The noise of the presidential helicopter's rotors cut through the morning air of Washington. Andrew Harrison, the Vice President of the United States, grimaced as he looked through the window at the damaged Capitol. The dome, a symbol of American democracy, now sported a huge hole—a trace of the collision with the Guardian. Despite the round-the-clock work of construction crews, deep scars on the snow-white facade of the building were visible even from a distance.

"God, what a circus," he muttered through his teeth, watching the journalists swarming below. Their red identification vests resembled drops of blood scattered across the asphalt. "How many are there, Michael?"

Michael Chang, his faithful assistant for the past five years, checked his tablet, quickly flipping through several pages of the report:

"Three hundred and twenty-seven accredited, sir. All major news agencies: CNN, Fox, BBC, Reuters, Associated Press. Plus regional media and independent journalists. About twelve hundred people outside the perimeter—protesters, onlookers, activists from various movements."

Harrison drummed his fingers on the armrest. Barely noticeable traces of sweat remained on the perfectly polished leather surface—the only sign of his nervousness.

"What about the detainees?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the city panorama.

"Thirty-four people from the former president's inner circle are in custody at various federal facilities. Enhanced security, complete isolation. The prosecution is requesting the death penalty for key figures."

"And the others?"

"About a hundred officials of various levels are under house arrest. Their involvement is being investigated."

The helicopter began its descent. Harrison glanced briefly at his reflection in the glass—despite his impeccable suit and measured smile, the deep shadows under his eyes betrayed the sleepless nights of recent weeks. He looked like he had aged ten years.

"Repeat the main points of the speech."

Chang immediately activated his tablet:

"First: complete distancing from the actions of the previous administration. We emphasize that the conspiracy was planned for years, long before your appointment as Vice President. Second: emphasis on the fact that as soon as the truth was revealed, you immediately took action. Third: a program of reforms and cleansing of the government apparatus. Fourth..."

"And if they ask about executions?" Harrison interrupted.

"'Justice must prevail, but strictly within the framework of the law.' And then we immediately shift the conversation to reforms and restoring public trust."

Harrison nodded. Standard political maneuvers, but now it was important not to make a single mistake. The country was balancing on the edge of chaos, and any blunder could push it into the abyss.

As soon as they stepped onto the landing pad, they were hit by a wave of shouts:

"Mr. Vice President! Comment on the leaked data!"

"What did you know about the Guardians program?"

"Is it true that a massive government purge is being prepared?"

"How do you explain the administration's connections to Hydra?"

"All comments at the press conference," Harrison cut them off, pushing through the crowd of reporters. His shoulders were tense, but his posture remained impeccable—years of political career had taught him never to lose face in public.

At the entrance to the Capitol, they were met by the head of security, Colonel Ramirez. His usually immaculate uniform looked wrinkled, as if he hadn't changed it for several days:

"The perimeter is under control, sir. But the situation is complicated—about five thousand demonstrators have gathered at the northern entrance. They're demanding an immediate trial for everyone involved in the conspiracy. There's a risk they might break through the cordon."

Harrison closed his eyes for a second:

"National Guard?"

"Three companies at full readiness, sir. But using force might only worsen the situation."

"Agreed. Keep them at a distance, but no provocations," he turned to his assistant. "Michael, contact the Justice Department. Tell them to expedite the process for the detainees. The people want blood? They'll get it. But, damn it, everything must be by the book!"

In the main conference hall, they were met with the familiar barrage of flashes. Harrison slowly walked to the podium, feeling hundreds of eyes catching his every movement. He deliberately paused, allowing the cameras to capture him against the backdrop of the American flag.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began firmly and steadily. "The past few weeks have been the most difficult test for our nation. The betrayal discovered at the very heart of American democracy has shocked us all. People whom we entrusted with running the country turned out to be Hydra agents..."

He paused, allowing his words to resonate in the hearts of his listeners.

"What happened is not just a crime against the state. It's a betrayal of every American, every family, every child. Using the tragedy in Manhattan, the conspirators created a monstrous machine of destruction. They manipulated data, lied to Congress and the American people..."

"Mr. Vice President!" interrupted a journalist from the BBC. "The documents mention dozens of high-ranking officials. Why have only some of them been arrested?"

"All those involved will be identified and brought to justice," Harrison stated firmly. "At the moment, thirty-four people from the former administration's inner circle are in custody. More than a hundred officials are being investigated for involvement in the conspiracy. But I urge you not to succumb to paranoia and witch hunts. The vast majority of civil servants are honest people devoted to their country."

"And how do you comment on the mass resurrection?" shouted a reporter from Associated Press. "Thousands of people returned to life after a demonic ritual. What is the official position of the government?"

A whisper ran through the hall. Harrison felt a chill run down his spine. This was a slippery topic.

"The situation is being studied by competent authorities," he delivered a rehearsed phrase. "A special commission has been created, consisting of scientists, theologians, and paranormal experts. But let's focus on more pressing issues. Our primary task is to restore the people's trust. We have begun an unprecedented scale of verification at all levels of government. A package of reforms is being prepared..."

"What specific reforms are planned?" asked a gray-haired woman from the New York Times.

Harrison allowed himself a slight smile—finally, a convenient question:

"First, a complete revision of mutant legislation. The events of recent weeks have shown that many anti-mutant laws were passed under pressure from the conspirators. Second, the creation of an independent commission to oversee intelligence agencies. Third, a new system for vetting senior officials. Fourth..."

The press conference lasted more than two hours. Harrison spoke about cleansing the government, restoring justice, a new course. He juggled numbers and facts, dodged uncomfortable questions, directed the discussion in the right direction. It was an exhausting dance on a knife's edge.

When the last journalist left the hall, Harrison virtually collapsed into a chair in his office.

"Whiskey," he snapped at Chang. "And fresh ratings."

The assistant hurriedly poured amber liquid into a crystal glass:

"The latest polls show a seven-point increase in trust. Your tough stance toward the traitors is finding support among voters."

"No surprise there," Harrison took a large sip. "What about the process for the detainees?"

"First hearing in five days. The prosecutor is confident about the verdict. The evidence is irrefutable."

"Good," the Vice President closed his eyes. "And now the main thing—what about this... demonic resurrection? Real data, not the nonsense we're feeding the press."

Chang pulled out another folder but couldn't start his report—his phone came alive with an emergency alert. The assistant's face paled when he read the text.

"Sir..." his voice faltered. "A message just came in... All the detainees... they're dead."

Harrison straightened sharply in his chair:

"What do you mean, dead?"

"All thirty-four prisoners were found dead in their cells. No signs of violence or intrusion. The preliminary cause—cardiac arrest. All at the same time."

The glass slipped from the Vice President's hand and shattered on the floor. The whiskey spread in a dark puddle across the carpet.

"God..." whispered Harrison. "They're covering their tracks. All the threads... all the evidence..."

He walked to the window. Journalists and demonstrators were still crowding below. Typical Americans, thirsting for simple answers to complex questions. They would never know the truth. Now, definitely not.

"Sorry, democracy," he thought, looking at the mutilated dome of the Capitol. "But sometimes, for your own good, we have to stay silent about the most terrible things."

The darkness of the Sistine Chapel was broken only by the flickering of candles and the dim light of a tablet in Pope Francis's hands. His Holiness repeatedly watched the video recording of the events in New York. A demonic figure with horns and wings, surrounded by purple flames, and thousands of golden lights rising to the sky—souls returning to their bodies.

"Your Holiness," Cardinal Pietro bowed respectfully. "The Bishop of New York has arrived."

The Pope looked up from the screen:

"The one?"

"Yes, Your Holiness. He was among the resurrected."

Francis slowly rose from his chair. At his age, every movement was difficult, but now he felt an unprecedented surge of energy. For the first time in two thousand years, the church faced such a challenge.

Bishop Michael O'Reilly was waiting in the adjoining hall.

"Holy Father," the bishop fell to his knees.

"Rise, my son," Francis placed his hand on the bishop's shoulder. "Tell me everything. What did you see... there?"

O'Reilly stood up, his hands trembling slightly:

"I... I'm not sure, Your Holiness. It was like a dream. Endless white light and... peace. Absolute peace. And then he appeared."

"The demon?"

"No," the bishop shook his head. "That is, yes, outwardly he looked like a demon from medieval frescoes. But his power... it wasn't evil. Just... different."

Francis gestured for the bishop to sit down. Several more cardinals appeared in the hall—members of a special commission to study the phenomenon of resurrection.

"What do the other returnees say?" asked the Pope.

Cardinal Pietro opened a folder:

"We've interviewed more than a hundred of the resurrected, including three bishops and twelve priests. Their stories are... contradictory. Some describe a classic 'near-death' experience—a tunnel, light, meetings with deceased relatives. Others talk about a strange place between worlds, similar to purgatory. Still others remember nothing."

"And what does science say?" Francis turned to a short man in glasses—Father Giovanni, head of the Pontifical Academy.

"Medical tests show that all the resurrected are perfectly healthy. Their bodies are... renewed. But they've retained all the scars and marks acquired during life. This contradicts all known laws of nature."

"Laws of nature?" Francis smiled bitterly. "What are our laws against the will of the Lord? Or..." he hesitated, "against the power of demons?"

A heavy silence fell in the hall. Everyone understood what the Pope was thinking. If this was indeed demonic intervention, then how should they regard those who were brought back to life? Consider them defiled? Or see in their resurrection part of the divine plan?

"Your Holiness," Cardinal Pietro spoke. "People are waiting for answers from us. Dozens of cults worshiping this... Sasuke have already appeared on social media. They call him the 'Dark Messiah,' the 'Angel of Death'..."

"Heresy!" exclaimed one of the senior cardinals. "We must condemn this blasphemy!"

"And push away millions of believers?" Father Giovanni objected. "In New York alone, there are more than ten thousand resurrected. Their families, friends—they're all looking for explanations for what happened."

Francis raised his hand, calling for silence. He approached the huge stained-glass window, beyond which St. Peter's Square stretched. There, among the ordinary pilgrims, one could now notice people with a golden glow—the resurrected came seeking answers in the heart of the Catholic world.

"When I took the cloth," the Pope said slowly, "I thought I was ready for anything. For tests of faith, for the challenges of the modern world..." he turned to those gathered. "But how can we understand God's plan in this? A demon returning the dead to life. People returning from the other world. Everything we knew about death and resurrection..."

"Could it be a sign?" Bishop O'Reilly said quietly. "The Lord has always acted through unexpected intermediaries. Even Saul, the persecutor of Christians, became the Apostle Paul."

"Or it's a temptation," the senior cardinal objected. "The devil often appeared in the guise of a benefactor."

Francis returned to his chair. Dozens of reports, photographs, and testimonies lay on the table. Among them—a printout of the latest surveys: 67% of Catholics considered the resurrection a "divine miracle," 23% saw it as "the work of the devil," the rest were undecided.

"We cannot remain silent," the Pope finally said. "But neither can we condemn what we don't understand. Perhaps..." he paused, "perhaps the time has come for a new theology. A theology that acknowledges that the Lord's ways are mysterious, and miracles can appear in the most unexpected forms."

He picked up the tablet and again played the video of the resurrection. Sasuke's demonic figure against the burning sky seemed simultaneously terrifying and majestic.

"Prepare an encyclical," Francis ordered. "We'll acknowledge the fact of mass resurrection as a phenomenon requiring deep theological reflection. We'll emphasize the need to remain open to manifestations of divine will in any form. And most importantly—we'll remind the faithful that love and mercy remain our main guiding principles."

"And what about the... instigator of the resurrection himself?" Cardinal Pietro asked cautiously.

The Pope was silent for a while, looking at the screen.

"We will neither glorify nor condemn him. Let history and the Lord judge whether he was a demon or an angel. Our task now is to help people find meaning in what's happening. And perhaps..." he smiled, "perhaps this trial will help the church enter a new era. An era where faith and miracles exist alongside science and superhuman abilities."

Outside, the bells of St. Peter's Basilica began to ring. Their chime spread over the Eternal City, where among ordinary passersby one could now meet people with a golden glow—living testimony that the boundaries between life and death, faith and miracle, were no longer as immutable as they once seemed.

Francis looked once more at those gathered:

"Let us pray, brothers. Let us pray for wisdom in these difficult times. And that our faith may be strong enough to accept a miracle, even if it comes in the form of a demon."

Wilson Fisk's penthouse hovered above Manhattan like a separate world, protected from the chaos below. Massive panoramic windows offered a view of the city where golden lights flashed here and there—traces of the recent mass resurrection. The Kingpin stood by the window, casting a long shadow on the marble floor.

"So, all the prisoners are dead," he said without turning around.

Silvermane, sitting in a leather armchair, grunted:

"Thirty-four corpses. No signs of struggle, no poisoning. Just cardiac arrest, all at the same time. Elegant."

"Too elegant," Fisk turned to his companion. "This wasn't the government. They would have arranged 'suicides' or an 'escape attempt.' This is someone else. Someone who doesn't want us to learn the truth about the events from eight years ago."

He approached the table where a folder with photographs of the deceased prisoners lay. They were all Kelley's people, all knew too much.

"Where's Sasuke?" asked Fisk, shuffling through the photos.

"Disappeared after the resurrection. Alicia is trying to contact him, but..."

"Leave the girl alone," Fisk interrupted. "That guy is playing in a different league now. You saw what he did? Mass resurrection, demonic powers... He's no longer our asset."

Silvio frowned:

"I don't like this, Wilson. Too many unknowns. First the Guardians, then the resurrection, now this... We're losing control."

Fisk smiled—a rare sight and therefore even more frightening:

"On the contrary, my friend. We're gaining opportunities. When the old order crumbles, smart people don't try to hold it up. They build a new one."

He pressed a button on the table, and a panel with dozens of screens emerged from the wall. They displayed news, stock market reports, footage from surveillance cameras throughout the city.

"Look," Fisk pointed to the screens. "The government is panicking. Intelligence agencies are paralyzed by fear. People are demanding answers that no one can give. And now the death of the prisoners... A perfect moment to expand our influence."

"You have a plan?"

"Always," Fisk took a thick folder from the safe. "While the authorities are trying to contain the situation, we'll focus on more down-to-earth matters. Rebuilding the city will require billions. Construction, infrastructure, security... Someone has to take charge of this."

"And that someone is you?" Manfredi smirked.

"Us," Fisk corrected him. "Legitimate business, helping the city, creating jobs... People need heroes, Silvio. Not just those flying in the sky, but also those building homes or feeding the hungry."

He unfolded a map of the city on the table:

"Here, here, and here we've already begun restoration work. Through shell companies, of course. And these areas..." he outlined several blocks, "...will soon become problematic. Banks and insurance companies will be too scared to invest. And we'll help."

"For an appropriate fee," Silvermane nodded.

"Of course. But the main thing is influence. When you control the city's reconstruction, you control the entire city."

At that moment, Vanessa, Fisk's wife, entered the office. Her presence always changed the atmosphere—even Silvio straightened up in his chair.

"News from our sources in the police," she said, handing her husband a tablet. "They found strange marks on the bodies of the deceased. Something like seals or symbols."

Fisk quickly scanned the text:

"Demonic signs... It seems our young friend Sasuke isn't the only one playing with dark forces."

"Does this change your plans?" asked Silvermane.

"Not at all. Demons, mutants, government—they're all playing their own games. And we'll do what we do best—build an empire on the ruins of the old world."

Fisk returned to the window. Below, the city pulsed with life, unaware that its fate was already being decided in this penthouse.

"By the way," he added, as if remembering something. "Make sure our people in the mayor's office don't get in the Vice President's way. Let him think he's controlling the situation. The more he's occupied with hunting Hydra ghosts, the less attention he'll pay to the real power in the city."

Silvermane stood up:

"I'll take care of it. And... Wilson? What about Sasuke? If he returns?"

"If he returns—we'll welcome him as a friend. And if not..." Fisk shrugged. "The new world will have enough room for different players. Even for demons."

"So it's decided. I'll activate our connections in the mayor's office. Let them clear the way for our construction companies."

"And have our people in the press prepare a series of articles," added Fisk. "About the heroes rebuilding the city, charitable initiatives, job creation. People need stories of hope."

"And the Vice President?"

"Let him play his political games."

Outside, another golden light flashed—another soul returned to the world of the living. Fisk looked at the city:

"Times of chaos always open new opportunities. And this time, we'll use them together, old friend."

Silvermane nodded. This alliance could become the beginning of a new criminal empire, more powerful than anything New York had seen before.

The Oval Office of the White House greeted Harrison with an unusual silence. After the chaos of the press conference, this room, steeped in history and power, seemed like an oasis of calm. He tiredly sank into his chair, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and loosened his tie. Chang silently placed a glass of whiskey before him.

"Send an order to the Justice Department to begin a review of anti-mutant legislation," Harrison said, looking out the window at the perfectly manicured lawn. "We need to prepare the ground for..."

"Thank you for disabling the mental blockers, Mr. Harrison."

The voice in his head was calm and deep. The Vice President flinched, spilling his whiskey. Chang, who stood nearby with a folder of documents, tensed—he heard it too.

"What the hell..." Harrison began.

"Professor Charles Xavier," the voice introduced itself. "I believe you've heard of me."

Harrison slowly straightened in his chair. Of course, he knew that name. Founder of the school for gifted teenagers, the most powerful telepath on the planet, the unofficial leader of mutants.

"Professor Xavier," he said aloud, letting his assistant know who they were dealing with. "I must admit, I didn't expect... this method of communication."

"Traditional channels of communication have been closed to us for too long, Mr. Harrison. As have many other rights."

Steel notes appeared in Xavier's mental voice.

"I listened carefully to your press conference. Beautiful words about a new course, reforms, restoring justice. But let me ask—how sincere are your intentions?"

Harrison pursed his lips:

"If you've really been monitoring the conference, then you know—I announced a review of anti-mutant legislation..."

"Review is too vague a term," Xavier interrupted him. "Especially now, when we all know the truth. We know that laws against mutants were part of a large-scale conspiracy. That for years we were deliberately demonized, persecuted, deprived of basic rights. I suggest speaking more specifically."

"What do you want?" Harrison tried to remain calm, although the sensation of someone else's presence in his head was extremely uncomfortable.

"To start with, a complete repeal of all discriminatory laws. Restoration of citizenship for all mutants. An end to anti-mutant propaganda. Compensation for victims of persecution."

"You understand that such radical measures could destabilize an already precarious situation? Society isn't ready..."

"Society is ready for the truth, Mr. Harrison. The truth about how Hydra manipulated people's fears, how they used the Manhattan tragedy, how they promoted their misanthropic policies through puppets in the government."

Harrison felt a chill run down his spine.

"What exactly do you want from me, Professor?"

"In addition to what I've already mentioned..." Xavier paused. "I'm offering my help in identifying the remaining Hydra agents in the government."

"You're suggesting using telepathy on government officials?" Harrison frowned. "That's illegal."

"As is the mass murder of detainees an hour ago," Xavier's voice hardened. "Yes, I felt their deaths through Cerebro. Someone very powerful is covering their tracks, Mr. Harrison. And I'm offering you a choice—either we work together, cleansing the government apparatus of traitors, or the truth about what happened to the prisoners will become public knowledge."

Harrison slowly rose from his desk:

"Is this blackmail, Professor?"

"This is the reality of a new era. An era where mutants will no longer silently endure oppression and persecution. I'm ready to cooperate, ready to help stabilize the situation. But on equal terms."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll be forced to act differently. For example, address the American people directly. Tell the whole truth about the events of recent years. Show evidence of how the government deliberately incited hatred toward mutants. What do you think will happen then?"

Harrison sank back into his chair. He understood that Xavier was right—another political crisis now could destroy the country completely.

"Very well," he finally said. "I'll sign an executive order repealing anti-mutant laws. But the screenings must be conducted within the framework of the law, following all procedures."

"Of course. I suggest creating a special commission that will include representatives from both the government and the mutant community. All screenings will be documented and conducted in the presence of independent observers."

"And what about... more radical elements? The Brotherhood of Mutants?"

"Leave that to me. When mutants receive equal rights and respect, the Brotherhood will have no reason for violence."

Harrison rubbed his temples:

"You understand that all this will cause enormous resistance? Conservative states, religious groups, military circles..."

"That's why I'm suggesting we act together. You'll get the support of the mutant community in stabilizing the situation. We'll help with rebuilding destroyed cities, finding remaining Hydra agents, preventing new threats. In return, we want only one thing—equal rights and opportunities."

"I need time to arrange everything. To prepare public opinion..."

"You have a week to sign the order," steel returned to Xavier's voice. "After that, we'll begin to act independently of your decision. And believe me, Mr. Harrison, you don't want the truth about what's happening in the country to reach people from anyone but the government."

"This sounds like an ultimatum, Professor."

"I prefer to call it a negotiating position," notes of irony appeared in Xavier's mental voice. "Speaking of positions... You know, I have the late President Kelley's personal diary."

Harrison abruptly straightened in his chair:

"That's impossible. All his personal documents were confiscated by the security service."

"Not all. He kept this diary separately. A sort of... insurance. Very prudent for a HYDRA agent—to record everything: who was in the organization, who was recruited, where 'moles' remained in the government. Very detailed records—names, dates, amounts..."

"You realize this is a state secret?" Harrison paled.

"Which could become public knowledge if the government continues its policy of persecuting mutants. Kelley was very meticulous—compromising material on everyone he could reach. And many of those people still hold high positions."

Harrison felt the presence in his mind beginning to fade.

"I'll contact you in a week. I hope by then the order will be ready. And remember—we can still be allies in building a better future. Or remain enemies, but I will no longer be a passive observer. The choice is yours."

The last words dissolved into the silence of the office. Harrison looked at his assistant, who had stood motionless all this time:

"Michael, cancel all my meetings for today. And contact the Justice Department. We need to prepare a new executive order. Very urgently."

Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky over Washington in blood-red hues. A new era was indeed dawning, and the old rules no longer applied.

Xavier slowly removed the Cerebro helmet. The metal walls of the spherical room reflected the pale glow of the consoles, creating an almost otherworldly illumination. The Professor wiped his forehead, removing the beads of sweat that had formed there.

"Well?" Hank nervously adjusted his glasses, watching his old friend intently.

"He agreed," Charles turned his wheelchair to face Hank. "At least verbally. One week to sign the executive order."

Beast skeptically grunted, crossing his arms over his chest:

"And you believed this politician? After everything that's happened?"

"I believed his fear," Charles replied coldly. "Harrison fears chaos more than mutants. He's afraid of losing control of the situation. And he perfectly understands that the alternative to cooperation is complete social collapse."

Hank approached the console and activated a holographic display. A map of the United States appeared with flickering red dots.

"It's worse than we thought," he said, pointing to clusters of red markers. "Riots in twenty-seven cities. Lynchings of suspected Hydra agents. Attacks on government institutions. People are furious."

"And they have every right to be," Xavier moved closer to the display. "They've been lied to for years. Forced to hate us, distracted from the real threat."

"Charles," Hank looked intently at his friend, "I don't recognize you lately. Ultimatums to the government? Threats? Forced telepathic screenings? This is... not your style."

Xavier pursed his lips:

"My former style led to the deaths of thousands of mutants, Hank. How many children died at the hands of the Sentinels? How many families were destroyed? And all this time, I believed in dialogue, in gradual change, that the system could correct itself."

He abruptly struck the armrest with his fist:

"It was naivety. Criminal naivety on my part. I should have acted more forcefully... I had to."

Hank sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the console:

"I understand your pain, Charles. We've all lost too much. But radicalism... We've always fought against this. We've always criticized Erik's methods precisely for this reason."

"What if Erik was right all along?" Xavier asked this question quietly, but each word seemed to hang in the air. "Perhaps justice cannot be achieved by playing by the rules of a system originally created for your destruction?"

