MTLNOVEL Chapter 12: Chapter 12: "Winds, Touch, and Blades"
The loft's skylight cast a dim glow over the creaking bed, dust swirling in the aftermath of Kitty Pryde's phasing departure. Her playful warmth lingered—her laugