond with her surroundings, flared. She paused, turning toward the source of the disturbance—a group of crimson-clad figures swarming a high-end tech store on the edge of the financial district.
It was The Hand.
Their movements were coordinated, cutting through security personnel and bystanders alike with brutal efficiency. Betsy's mind raced. This isn't a random attack—it's a precision strike. They're here for something important.
She took a deep breath and stepped into the chaos, her body reacting before her mind caught up. As one of the assassins noticed her approach, he charged, wielding a long blade with deadly intent.
Betsy moved on instinct. In a fluid motion, she sidestepped the attack, her body twisting with a grace she didn't recognize as her own. Her hand shot out, striking the attacker in the throat with surgical precision. He crumpled to the ground.
She stared at her hands, stunned. That wasn't me. That was... Kwannon.
The moment of hesitation cost her. Two more operatives lunged at her, their weapons flashing in the morning sun. This time, she didn't think—she just acted. Her body flowed like water, evading their strikes with ease. A spinning kick sent one assassin sprawling, while a palm strike disarmed the other.
Betsy found herself in a crouched stance, her hands poised in a defensive guard. The movements felt alien yet natural, as if her body remembered something her mind didn't.
"You're going to have to do better than that," she muttered, her voice carrying an edge she hadn't expected.
More assassins poured in, encircling her. Betsy tightened her grip on the psychic knife that formed in her hand, its ethereal glow a stark contrast to the dark blades of her opponents. She moved like a shadow, weaving through their ranks with a precision that left her enemies disoriented.
A backflip carried her out of the fray, landing her atop a parked car. From her elevated position, she assessed the situation. The Hand had brought heavy reinforcements, and their focus wasn't just destruction—it was a targeted acquisition.
Before she could process further, a familiar figure swung into view, landing on a lamppost above the scene. Spider-Man's voice cut through the chaos, tinged with a mix of disbelief and admiration.
"Uh, Betsy? Since when did you become a ninja action hero?"
Betsy glanced up at him, panting slightly but holding her ground. "Long story. Let's just say... I've had a bit of a crash course."
Spider-Man's eyes darted between Betsy and the remnants of The Hand's operatives regrouping for another assault. "Well, you're going to have to fill me in later. Right now, I think we've got a few more guests to evict."
Betsy nodded, a flicker of determination crossing her face. As Spider-Man leapt into the fray, she tightened her grip on her psychic blade.
For the first time in her life, Betsy felt both fear and exhilaration coursing through her veins. She was no longer just a telepath or a mutant—she was something else entirely. And while she didn't yet know what that meant, she knew one thing for certain: she wasn't backing down.
Together, she and Spider-Man descended into the chaos, ready to face whatever came next.
Author's Note: Hello everyone, so I managed to get another crucial set of events in motion. Hopefully everyone enjoyed the big change in Betsy as she becomes the Kwannon version of herself. There are bound to be more changes down the line, just look forward to the big challenges being established for now is all. I hope you're all looking forward to what comes next and I hope to see you all for the next chapter.