McCoy shook his head:

"You don't believe that, Charles. You can't believe it. If we stoop to their methods, how are we any better?"

"It's not about who's better or worse," Xavier replied sharply. "It's about survival. About justice. About preventing a repeat of the nightmare we've been through."

He activated another screen showing photographs and dossiers.

"Look," the professor pointed at the images, "these people gave orders to exterminate mutants. These signed laws depriving us of civil rights. And these..." his voice faltered, "these authorized experiments on mutant children in secret laboratories. I found even more evidence than was on Mephisto's flash drive."

McCoy nodded grimly, his yellow eyes narrowing at the list of names:

"What we saw on the flash drive was just the tip of the iceberg... But I couldn't imagine such a scale."

"The military database I accessed through Cerebro contains even more evidence," Charles didn't hide his methods. "I can no longer afford the luxury of inaction, Hank. Not when I know the whole truth."

Beast rubbed the bridge of his nose:

"What about Magneto? How does he feel about our... new methods?"

Xavier smiled faintly:

"Surprisingly, we've finally come to an agreement. Erik says he's glad to see that I've finally 'grown up.' The Brotherhood will fully support our course of action. For the first time in all these years, we're truly united."

"That should be reassuring, but somehow it only makes me more anxious," Hank admitted honestly.

"Because unity has been purchased at too high a price," Charles answered quietly. "We lost too many before we realized the necessity of acting together."

Hank approached the professor and placed a heavy paw on his shoulder:

"And Sasuke? With his new abilities... Are you sure we can trust him?"

"What Sasuke did, resurrecting hundreds of thousands of Sentinel victims..." Charles paused, choosing his words. "It changed everything. People witnessed a miracle firsthand. They saw something that cannot be explained by conventional logic. And that shook their faith in government propaganda more than all our arguments over the years."

"But his connection to Mephisto..."

"You're right, that concerns me," Xavier rubbed his temples. "A deal with such a being is never simple. We must be prepared for unexpected consequences."

Hank sighed heavily:

"Charles, I've always respected you. Always followed you. But what's happening now... This is a dangerous road."

"Everything has changed, Hank," Xavier looked up at his friend. "The attack on the school and the sanctuary of hope, and now, learning the truth about Hydra, about how they used us, pitted us against each other... I swear I won't allow it to happen again."

"Even if it means becoming what we've always fought against?" McCoy asked quietly.

"Even so," Charles answered firmly. "Mutants deserve a world where they don't live in fear. And I will provide them with that world. Whatever the price."

They were silent for some time, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Then Hank slowly straightened:

"Well, if this is the path we're taking, I'm with you, Charles. To the end. But promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Don't forget what we're doing this for. Not just for survival, but for a better world. A world where one can live, not just exist."

Xavier nodded, gentleness momentarily returning to his gaze:

"I promise, old friend. When all this is over, we'll build such a world. For everyone."

He turned off the holographic screens, and the Cerebro room plunged into semi-darkness. Two silhouettes—a man in a wheelchair and a massive figure covered in blue fur—froze in silence, like guardians on the threshold of a new era that they were about to create with their own hands.

The portal closed behind Uchiha, leaving him in a space that only vaguely resembled classical ideas of hell. Instead of fire and brimstone, a cold emptiness reigned here, permeated by a dim crimson glow. Endless corridors and halls carved from black marble extended in all directions, defying the laws of physics and common sense.

The cries of sinners sounded different here—not as screams of pain, but like the whispers of thousands of voices telling stories of their downfalls. These stories were woven into the air itself, creating a thick, heavy atmosphere saturated with regret and despair.

Sasuke walked forward, feeling the demonic essence within him resonating with this place. His footsteps echoed off the walls, and the shadows cast by his figure moved with a barely noticeable delay, as if trying to separate from their master.

"Curious, isn't it?" Mephisto's familiar voice came from somewhere above. "How quickly you found your way to my domain."

The demon appeared from nowhere, materializing from the shadows in his now-familiar form of a tall man dressed in an elegant dark red suit with a carelessly unbuttoned collar. His eyes glowed with the same crimson light that permeated the space around them.

"I feel the changes," said Sasuke, watching as his own shadow writhed at his feet. "During the resurrections... something happened to my body."

Mephisto stretched his lips into a smile, revealing unnaturally sharp teeth. He unhurriedly descended invisible steps, accompanied by the quiet whispers of sinful souls.

"Did you think power comes without cost?" He shook his head like a teacher scolding a negligent student. "Each time you take demonic form, the darkness penetrates deeper, becoming part of you."

Sasuke clenched his fists, feeling flashes of black flame run along his arms—a new ability that appeared after the last use of his powers.

"How much time do I have?" he asked, already guessing the answer.

"Five minutes," Mephisto snapped his fingers, and an hourglass materialized in the air. "More precisely, four minutes and thirty seconds in demonic form before the changes become... irreversible."

The space around them began to change. The corridor walls dissolved, revealing a view of an endless sea of darkness, in which islands of black stone floated. On some, figures of sinners frozen in eternal torment could be seen.

"Do you see them?" Mephisto pointed to one. "Many once thought they could control the power of the underworld. Now they're part of my collection."

Sasuke silently observed this scene, feeling two natures fighting within him—human and demonic. The Rinnegan activated involuntarily, and now he saw even more—countless layers of reality superimposed on each other, and souls trapped between them.

"I saw this during the resurrections," he finally said. "The tears between worlds... they're growing."

"Ah," Mephisto drawled with obvious pleasure. "So you noticed. Yes, the balance is disturbed. But isn't that what you wanted? The boundaries between worlds are thinning."

Uchiha turned sharply to the demon:

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's not just that bothering you, is it?" Mephisto rolled his eyes theatrically. "I see how the rifts between worlds attract you. Do you feel them? They call, lure with the promise of power... Such a tempting call."

The space around them changed again, transforming into a luxurious office with tall bookshelves. Mephisto sank into a leather armchair, gesturing for Sasuke to sit opposite him.

"But let's return to our conversation," the demon leaned forward. "Each resurrection, each use of my power changes you. At first, it's just marks on the skin, then—deeper changes. Eventually, if the limit isn't observed, you'll become one of us. Your body and mind will transform, turning you into a creature of the underworld."

Sasuke felt a wave of heat run through his body, as if the mere mention of this accelerated the process of change.

"And then what?" he asked, trying to remain calm.

"Then," Mephisto stretched his lips into a new smile, "you'll become truly free. No limitations, no human weaknesses. Isn't that what you've always dreamed of? Power capable of changing reality itself?"

Uchiha remained silent, looking at his hands, where shadows seemed to flow beneath the skin. He remembered the faces of those he had returned to life today, their tears of joy when reuniting with loved ones. And the price for this power suddenly seemed too high.

"Five minutes, then," he finally said. "And no ways to extend this time?"

"Oh, there are always ways," Mephisto waved his hand, and a scroll appeared in the air, inscribed with glowing runes. "The question is whether you're willing to pay even more. Each deal has its price, and each subsequent price is higher than the previous one. Such is the nature of our... business."

Sasuke stood up, feeling the demonic essence within him breaking out, demanding he fully accept the new power.

"I'll find a way to control this," he said firmly.

"Of course you will," Mephisto laughed. "They all say that. And then... they join my collection. But you're a special case, Sasuke Uchiha. Perhaps you'll be the exception. Or fall even lower than the others. Either way," he raised a glass that appeared in his hand, "it will be a very interesting spectacle."

Mephisto took a sip, and the dark liquid sparkled as if dying stars were reflected in it. His laughter, low and rolling, echoed through the hall, making the shadows in the corners shrink.

"What delightful, exquisite irony!" The Demon made a theatrical gesture, and the space around them transformed again. Now they hovered above New York, watching as the luminous threads of souls returned to their bodies. "The local gods spent centuries building their rules, and you..." he laughed genuinely, "you simply took one action and struck them all out!"

Sasuke silently observed the demon, feeling the mark pulsing on his body. Suddenly, Mephisto appeared beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder:

"You see, the beauty of the situation is... Eden, this abode of self-proclaimed soul guardians, has for centuries preached about the sacred right of choice. 'Every soul is free to choose its own path,'" he parodied someone's pompous tone. "And you... oh, you gave them exactly that choice. Without lengthy prayers, without begging for blessings. Simply because you could!"

The space around them distorted again, revealing images of people returned to life. Mothers embracing children, lovers finding each other, families reuniting in tears of joy.

"And you know what's most delightful?" Mephisto brought his face close to Sasuke's, his eyes burning with wild amusement. "They up there couldn't do anything about it! Absolutely nothing! And now..." he made a dramatic pause, "now they're furious."

Uchiha slightly raised an eyebrow:

"Should that concern me?"

"Oh no, no!" Mephisto threw up his hands theatrically. "But imagine: somewhere, at the very edge of reality, at the Arena of Infinity, sits a... rather powerful father. His son, his pride and legacy, vanished without a trace on Earth eight years ago. And now..." the demon lowered his voice to a whisper, "now someone has not only violated all conceivable laws of the afterlife but has also created... breaches."

The space around them trembled, and thin, glowing rifts appeared in the air, penetrating the very fabric of reality.

"Beautiful, marvelous breaches between worlds," Mephisto ran his finger along one of the cracks, and it glowed brighter. "And now through them may come... anyone. Or anything." He laughed again, but this time his laughter sounded almost tender. "Oh, what magnificent chaos you've spawned! What an exquisite violation of all their precious rules!"

Sasuke felt the demonic essence stir within him, resonating with these words.

"And most importantly..." Mephisto materialized a new glass and raised it in a toast, "most importantly, this is only the beginning. Because now, when the barriers between worlds have thinned, when the very foundations of reality have been shaken..." he smiled predatorily, "now the real show begins."

The demon took a sip and narrowed his eyes:

"And trust my experience, my dear Uchiha, it will be truly unforgettable. After all," the demon winked, "it's not every day someone manages to make fools of all the guardians of creation so elegantly."

The smoke from a Davidoff cigarette slowly rose toward the office ceiling. Alicia Manfredi reclined in her leather chair, her gaze fixed on the television screen where the impossible was being broadcast live — Sasuke Uchiha, standing amid the ruins of Fifth Avenue in his demonic form, materializing from thin air the gigantic head of a creature that seemed woven from the flames of hell itself. From the maw of this monstrous creation flew luminous spheres — souls returning to the world of the living.

Alicia took a deep drag, feeling the nicotine spread through her veins, bringing illusory relief. For the past three days, she had slept no more than five hours; dark circles had formed under her eyes that even expensive La Mer concealer could no longer hide.

"Twenty-eight thousand," she said aloud, looking at the ticker at the bottom of the screen. "Twenty-eight thousand resurrected in just the first hour."

The smartphone lying before her vibrated. "Father" appeared on the screen. She knew that Papa didn't tolerate delays. But now, watching the broadcast where her lover was literally rewriting the laws of creation, she couldn't force herself to answer immediately.

The office door swung open without a knock, making her start. Franco, her father's right hand, burst into the room with a face contorted by rage.

"Fuck, Alicia! Are you deaf?" he growled. "The Third District has rebelled! Five of our locations looted in the last hour! Morlock's gangs are cutting our throats while you sit here staring at your fucking demon!"

She slowly extinguished her cigarette in the crystal ashtray — a gift from her father for her twenty-fifth birthday. Five years ago. It seemed like an eternity.

"How many of our people are at Times Square?" she asked distantly, as if discussing the weather rather than another bloody confrontation.

"Fifteen," Franco ran his hand through his short-cropped gray hair. "But why the hell are you asking about Times Square? The Third District is burning!"

Alicia rose, adjusted her perfectly tailored blood-red Chanel suit, and looked at Franco in a way that made him involuntarily step back.

"Because, if you'd take your stupid head out of tactical maps and turn on the news, you'd see that in twenty minutes this demonic thing," she nodded toward the screen where Sasuke continued his ritual, "will reach Times Square. And that's where the most people died. What do you think will happen when thousands of resurrected return and discover their homes looted and their relatives killed or on the run?"

Franco blinked, as if only now grasping the scale of what was happening.

"Holy Mary..." he whispered.

"Order all our people at Times Square to distribute water, blankets, everything we have. Have Tony open three of his restaurants and feed people for free. We must be the first to come to their aid."

"But that's..."

"The best advertising we could possibly get," Alicia smiled coldly. "Later, these same people will buy our 'medicines,' protect our territory, and support us when the feds come with investigations."

She picked up a folder of documents from the desk.

"As for the Third District... Tell Luca to take forty men and clear the territory. No witnesses."

"Forty?" Franco whistled. "Half of our fighters..."

"Either that, or in a week we'll have no business left," Alicia cut him off. "And tell my father I'll call back in an hour."

When the door closed behind Franco, she sank back into her chair and dialed a number she knew by heart. The rings continued one after another, but no one answered on the other end. Damned Uchiha. Even now, even after everything that had been between them, he remained as elusive and cold as ever.

Alicia wearily leaned back in the rear seat of the armored Maybach, massaging her temples. Fifteen meetings in the last eight hours had exhausted even her iron composure. After the mass resurrections, the city had transformed into genuine chaos — not so much from physical destruction as from social and economic upheaval.

Today alone, she had conducted negotiations with three banking syndicates, five pharmaceutical ingredient suppliers, two mutant faction leaders, and the heads of four districts controlled by the Manfredi family. Everywhere reigned panic, greed, and attempts to grab a piece of the new pie being baked right now — in the fire and chaos of post-apocalyptic New York.

"Shall I take you to the penthouse, Miss Manfredi?" asked the driver, steering onto a street relatively clear of debris.

Alicia looked at her watch — 22:47. Another endless day was coming to a close, yet she was still full of energy that demanded release. The adrenaline of recent days had transformed her usual routine into a blurred sequence of emergency meetings, strategic decisions, and instant adaptation to changing situations.

"No," she took a sip of water from a crystal bottle, "to the warehouse on Tenth Street. I need to check the situation personally."

The driver cast a concerned glance in the rearview mirror:

"It's dangerous there after dark, Miss. Perhaps we should wait until morning?"

"If I waited until it was safe," Alicia smiled coldly, "the Manfredi family would still be trading bootleg whiskey in Brooklyn."

The Tenth Street warehouse was one of their main logistics centers — disguised as an ordinary distribution hub for pharmacy chains, it served as a transit base for supplies of both legal and illegal pharmaceutical products. After the Guardians' attack and the ensuing chaos, the warehouse had acquired strategic importance — now its stocks were literally worth more than gold.

As the car turned the corner, Alicia immediately noticed the increased security — twice as many men as usual stood at the entrance, all with automatic weapons at the ready. The building was one of the few in the area that had fully maintained its power supply — autonomous generators doing their job.

"They're meeting us," observed the driver, nodding toward a group of people at the entrance.

Three men stood under the bright spotlights. In the center — Rico Falcone, the warehouse manager and one of her father's oldest and most loyal assistants. On either side of him — people in white medical coats unfamiliar to Alicia.

"Stay in the car," she ordered her bodyguard, who was already preparing to exit first, "and keep your hand on your weapon. Something's not right here."

Alicia stepped onto the concrete surface, her heels beating a precise rhythm that echoed in the night silence. Rico hurried to meet her, his usually impassive face showing obvious concern.

"Miss Manfredi! We weren't expecting you today," he cast a nervous glance at his companions.

"That's the whole point of surprise inspections, Rico," she smiled coldly. "Who are these people?"

"Dr. Shevchenko and Dr. Ramirez," Rico introduced. "Gene therapy experts from our research laboratory in Queens."

"The same one that burned down the day before yesterday?" Alicia clarified, not taking her eyes off the "doctors."

Rico's face faltered:

"Well... you see... they survived, and..."

"Enough," she cut him off, pulling a pistol from her purse. "I know the faces of all leading staff in our laboratories. And I've never heard of either Shevchenko or Ramirez."

The pretend doctors exchanged glances, their hands slowly reaching for the pockets of their coats. But before they could draw weapons, Alicia fired twice — precisely, without hesitation, with professional accuracy. Shevchenko collapsed with a bullet to the head, Ramirez fell clutching his wounded shoulder.

"Jesus!" exhaled Rico, recoiling.

"Now the truth," Alicia aimed the pistol at him, "or the next bullet is yours."

"They... they're from the government," Rico blurted out, turning visibly pale. "They promised protection and immunity in exchange for documentation on the redirection of legal sedative medication supplies. They said the feds would take control of the entire pharmaceutical market in the city within 48 hours, and it was better to be on their side..."

Alicia shook her head, her face expressing genuine disappointment:

"Oh, Rico... So many years of faithful service, and for what?"

"They said your father wouldn't survive," the manager's voice trembled. "That the Manfredi family was doomed. That a new era was beginning..."

"And you believed them?" she sighed. "After everything we've been through?"

Alicia shifted her gaze to the groaning Ramirez:

"Who are you really? CIA? FBI? Or private agents for some pharmaceutical corporation?"

"Go to hell," the wounded man rasped, blood soaking his white coat, spreading in a crimson stain.

"Wrong answer," she shot him in the knee, ignoring his cry of pain. "Let's try again. I'm not asking for your real name — I don't care. I want to know who you're working for and exactly what interests you."

Ramirez gritted his teeth, his face covered in sweat:

"CIA... Unit X... We're interested in... your research on X-gene suppression..."

Alicia raised an eyebrow:

"And for this you decided to venture into the very heart of Manfredi territory? In the midst of a crisis, when half the city lies in ruins?" she shook her head. "How unprofessional."

She turned to Rico:

"And you... did you at least contact my father before betraying the family?"

"I... I tried," he lowered his eyes. "But his assistants said he was too weak for conversations. I thought..."

"Exactly — thought," Alicia grimaced. "That's your main mistake, Rico. You're not paid to think."

She signaled to her bodyguard, who instantly leaped from the car, taking position beside her.

"Now listen carefully," Alicia put the pistol back in her purse. "You have exactly 24 hours to collect complete documentation about everything that happened in this warehouse over the past month. You will personally bring it to my office. After that, you will go to my father and beg him for forgiveness on your knees. I don't know if he'll forgive you — that's his decision. But if you don't appear tomorrow at this same time with the papers, I will personally ensure that your wife, your children, and even your fucking dog disappear from the face of the earth. Understand?"

Rico swallowed and nodded, his face taking on an ashen hue.

"And this one," she nodded toward the wounded agent, "let him live. Let him tell his masters what happens to those who try to encroach on Manfredi territory. And tell them," she leaned toward Ramirez, "that the next agents won't even make it to the warehouse. Their bodies will be found in the Hudson... if they're found at all."

Back in the car, Alicia closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of weakness. Rico... That fucking idiot! He had been with her father from the beginning, had seen how the Manfredi empire was built. And he decided that a few government agents could protect him better than family?

This wasn't just a personal offense — it was an alarming sign. If one of her father's most loyal people could so easily switch sides, who else was ready to betray them? How many more rats were lurking in their ranks, waiting for the moment?

"To the central office," she ordered the driver. "And contact Marco. I need a complete check of all senior management. Every call, every account, every meeting for the past two weeks."

As the car drove away from the warehouse, Alicia again took out her phone and dialed Sasuke's number. No answer. She had lost count of how many times she had tried to contact him since the beginning of the Guardians' attack. Her messages, voice calls, emails — all remained unanswered. As if he had completely cut himself off from this world — from her.

The young woman thoughtfully looked at the contact photo — a silhouette in the half-light of the bar where they first slept together. Only a month had passed since they met, but Alicia had already grown accustomed to considering Uchiha her special acquisition. Not just a lover — a trophy. A being she had managed to obtain when others could only dream.

Of course, her concern had an exclusively pragmatic nature. Sasuke represented a walking arsenal of supernatural abilities, and now, it turned out, he could even resurrect the dead. In a world where the balance of power determined everything, possessing such an ally guaranteed undisputed superiority. And, of course, there was the sex — wild, unbridled, on the edge of cruelty. During these weeks, Uchiha had given her more pleasure than all her previous lovers combined.

Unlike other men she had entertained herself with, Sasuke was tireless. He could fuck her for hours, showing not a drop of fatigue, making her come so many times that she lost count. Her body responded to the mere memory of him — the muscles in her lower abdomen involuntarily contracted, her throat went dry. Even now, in the midst of a business crisis, the thought of his hands on her body, of his member inside her, caused a treacherous wetness between her legs.

But it wasn't even about the physical pleasure. Seeing this cold, detached being lose control in her hands, watching him transform from an impenetrable ice block into a lustful beast — this intoxicated her more than any drug. Power over such a powerful creature, even if momentary and illusory, excited her more than any foreplay.

And now, when the world around was collapsing and rebuilding, when the most loyal people turned out to be traitors, and the dead were returning to life, she felt especially acutely the need for this constant.

The central office of the Manfredi Empire occupied the top five floors of a skyscraper in the financial district. Officially, it housed the headquarters of "Manfredi Pharmaceuticals" — a perfectly legitimate company producing generics and over-the-counter medications. In reality, it was from here that Silvio, and now his daughter, managed an extensive network of illegal enterprises spanning the entire northeastern United States.

The building was one of the few in the area that had barely suffered from the Guardians' attack — an autonomous power supply system, enhanced security, and special construction designed with potential technological disasters in mind had done their job.

When Alicia entered her office on the 89th floor, she was greeted by Diana – her personal assistant and the only person, besides her father, whom she trusted unconditionally.

"You're popular today," Diana remarked, handing her a stack of messages. "Sixteen calls from heads of other families, eight from politicians, and..." she highlighted one note, "a call from Mr. Faustino. He said it's urgent and concerns new shipments from Mexico."

Alicia frowned. Faustino was their man in the police, a captain in the organized crime division. If he was calling personally and mentioning the Mexican channel, it meant serious security issues had arisen with the route.

"Connect me with him immediately," she walked to her desk, removing her coat as she went.

While Diana dialed the number, Alicia quickly scanned the remaining messages. Most were predictable — meeting requests, attempts to test the waters for new alliances, joint venture proposals in the changing city. Business as usual, even in the midst of the apocalypse.

"Miss Manfredi," Faustino's voice from the phone speaker sounded tense, "thank you for calling back."

"What do you have, Captain?" she got straight to the point.

"The Sinaloa Cartel intercepted our last shipment," he announced without preamble. "Three trucks with pharmaceutical ingredients confiscated at the Arizona border. Security is dead. The cartel plans to put the goods on the black market tomorrow."

Alicia clenched her teeth. The crisis not only offered opportunities but also bred hungry competitors, willing to risk the wrath of the Manfredi family for quick profit.

"Names?" she asked curtly.

"The operation was led by Ramon Escobar, Don Juan's nephew," Faustino replied. "According to my sources, he acted without approval from senior cartel members. Young, ambitious, decided to take advantage of the chaos."

"I see," Alicia quickly analyzed the information. "What about the route? Is it compromised?"

"Completely," Faustino confirmed. "They clearly had a mole among our people. They knew the exact time, route, even code words for passing through checkpoints."

Alicia drummed her fingers on the desk:

"I want names of everyone who had access to information about the shipment. And check bank accounts — someone among our people must have suddenly gotten rich."

"We're already working on it," Faustino assured her. "One more detail: Escobar reportedly made a deal with a group of mutants. They provide security for the goods, he shares the profits."

This was unexpected. Cartels usually avoided cooperation with mutants, considering them unpredictable.

"Which mutants? The Brotherhood?"

"No, a new group," Faustino specified. "They call themselves 'Evolution.' Apparently, many of them are recently resurrected. The leader is some Russian telepath."

Alicia froze. Resurrected individuals forming mutant groups — this confirmed Dr. Malik's worst fears.

"Thank you, Captain. You'll receive the usual bonus," her voice betrayed no hint of concern. "Keep me informed if new information emerges."

Ending the call, Alicia turned to Diana:

"Contact Don Juan personally. Tell him we know about his nephew's unauthorized activities and expect the Escobar family to solve this problem themselves. If our goods aren't returned within 48 hours, we'll take measures."

"Understood," Diana nodded. "And also... the results of the studies on the first group of resurrected have arrived. Dr. Malik says you need to see this immediately."

Alicia took the offered folder and opened it. Inside were medical reports, charts, and photographs of tissue samples. She wasn't a scientist, but even a cursory glance at the notes was enough to understand that something was wrong.

"Is this confirmed?" she asked, pointing to a paragraph highlighted in red.

"Triple-checked," Diana confirmed. "Dr. Malik personally conducted the last series of tests."

Alicia slowly sank into her chair, rereading the key points of the report. What she saw could overturn the entire situation with the resurrected. All test subjects exhibited abnormal changes at the cellular level — their tissues demonstrated enhanced regeneration, resistance to toxins, and... traces of unidentified energy that Dr. Malik had provisionally designated as a "demonic signature."

But the most alarming was the conclusion on the last page: "37% of the subjects studied show signs of latent X-gene activation. Preliminary data suggests that the resurrection process somehow catalyzes the manifestation of mutations in individuals with the appropriate genetic predisposition."

"I need a meeting with Malik," Alicia closed the folder. "Immediately. And prepare an expanded report for my father — he needs to know about all of this."

"Already scheduled," Diana nodded. "The doctor will be here in half an hour. And also... Mr. Tomazo from the territorial control department asked to inform you that increased Brotherhood of Mutants activity has been observed at the borders of our districts. Especially in humanitarian aid distribution zones."

Alicia thoughtfully tapped her fingers on the desk. The Brotherhood... If they had learned about the potential X-gene activation in the resurrected, they would certainly want to take these people under their control. And that directly threatened the family's interests.

"Double the security at all distribution points," she ordered. "And incorporate a quick X-gene test into the screening protocol. All potential carriers should be immediately directed to our medical centers for 'additional examination.'"

Diana made a note on her tablet:

"What about the meeting with Fisk's representatives? It's scheduled for tomorrow, but in light of the new information..."

"Cancel it," Alicia decided. "Say I have to urgently fly to Washington for consultations with federal authorities. Let him think we have serious connections in the government."

When Diana left, Alicia picked up the phone again and dialed Sasuke's number. Long rings, then a mechanical voice: "The subscriber is temporarily unavailable." She threw the receiver on the desk and rose sharply, approaching the panoramic window.

The city below sparkled with lights, but this was no longer the New York she knew. Entire blocks lay in ruins, some areas plunged into darkness due to destroyed power grids. And everywhere — tiny figures of people trying to piece together the fragments of their lives. The resurrected, returning to a world that had already moved on without them.

For a second, she thought she saw a reflection of red light on the roof of one of the nearest buildings — the characteristic glow of Sasuke's eyes when he activated the Sharingan. But it was just a trick of imagination, the reflection of a neon sign in the glass.

The door opened, and Diana entered the office again, her face expressing restrained excitement:

"Miss Manfredi, we just received a signal from your penthouse security system."

Alicia tensed:

"Intrusion?"

"No," Diana handed her a tablet displaying footage from the surveillance camera in the penthouse living room. "It's him."

In the half-darkness of the room, illuminated only by city lights outside the window, stood Sasuke Uchiha. His dark silhouette was frozen by the panoramic window, his gaze directed somewhere into the distance. He looked different — more detached, as if he were simultaneously here and somewhere else. Dark patterns occasionally ran across his body, like shadows under the skin.

Alicia held her breath. After everything that had happened — after the dead returning to life, after battles with the Guardians, after the demonic transformation — he had returned. To her.

"Cancel all evening meetings," she quickly gathered the most important documents in her briefcase. "Reschedule Dr. Malik for tomorrow at nine a.m. And prepare all materials on the resurrected mutants — I'll take them with me."

"Of course," Diana nodded, not hiding an understanding smile. "The car is already waiting downstairs."

Alicia paused for a moment at the mirror, adjusting her hair and makeup. Despite the fatigue of recent days, her eyes shone with a feverish gleam — the excitement of a predator sensing prey. She knew this evening could be pivotal — not only for her relationship with Sasuke but also for the future of the Manfredi business in the new, changed world.

"If my father asks," she added, heading for the exit, "tell him I'm in strategic negotiations with our new... partner."

Diana nodded, and Alicia left the office, feeling adrenaline coursing through her blood. Over the last three days, she had buried the old world and begun building a new one. And now she was going to meet the one who had turned the very concept of life and death upside down. The one who could become her greatest asset... or her greatest weakness.

ONE HOUR AGO.

The icy wind lashed furiously at the cliffs, but Sasuke, sitting in the lotus position at the very edge of the precipice, seemed not to notice the piercing cold. The Himalayan peaks rose around him like petrified waves of a primordial ocean, their snowy summits disappearing into low, leaden clouds. Here, at an altitude of more than five thousand meters, the air was so thin that an ordinary person could barely breathe. But Uchiha had long ceased to be an ordinary person.

After the resurrection ritual, his body had changed. He felt it in every cell, in every heartbeat. The demonic essence dormant within constantly reminded him of itself through an insatiable hunger. This hunger appeared when souls passed through the mouth of the King of Hell — a primal, animal desire to grab, devour, enjoy their taste. Then he had managed to suppress this urge, but the craving remained, constantly pulsating at the edge of his consciousness.

External changes were also progressing. Each transformation into demonic form left its mark — barely noticeable scales on the skin, shimmering in the moonlight, sharpened fangs that had to be concealed behind tightly pressed lips. Mephisto had warned about this — the longer you stay in demonic form, the stronger the changes.

But the most challenging ordeal was his newly acquired empathy. In the city where war with the Guardians had recently raged, where thousands of people had died and been resurrected, the emotional background was like a raging tornado. Fear, grief, despair, joy of reunion, anger, gratitude — all these feelings crashed upon him in an endless stream, threatening to drive him mad. That's why he ended up here, in the desolate mountains, where for hundreds of kilometers around there wasn't a single living soul.

Meditation helped, but only partially. It dulled the hunger, made it more bearable, but couldn't completely silence it. Uchiha felt the infernal energy flowing through his chakra channels, mixing with his familiar power, changing his very essence.

The air behind his back trembled, distorting into concentric circles of golden sparks. Sasuke didn't even need to turn around — his heightened senses had already detected the presence of two beings, one of whom radiated such powerful mystical energy that his demonic essence instinctively tensed.

Two figures emerged from the portal. An elderly man of Asian appearance seemed to glow from within with ancient, almost divine power. His simple clothes and serene face strangely contrasted with the might he emanated. Beside him stood a younger man, with gray at his temples and a well-groomed beard. His red cloak with a high collar fluttered in the wind, and a massive amulet in the shape of an eye gleamed at his neck.

"Greetings, young man," the calm and gentle voice of the elder carried such strength that the demonic essence at the edge of Uchiha's consciousness... grew uneasy.

The shinobi slowly rose. The snow under his feet instantly melted — his body radiated heat that he had learned to control but couldn't yet completely suppress.

"Who are you?" he asked directly. His right eye flashed red — the Sharingan activated reflexively.

"You may call me the Ancient One," the elder slightly bowed his head. "And this is the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, Doctor Stephen Strange."

Sasuke gave them an appraising look. The Rinnegan saw the auras of both visitors — the golden radiance of the elder and the complex pattern of mystical energies around the sorcerer.

"What do you want?" Uchiha deliberately chose a crude tone. He didn't like having his meditation interrupted.

"I would like to talk about what you did," the Ancient One paused, "and about whom you now serve."

A chill ran down Sasuke's spine — not from the cold, but from the way the elder spoke these words. Something in his tone made the demonic essence shrink.

"Mephisto..." the Ancient One shook his head. "He is a master of deception, young man. You think you've made an equal deal with him, but in reality..."

Sasuke interrupted him, stepping forward:

"I know who he is. I've seen his realm, spoken with him after the resurrection ritual."

"And did he tell you about the wrath of Eden's gods?" Understanding flashed in the elder's eyes. "Yes, they are angry. But that's not what should worry you."

The Ancient One took several steps toward the edge of the cliff, looking at the valleys stretching below:

"You've received power capable of breaking the boundaries between worlds. But such might always comes at a price. And the cost..." he turned to Uchiha, "the cost will be much higher than you can imagine."

Strange, who had been silent until now, stepped forward:

"We've seen similar contracts before. Mephisto never reveals all the conditions at once. He..."

Uchiha turned sharply to the sorcerer, his eyes blazing:

"I had no choice," he hissed through his teeth. The air smelled of ozone, as before a storm. "Either service or eternal slavery. And besides..." a cold smirk appeared on his lips, "doesn't the result justify the means? Thousands of people are alive again."

"Any power has its price," the Ancient One's voice sounded sad. "And the greater the power, the more terrible the reckoning. You already feel the changes, don't you? The hunger... the thirst for souls... This is just the beginning."

Sasuke froze, involuntarily clenching his fists — how did the elder know about the hunger? About that demonic desire that haunted him every night?

"I'll manage," his voice sounded hoarse.

"Perhaps," the Ancient One nodded. "But consider this: why did Mephisto so easily give you power? Why didn't he demand your service immediately?" the elder paused. "Because he knows: sooner or later, the hunger will become unbearable. And then..."

"Enough!" Waves of dark energy radiated from Sasuke in all directions.

Strange instinctively took a combat stance, his hands enveloped in the orange glow of mystical seals. But the Ancient One stopped him with a slight gesture:

"We didn't come to fight. Only to warn. The choice always remains yours. But remember: the road to hell is always paved with good intentions."

The air sparkled again, forming a portal. The Ancient One stepped back but stopped:

"And one more thing... When the hunger becomes unbearable, come to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Perhaps we can help."

The portal closed, leaving Sasuke alone on the snow-covered peak. Uchiha slowly lowered himself back into a meditation pose, but his inner peace had been hopelessly disturbed. The elder's words about the price of power echoed in his mind, while in his stomach, the accursed hunger stirred again.

Somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap sounded, and the heavy snow clouds finally broke with an icy rain, but Sasuke, immersed in his thoughts, didn't even notice. Another sleepless night awaited him, filled with battles against demons — both external and internal.

The dark circle of the portal collapsed behind him, dissolving in the air like an ink stain, leaving Sasuke alone with heavy thoughts and newly awakened thirst. He slowly approached the black marble bar counter, where the same whiskey that Alicia had offered him last time still stood. Uchiha poured himself a full glass and brought it to his lips. The tart aroma of expensive alcohol tickled his nostrils, but even this couldn't drown out the unease that had settled within him after the conversation with the Ancient One.

Sasuke stood by the penthouse's panoramic window, looking at nighttime New York. The city lights shimmered below like scattered gems on black velvet. His hand involuntarily reached for his chest, where the demonic mark pulsated. Even now, he could feel the new power flowing through his veins, intoxicating and tempting.

His reflection in the glass distorted, revealing for a moment another image — a small boy standing before his father in the Uchiha clan's dojo. "You must become strong, Sasuke. Stronger than everyone." Fugaku's voice, strict and demanding, echoed in his memory. Uchiha smirked — what would his father say now? Would he be proud to learn that his younger son had acquired power capable of shaking the very foundations of creation? Or would he turn away in disgust, seeing what the heir of the great clan had become?

The darkness inside him stirred, as if alive, and a wave of heat rolled through his body. Sasuke pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm his quickened breathing. He remembered another touch of darkness — Orochimaru's seal, from which Itachi had freed him. His older brother had given everything to protect him from that taint. And now... now he had voluntarily accepted darkness hundreds of times more powerful and ancient.

"Forgive me, nii-san," Sasuke mentally uttered, looking at his reflection, where Itachi's features momentarily appeared. "I've again chosen a path different from what you wanted for me."

Memories came in waves. Here was his mother — Mikoto — combing his hair before his first day at the academy. Her gentle hands, her warm smile. "You're special, Sasuke-kun," she used to say. "Not because you're strong or talented. But because you know how to love." What would she say now, seeing her younger son making a deal with a demon?

Another memory surfaced — Alicia, arching beneath him in ecstasy. Her moans, echoing off the walls. The taste of her skin. The moist heat of her mouth when she took him between her lips. Hoarse whispers, pronouncing his name again and again... Before, it had been just sex — a way to fill the emptiness inside, to feel something besides endless longing for a lost world. Now, the demonic essence was coloring these memories in new shades, transforming simple desire into something darker, hungrier.

Fugaku had always demanded strength from him. Itachi had tried to protect him from darkness. And mother... mother had simply loved him, unconditionally and completely. Sasuke ran his hand across the glass, leaving a light frost on it — another manifestation of his new power. In such moments, he felt especially acutely how two principles fought within him: the human one — that which still remembered family, honor, and love, and the demonic one — ancient, predatory, craving to dominate and subjugate.

The Ancient One's words still rang in his ears, but now, in this house, alone with his demons, Sasuke understood — he needed to find a way to tame the thirst before it consumed him completely. And if he couldn't get rid of it, perhaps he should channel it in another direction, transform it into something more... acceptable.

The sound of the opening elevator door echoed through the penthouse. Alicia had returned. Sasuke didn't turn around, but his reflection in the glass distorted again, revealing for a moment a snarl more befitting a predator than a human. He hadn't come here without reason. His demonic essence demanded release — if not in destruction, then at least in passion. It demanded to quench the thirst born from contact with the powers of the underworld.

The clicking of Alicia's heels on the marble floor resonated in his body like heartbeats. Each step brought closer the moment when he would have to make a choice — give in to desire or continue to resist. But even now, balancing on the edge between humanity and darkness, between memories of family and the call of demonic power, Sasuke understood that he had already made this choice. Otherwise, why would he have come here?

The elevator doors silently opened, releasing Alicia into the half-darkness of the penthouse. In the dim light of the city lights, she immediately distinguished Sasuke's silhouette by the panoramic window. The air felt unusually cool, unnatural for a heated room.

Without saying a word, the young woman headed to the bar. She was accustomed to keeping emotions under control, but today it required effort. The man who had transformed himself into a demon and resurrected thousands of dead was now silently standing in her home.

Taking out a bottle of 50-year-old Macallan, she filled two glasses and approached Uchiha. She offered one of them, studying him carefully. After recent events, Sasuke looked different — not just externally, his very essence had changed.

"You know," Alicia began, taking a sip, "all day I've been watching people embrace their resurrected loved ones. Unable to believe what's happening." She stood beside him at the window. "And then I watched the broadcast where you transformed into... something."

She turned to him, maintaining outward calm. The daughter of a crime family head, Alicia Manfredi had always been in control. With subordinates, partners, lovers, she dictated the rules. But now intuition suggested — here her power was illusory.

"And here you are. In my penthouse. As if nothing happened," she smirked without a trace of humor. "Just one question, Sasuke. Did you come to kill me or to fuck me?"

Her voice sounded steady, but the fingers gripping the glass betrayed her inner tension. This wasn't just insolence — it was an attempt to provoke a reaction, to understand the intentions of a being whose capabilities she could no longer calculate.

Sasuke slowly turned to her. In his eyes, Alicia saw something new — a deep hunger that went beyond ordinary human desire. The smoldering red sparks in the black depths of his pupils caused an inner tremor.

He raised his hand to her face, and Alicia froze, instinctively understanding — any sudden movement now could be her last. His fingers, unusually cold, slid over her lips. At the moment of contact, she felt a strange vibration, as if dark energy had penetrated beneath her skin.

A silent struggle was visible in Sasuke's eyes. Alicia, accustomed to reading people's weaknesses and desires, recognized the internal conflict. Something ancient and inhuman demanded her soul, but another part of Sasuke resisted this impulse.

She made her decision instantly. Her entire body transformed into a survival instrument. Silvermane's daughter, she had known since childhood — sometimes submission is more effective than confrontation.

Setting down her glass, she knelt, not breaking eye contact. For someone who had built her life on control and domination, this was an unexpected decision. A strange mixture of fear and excitement pierced her as her fingers reached for his belt.

Alicia saw the change in Sasuke's face. His skin acquired a feverish sheen, and his eyes blazed red — the Sharingan activated. In another situation, she would have backed away, but her survival instinct suggested — the best way to avoid death now was to give him another outlet.

Taking his member into her mouth, she felt a strange warmth, almost heat, emanating from his skin. His fingers buried in her hair, slightly scratching her scalp. Alicia had never thought she would find herself in such a situation — on her knees not for manipulation, but out of genuine submission to another's power.

With each movement, she noticed changes. His breathing became uneven; steam escaped from his mouth despite the warm room. On the glass behind him, a pattern of frost began to form — a physical manifestation of his new essence.

Letting go of control was new for Alicia. All her life, she had built an empire on suppressing others' will. Now, submitting to the pace dictated by Sasuke's hand, she experienced a strange freedom. There was something transcendent in this capitulation.

Looking up again, she saw inhuman eyes — the Sharingan, mixed with demonic energy. The realization of her position — on her knees before a being balancing between human and demon — caused an unexpected wave of arousal. Her free hand involuntarily slid under her dress.

Sasuke arched when her tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. His body vibrated with barely contained energy. Suddenly he jerked her hair, forcing her all the way down, and with a low growl, he climaxed.

The shinobi's eyes gradually returned to their normal color, but darkness still lurked in the depths of his pupils.

Rising from her knees, Alicia felt the adrenaline slowly receding, leaving behind a strange sensation of emptiness and simultaneous fullness. Her knees trembled slightly, but her face had already acquired its usual expression of cold calculation. Her breathing gradually evened out, but heat still pulsed in her chest — an imprint of his power.

Sasuke reached for the abandoned glass. His movements were fluid, almost hypnotic — shadows seemed to follow each gesture. The young woman watched as he settled on the edge of the sofa, noting the inhuman grace even in this simple action.

Uchiha examined the amber liquid in the glass, as if seeking answers in it. His usually impenetrable face resembled a cracked mask — something ancient and hungry was emerging through the human features.

Alicia ran her finger along the rim of the glass, collecting the remaining drops of his seed. They burned her skin like liquid fire. She demonstratively licked them off, feeling the burning on her tongue. Her throat was dry, but she delayed drinking the whiskey.

The silence between them thickened. Outside the window stretched nighttime New York — a city that had witnessed the impossible. Thousands of resurrected, returned by the demonic power of the man sitting a meter away from her. A man? Was he still?

But fear was an impermissible luxury for Silvermane's daughter. Alicia brought the glass to her lips, tasting the tart whiskey.

She sat down beside him, maintaining distance — not out of fear, but out of respect for the abyss living within him. Her knee barely touched his thigh, but even through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the cold surrounding him — not human, but the ancient breath of the underworld.

Looking at his profile, Alicia wondered: could his inner demon sense her curiosity? Her desire to solve the riddle named Sasuke Uchiha? For the daughter of a mafia clan leader, information had always been more valuable than money. But now it had become something personal.

Memories of their previous encounters surfaced — hungry couplings, more like battles. Before, she had considered his coldness a mask. Now she understood: it had been a warning. He had kept his distance not out of arrogance, but out of... care?

The thought seemed absurd. A demon caring about a lover's feelings? However, after today, the concept of "impossible" needed revision.

Alicia licked her lips, still preserving his taste. Dozens of questions spun in her head, but she understood: a simple "who are you?" wouldn't suffice. And did his origin matter, when he had rewritten the laws of life and death?

Her hand slid across the sofa, almost touching his fingers. The shadows in the corners of the room trembled, as if alive. In her peripheral vision, something resembling wings flickered.

"When I was sixteen," Alicia's voice sounded unexpectedly hoarse, "my father took me to a serious meeting for the first time. Russian mafia, yakuza, triads – all the cream of the criminal world." She took a sip of whiskey. "That evening I saw someone killed for the first time. The yakuza leader didn't like something, and he just..." she snapped her fingers, "like that. His bodyguard drew a katana and beheaded one of the Russian's men."

Sasuke remained silent, but she felt his attention. The shadows in the room seemed to draw closer, listening to her words.

"You know what my father told me afterward? 'Remember this moment, Alicia. When you see someone's true nature – it's either the greatest gift or a deadly trap.'" She smiled humorlessly. "I didn't understand then. But today... today I saw you release souls from the afterlife. Saw your true nature." Her fingers tightened on the glass. "And you know what? I'm still here. Alive. In my right mind. Giving you a blowjob and drinking damn whiskey."

She turned to him challengingly:

"So maybe it's time to decide – what is it: a gift or a trap? I've seen enough to deserve at least a drop of truth about who you really are."

The corner of Sasuke's lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. Something ancient flickered in his eyes, but this time not threatening, but rather... mocking?

"This is what I became just a couple of days ago," his voice sounded almost mundane, as if he were talking about a change of hairstyle, not a transformation into a creature from hell.

Alicia froze, holding the glass to her lips. The whiskey halted halfway, and a string of memories raced through her head – their first meeting, nights at the Plaza Hotel, his cold detachment. All this time she thought she was unraveling his mystery, but it turned out...

"You mean to say," she slowly lowered the glass, "that when we met, you were... an ordinary person with abilities?"

Sasuke leaned back against the sofa, and the shadows around him wavered, responding to his movement. In the dim light of the night city, his skin seemed almost transparent, with ink-like swirls flowing beneath it.

"Not exactly ordinary," he took a sip of whiskey, and the liquid in the glass flashed momentarily, "but, at least, human."

Alicia leaned forward, her eyes narrowing predatorily:

"And now... some ancient demon lives in you?" In her voice, curiosity mixed with disbelief.

Sasuke emitted a short laugh, more like a growl:

"Close..." He raised his hand, watching dark patterns run across his skin. "I'm not a vessel for a demon. I am becoming one myself."

Silence fell in the room, broken only by the distant hum of the night city. Alicia suddenly realized she was holding her breath. She looked at the man beside her – so familiar and at the same time completely alien. A person who before her eyes was turning into something else. And the most frightening thing was that it didn't repel her. On the contrary, it attracted her even more.

"But you're right," said Uchiha, turning to her. His eyes flashed red in the half-darkness, the tomoe pattern slowly spinning in his iris. "I'll show you who I am."

Alicia had no time to react as reality around them dissolved, giving way to a kaleidoscope of images and sensations. She saw a strange, alien world — a world where life energy flowed in every living being like a circulatory system. A world where warriors called shinobi used this power — chakra — to create incredible techniques.

Images replaced each other with dizzying speed. Great clans guarding ancient secrets. Villages hidden in leaves and sands, where new generations of ninja were raised. Beings of incredible power — bijuu, capable of destroying mountains with a single swing of their tails. The Fourth Shinobi World War, where the united forces of all villages fought against the resurrected goddess Kaguya.

And then — a distortion of space, a portal between worlds, and two young men thrown into an unfamiliar world. Their discovery by the X-Men, the first weeks of adaptation...

When the visions ceased, Alicia remained sitting motionless, like a statue. Her fingers dug into the crystal glass with such force that her knuckles whitened, and in the reflection of the whiskey, tiny circles trembled from the barely noticeable vibration of the glass. The world around seemed unreal, blurred, like a watercolor painting in the rain.

"It's exactly as I suspected — you're not from our world." The words escaped with a nervous laugh, more like an exhale. In her voice mixed the relief of someone who had finally solved a puzzle that had been tormenting them, and the bitterness of realizing that the solution was more complex than all her theories. "Although I must admit, the story exceeded all my expectations."

Sasuke observed her. In the depths of his eyes darkness swirled — no longer just demonic, but coming from another world, from a clan whose history was written in blood and pain.

"You're not surprised," he wasn't asking, merely stating a fact.

Alicia slowly ran her tongue over her lips.

"Surprised?" she rolled the word on her tongue, tasting it. "In a world where once a god descended from heaven to drink coffee at Starbucks, where a scientist consumed by rage transformed into a green monster, and a genius billionaire flew in a metal suit..."

Sasuke drained the glass in one gulp. The whiskey burned his throat, but after the deal with Mephisto, even strong alcohol seemed bland. He rose from the sofa and approached the window. His right hand began to change — his skin darkened, scales appeared, and sparks of chidori danced between his fingers, mixed with demonic energy.

"Naruto and I won't stay here long. We'll return home soon."

Alicia set down her glass and stood beside him. In the reflection of the glass, she saw shadows swirling behind his back, taking the form of wings. Strangely, there was no fear — only burning curiosity and something else, deeper and more dangerous.

"To that goddess who tried to kill you?" The young woman watched as the lightning sparks on his hand gradually faded.

He nodded.

"With this power, we can defeat her."

He clenched his fist, and an icy wind swept through the room, though all windows were closed. Alicia involuntarily shivered — not from the cold, but from the realization of the power hidden in the young man standing beside her.

"You think demonic power will help against a goddess?" she moved closer, feeling the heat emanating from him, strangely contrasting with his cold aura.

Sasuke smirked:

"Demons, gods..." his eyes slowly colored ruby red, and ink-like patterns crawled across his skin. "Just loud names. In any world, only the power of the strong exists." He unclenched his fist, and black flames wrapped in purple sparks ignited on his palm. "And power..." the flame rose higher, reflecting in his eyes, where the tomoe of the Sharingan spun in an ominous dance, "true power belongs to me."

The "Last Mile" bar stood at the intersection where the destruction abruptly ended, as if marked by an invisible boundary. On one side of the street—mangled building frames and overturned cars; on the other—an almost untouched neighborhood with cracked but standing storefronts, damaged only by the blast wave. A strange symbol of fragile balance.

Naruto and Anna sat by the window. Dim light fell on their faces, emphasizing the shadows under their eyes and the sharp lines of their cheekbones. The fatigue of recent days had soaked into their skin, penetrated their bones. Anna's shoulders trembled slightly, though the room was warm—almost hot from the old heater working at full capacity.

The silver-haired bartender, who resembled an aged boxer, brought them drinks. Whiskey for Anna, plain water for Naruto. The jinchuriki still hadn't developed a taste for Earth's alcohol.

"On the house," the bartender said quietly, carefully placing the glasses on the table. "My granddaughter was on that school bus."

He hesitated for a second, as if wanting to say something more, but then simply nodded and walked away.

Outside, a military convoy was passing by. The soldiers stared straight ahead in silence, except for one—a very young man with a pale face—who turned toward the bar and momentarily met Naruto's gaze. His eyes reflected something between reverence and fear.

"So you're leaving tomorrow?" asked Anna, avoiding his gaze, convulsively clutching her whiskey glass so tightly that her knuckles whitened from the tension.

"Yes," Uzumaki answered after a pause, and in this simple monosyllable was more weight than in all possible explanations.

Anna took a sip of whiskey. The burning liquid rolled down her throat, spreading warmth in her chest, but brought no relief. Inside, something was tightening, twisting into a knot that seemed impossible to untangle.

"Dad..." she began, and faltered, as if the word itself felt unfamiliar on her lips. "Father said he wants to talk to you."

She turned, finally daring to meet his gaze. The flickering light of the bar obscured his features, making him look like a ghost—someone who would no longer be beside her tomorrow.

"He wants to check your intentions," she added with a nervous laugh that sounded too brittle. "The traditional fatherly interrogation before giving his blessing."

Naruto froze, studying her face with that special attentiveness that always made one uncomfortable—as if he could see through all masks and barriers.

"You spoke with him?" he asked with surprise and a kind of hope in his voice.

A white strand fell loose from D'Ancanto's hair, and she automatically tucked it behind her ear—a gesture that betrayed her anxiety.

"My parents and I talked almost all night... about different things."

She turned away, hiding her face, twisting the napkin with the bar's logo in her hands.

"See!" exclaimed Uzumaki, and genuine jubilation sounded in his voice. "I told you everything would work out, dattebayo!"

He leaned forward slightly, as if wanting to hug her, but stopped at the last moment, noticing her expression.

"Anna-chan? What's wrong?"

D'Ancanto shook her head, turning to the window. Droplets began to run down the glass—it was starting to rain.

"Nothing," she answered too sharply and immediately realized—he wouldn't believe it. "It's just... Everything's happening so fast. It seems like only yesterday you approached me by that oak tree at school, or rather, your clone did, and today my father wants to give us his blessing, and tomorrow..."

She didn't finish, but there was no need. Tomorrow he would leave, and possibly never return.

"You're worried," it wasn't a question.

Anna tried to smile, but it came out too forced.

"And you're not?" she turned to him. "You're going to fight a goddess, Naruto. Not another Guardian—a real goddess."

There was bitterness in her voice that she couldn't hide. Uzumaki was silent, studying her face as if searching for answers to questions he didn't dare ask.

"Are you sure you and Sasuke can handle it?" she asked directly, her voice breaking on the last word.

"Of course!" exclaimed the jinchuriki with that special smile that seemed capable of illuminating the darkest night. "We don't have a choice, right?"

He said it lightly, almost jokingly, but Anna saw the shadow in his eyes—he was afraid too, he just didn't show it. The shinobi raised his glass in a playful toast:

"To victory and return! Sasuke received this power from Mephisto, and with it we..."

"That demon," Anna interrupted him. "You really trust him? After everything he's done?"

Naruto's smile dimmed slightly. He took a sip and lowered his glass, tracing wet circles on the polished surface of the counter with his finger.

"No, I don't trust him," he finally admitted. "But without this power, we have no chance against Kaguya. I..." he hesitated, as if unsure whether to continue. "I'm not afraid for myself, but for Sasuke. This demonic power is changing him. I see it in his eyes. But..."

He fell silent, and in this pause was more than in unspoken words.

"But?" Anna quietly prompted.

"But we need to finish what we started," Uzumaki said firmly. "Free the tailed beasts, stop Kaguya. This is our duty. No matter how scary it is, we must see it through to the end."

Such unwavering determination sounded in his voice that for a moment Anna felt a pang of envy. What was it like to be so certain of your path?

"Fearless as always."

"I promise you, I'll come back," he said insistently. "Believe me. This is my ninja way—"

"I asked you," Anna interrupted him, surprising even herself. The glass in her hand tilted dangerously, spilling a few drops onto the polished wood of the counter. "Don't make promises you might not be able to keep. Not to me."

Uzumaki's face froze as if he'd been struck. Something flashed in his eyes—disappointment? Pain? Incomprehension?

"Why?" he asked, and genuine puzzlement sounded in his voice. "I always keep my promises, you know that."

"Because I can't..." Anna began and stopped short, swallowing the end of the phrase.

Because I can't lose you. Can't hope and then be disappointed. Can't be left alone when I've only just begun to believe I deserve happiness.

"Can't what?" he asked tensely, as if something important depended on the answer.

Rogue turned away, looking out the window at the intensifying rain. Her reflection looked back at her—a pale face, eyes too large, a white strand of hair falling on her cheek.

"Can't explain," she lied. "Just... be careful and... look after Sasuke."

Naruto looked at her with a long, studying gaze, as if trying to see what was hidden behind her words. Then he slowly nodded:

"I'll be careful, I promise. And I'll look after Sasuke."

He leaned closer, reducing the distance between them. They sat so close that Anna could feel the warmth of his body, see the smallest details—how the bar light reflected in his eyes, how his eyelashes trembled, how a vein pulsed almost imperceptibly in his neck.

"Anna-chan," Naruto said softly, his voice becoming lower, more intimate. "You're not telling me everything, are you?"

He carefully took the glass from her hand, setting it on the counter. Then he gently squeezed her fingers in his palms—warm, slightly rough from training, but surprisingly tender. Even now, after so many touches, each contact with his skin caused her to shiver—either from unfamiliarity or from something greater that she was afraid to admit to herself.

"No," she said hoarsely, with a break in her voice, licking her dry lips. "But we'll finish this conversation next time. Okay?"

With her free hand, she involuntarily reached for the white strand of hair, but stopped halfway. Instead, she gripped the edge of the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Naruto barely noticeably nodded, lowering his shoulders slightly, but the corners of his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile.

"Alright," he exhaled so quietly that it was almost inaudible beneath the monotonous sound of rain outside the window.

For a moment, they froze like that—two silhouettes against the backdrop of the rainy night city outside the window, united by something greater than words could express.

She leaned toward his ear and whispered something that made Naruto smile broadly and kiss her.

When you return, thought Anna, closing her eyes and allowing herself to simply be in this moment, I'll tell you everything I should have said today. If only we have that tomorrow.

Naruto walked down the corridor, unconsciously adjusting his new uniform. The outfit he had ordered from Hank a month ago was finally ready—a dark blue base with bright orange lines running along the sides and sleeves. On his chest was the signature "X" symbol, but executed in orange and black—a small tribute to his former clothes. The jinchuriki was especially proud of the hidden pockets for kunai and scrolls that Hank had integrated into the design without disrupting the overall streamlined silhouette.

Rogue walked beside him, her fingers intertwined with his.

"It's strange to see you not in solid orange," she said quietly, trying to hide the tension in her voice behind her usual irony.

"Come on," Uzumaki smirked, "I look cool! Though it took a lot of convincing to get Sasuke to wear the same one."

They had almost reached the living room when Anna suddenly stopped, pulling him by the hand. In the morning light streaming through the tall window, her face seemed particularly pale, and the white streak in her hair contrasted with the rest of her hairstyle more starkly than usual.

"Wait," her voice grew quieter. "I want to add something... to yesterday's conversation."

Naruto turned to her, concern flickering in his blue eyes.

Rogue took a step closer, sliding her fingers along the collar of his new uniform, lingering where the Kevlar fabric transitioned into a softer material.

"When you return..." she bit her lip slightly, "I'd like to try something."

Rogue leaned toward his ear, her breath tickling his skin. A few seconds later, the blonde's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed bright red.

"Uh... er... that..." he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

The mutant pulled back, a slight smile playing on her lips—the first genuine smile of the morning.

"Consider it extra motivation to come back," she ran a finger along his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin.

The jinchuriki suddenly broke into a wide grin:

"Consider me already back, dattebayo!" He pulled her in for a deep and somewhat desperate kiss.

When they finally broke apart, the girl quietly exhaled:

"Let's go. Everyone's waiting."

In the living room, everyone had indeed gathered. Professor Xavier was positioned by the fireplace, with Cyclops standing next to him, still adjusting to his new abilities after merging mutant power with chakra—occasionally he adjusted his special glasses designed by Hank. Logan was leaning against the wall in the far corner, puffing on a cigar despite all school rules and gloomily examining those assembled. Jean Grey and Storm sat on the sofa, with Kitty settled between them, nervously tapping her fingers on the armrest. Beast, in his ever-present lab coat, was quickly jotting something down on a tablet, occasionally glancing at the door.

Surprisingly, members of the Brotherhood were also present—Mystique stood by the window, arms crossed over her chest, and next to her loomed the massive silhouette of Colossus. Bobby was sprawled casually in an armchair, creating and destroying tiny ice figures in his palm.

In a corner of the room, Sasuke, dressed in the same uniform as Naruto but with purple accents instead of orange, was engaged in quiet conversation with Emma Frost. Uchiha looked unusual in an X-Men costume, but somehow managed to maintain his signature haughty appearance even in it.

When Naruto and Rogue entered, all conversations ceased. A heavy silence hung in the air, interrupted only by the crackling of logs in the fireplace.

"Sorry we're late," the shinobi smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.

"It's quite alright," Professor Xavier responded gently. "We understand this is a difficult moment for everyone."

Naruto surveyed the room. Several of his shadow clones had already taken positions around the school perimeter—a simple but necessary precaution. Now, looking at those gathered here, he felt more acutely than ever the strangeness and uniqueness of his position in this world.

"You know," Uzumaki began, stepping forward, "when Sasuke and I first arrived here, I was only thinking about how to get back home." The shinobi looked at Rogue, who was still holding his hand. "And now I have another home. And people I want to protect."

Sasuke snorted from his corner:

"Only you would say such sentimental things before battle."

"Shut up, teme!" Naruto snapped back habitually. "You're no better now!"

It was noticeable how Kitty smiled weakly at their bickering, while Logan rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips turned up slightly.

Professor Xavier rolled forward, his wheelchair quietly humming over the carpet:

"Naruto, Sasuke," his voice sounded solemn, "in the short time you've spent with us, you've become part of our family." He looked around the room. "Moreover, you've helped us understand that family can be larger than we thought."

Mystique detached herself from the wall:

"Who would have thought that two aliens from another world would make the X-Men and the Brotherhood of Mutants work together," she shook her head, but respect was audible in her voice.

"Sometimes it takes an outside perspective to see the obvious," Erik said quietly, standing by the far window; metal objects in the room vibrated almost imperceptibly, betraying his inner tension.

"Well, technically," Beast spoke up, adjusting his glasses, "they're not exactly aliens. According to my research..."

"Hank," Jean gently interrupted him, "perhaps not now?"

Beast nodded sheepishly, tucking the tablet into his lab coat pocket with grace surprising for his large figure.

Scott stepped forward, his fists tightly clenched:

"After everything you've done for us, for our world..." his voice trembled with barely contained anger. "Damn it, just letting you go into battle with this monster and not helping... it's unbearable."

Storm silently nodded, agreeing with his words. The clouds outside noticeably darkened, reflecting her emotional state.

Logan pushed off from the wall, his eyes dangerously flashing:

"The kid's right. You pulled us out of such shit, saved so many lives..." he exhaled smoke, a dull growl in his voice. "And now you have to fight alone."

"It's fucking wrong," Colossus said heavily, his Russian accent becoming more pronounced from emotion.

Naruto looked around the room—each face reflected the same frustration that sounded in Scott's words.

Bobby crushed the ice figure in his hand, shards fell on the carpet and began to melt.

"Hey-hey!" the jinchuriki raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "You're already doing more than enough! Protecting this world, saving other mutants..."

"It's not the same thing, and you know it," Scott interrupted him. "We could..."

"No," Naruto said quietly with an unusual hoarseness. "I've already lost too many," Rogue felt the tremor in his hand. "My world, friends, teachers..." he closed his eyes momentarily, as if trying to contain the surging pain. "Each of them was ready to sacrifice themselves for others. And everyone..." he fell silent.

Jean silently lowered her gaze, squeezing Scott's palm tighter. In the complete silence of the living room, the sound of their touching fingers seemed unexpectedly loud to her. She understood all too well what it meant to lose loved ones.

Emma Frost involuntarily shifted her gaze to the burning logs in the fireplace. Even her cold face momentarily reflected a shadow of empathy—a rare moment of sincerity from the White Queen.

Rogue squeezed Naruto's hand tighter, and the young shinobi looked at her gratefully before addressing the others again:

"I swore that I wouldn't lose anyone else," a familiar fire of determination ignited in his blue eyes. "This world, the school... you all have become my new family. And I would rather die myself than let Kaguya take even one more life."

The silence that hung after Naruto's words was broken by the sound of an opening door. Everyone turned—in the doorway stood Alicia Manfredi in an elegant black dress that emphasized her status and self-confidence.

Hank tensed sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for the communicator:

"How did you manage to..." he cast a quick glance at the security system monitor, which showed no perimeter violations.

Logan straightened against the wall, sniffing the uninvited guest. Professor Xavier, however, slightly raised his hand, stopping the team ready to rush into battle. His gaze focused for a second—a sign of using telepathy.

"Everything is fine," Xavier's voice sounded in the minds of the mutants. "The girl poses no threat."

The newcomer smiled, finding Sasuke leaning against the wall with her gaze:

"Didn't he tell you about me?" she asked with barely perceptible mockery.

Uchiha barely shrugged—a gesture equivalent to a passionate display of emotion for him. Naruto, his mouth slightly open in surprise, shifted his stunned gaze from the girl to his friend and back.

"Sasuke, you..." the jinchuriki began, but faltered under the Uchiha's heavy gaze.

"Alicia Manfredi," she introduced herself, taking several steps forward. Each movement was refined, revealing impeccable upbringing and inner strength. "Security systems sometimes prove ineffective."

She approached Sasuke, giving his costume an appraising look:

"I like this uniform," her finger slid over the "X" on his chest. "Very... unusual for you."

Uchiha didn't back away from the touch, maintaining an impassive expression. Only his eyes, momentarily meeting her gaze, revealed something more than mere acquaintance.

"You've been dating a mafia boss's daughter and kept quiet about it?!" Naruto finally regained his speech, his voice an octave higher than usual.

Emma Frost arched an eyebrow, glancing first at Sasuke, then at the girl. Even she seemed impressed.

Uchiha gave his friend a cold look:

"Should I have shouted about it from the rooftops?"

Alicia laughed quietly. In her laughter resonated the same notes that sometimes sounded in Sasuke's voice—a combination of strength, confidence, and hidden darkness.

"Don't worry," she turned to the others, "I only came to say goodbye." Her hand confidently slipped into her dress pocket. "And to give something."

Logan tensed, ready to attack, but Xavier subtly shook his head. Sasuke meanwhile remained calm, his breathing unchanged.

Alicia took out a small silver medallion on a thin chain. The lamplight reflected on the smooth surface, highlighting fine engraving.

"This belonged to my mother," she hesitated for a second, choosing her words. "They say it brings luck."

Sasuke slowly extended his hand, allowing the silver chain to slide between his fingers. His face showed no emotion, but something new appeared in his posture, as if an invisible burden had descended on his shoulders.

"I'll return it," he said briefly.

"Of course," Alicia smiled, but anxiety momentarily distorted her features, revealing her true feelings.

She stepped closer, as if about to kiss him, but at the last moment merely ran her fingertips across his cheek. This touch, barely noticeable from the side, seemed to convey something significant. Turning around, Alicia headed for the exit.

At the door she looked back:

"And, Sasuke... don't keep me waiting too long."

When the door closed, a ringing silence filled the room. Naruto was about to bombard his friend with questions, but Rogue squeezed his hand, stopping the flow of words before it could escape.

The logs in the fireplace crackled, scattering sparks. Sasuke, clutching Alicia's medallion in his left hand, stepped forward. The purple glow of the Rinnegan reflected in the antique mirrors, filling the room with ghostly light.

Uzumaki looked at Anna, nodding almost imperceptibly—a silent promise to return. The portal opened with a quiet rustle, revealing inky emptiness, its edges pulsating with purple light. The heavy curtains trembled from the sudden flow of air.

"Let's go," Sasuke's voice sounded lower than usual.

"Yeah," Naruto responded.

They stepped forward simultaneously—two figures in X-Men uniforms, opposite in everything yet inseparable. Then the portal collapsed, dissolving the remnants of purple glow in the air.

The sound of crackling firewood seemed deafening in the ensuing silence. Professor Xavier silently wheeled his chair to the window, aligning with Erik. The sky was gradually brightening, changing from deep blue to gray. In the east, where the last stars still flickered, the horizon was beginning to color in the lilac tones of the approaching dawn.

The living room emptied almost immediately. Everyone sought solitude to cope with the tension of the moment.

Rogue lingered by the fireplace longer than others, watching as the fire slowly devoured the logs. Only when Xavier wheeled out of the room, casting a final understanding glance at her, did she finally allow the white strand to fall across her face, hiding the expression in her eyes.

Dull thuds came from the training room—Logan unleashed his fury on a punching bag, drowning emotions with physical exertion.

The Professor locked himself in the Cerebro room, perhaps trying somehow to track the journey between worlds.

The Brotherhood, led by Erik, left the school without a word, but their departure did not look like a return to former enmity.

Anna entered the room and locked the door. The empty bed looked wrong—rumpled on one side, neat on the other. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, automatically running her palm over the folds of the sheet.

She leaned down and inhaled. The scent remained—a mixture of the pine shampoo he used, light sweat, and something intangibly his, some special note that she had learned to recognize even with her eyes closed. A lump rose in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

On the floor by the bed lay an orange T-shirt, carelessly tossed there last evening. Anna picked it up; the fabric was soft from numerous washings. She convulsively clutched the cloth in her fists until her knuckles turned white.

Anna sat motionless. External sounds—distant voices in the corridor, someone's footsteps, the rustling of leaves outside the window—reached her as if through a thickness of water. She blinked when a ray of sunlight, breaking through the imperfectly drawn curtains, hit her eyes.

She needed to move. Do something. Otherwise, she would just keep sitting here.

Rogue rose, mechanically heading to the bathroom, still holding Naruto's T-shirt in her hand.

His razor lay on the sink, the blade slightly rusted from the morning moisture. His toothbrush stood in a cup next to hers—blue beside green, the bristles still damp from morning use.

She splashed cold water on her face. The water trickled down her chin. The mutant slowly unbuttoned her blouse, letting it slide to the floor. She smoothed out Naruto's crumpled orange T-shirt and put it on. The fabric smelled like him and was oversized, hanging loosely to the middle of her thigh.

Anna dried herself with his towel, inhaling the scent. She looked at her reflection—chestnut hair with a white streak contrasted with the bright orange fabric. On the chest was the emblem of the Hidden Leaf—a symbol of a world she had never seen. He had created this print on the T-shirt, seeking help from Hank, who had gladly agreed to assist.

When she returned to the room, something had changed. Rogue stopped in the doorway, peering inside. A person by the window.

Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding so hard that it became painful to breathe. Naruto stood by the window. No—his copy. A shadow clone. The same tousled blond hair, blue eyes, markings on his cheeks. Only the expression was different—uncertain, almost guilty.

"Hi," the clone said in his voice. "The boss... I mean, the real me... created me before leaving." He shifted from foot to foot. "So you wouldn't be completely alone while he's gone."

Anna froze, unable to move. Part of her mind screamed that this wasn't the real Naruto, just a copy created by a technique. But another part—the one that ached and tore outward—didn't want to listen to the voice of reason.

The clone's gaze slid over the orange T-shirt hugging the girl's figure, and his eyes widened. A whole range of emotions reflected on his face—surprise, tenderness, embarrassment, and something deep, almost reverential.

"It... really suits you," he said quietly, and his voice trembled slightly.

His cheeks colored with a light blush—a reaction so sincere and so much in the spirit of the real Naruto that Anna's breath caught.

"And don't worry," the clone said, and Naruto's unwavering confidence sounded in his voice. "He always keeps his promises."

Rogue took a step forward, then another. Her hand, as if by itself, rose and touched his cheek—warm, real, with the same whisker marks that made Naruto's smile so special.

"Can you disappear at any moment?" she asked quietly.

The clone shook his head:

"I definitely have a few days," the clone rubbed the back of his head, exactly as Naruto did when he was nervous. "Then I'll need to gather natural energy to replenish my chakra supply."

Anna suddenly laughed—a sound that surprised herself. Laughter through tears, liberating, almost hysterical.

"He... you..." she shook her head. "Only Naruto could come up with something like this."

Rogue stepped closer and hugged the clone, burying her face in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her, familiar and reliable. And although deep down she knew this wasn't the real Naruto—right now, it was enough.

Outside the window, the day was breaking. The first real rays of sunshine broke through the gap in the curtains, drawing a golden path on the floor of the room. And as if together with this light, something new kindled in Anna's heart—not a denial of pain, but the strength to live with it. The strength to wait.

"Tell me," she whispered, not breaking the embrace, "tell me everything you didn't have time to tell. About your world, about your friends, about how you became a ninja. I want to know everything."

The clone gently pulled away, looking into her eyes with that very sincerity she loved so much in the real Naruto:

"We have time," he said, taking her hand. "Plenty of time."

And in these simple words was more comfort than in any loud vows or promises. In them was hope—fragile but alive. Hope that would burn until he returned home.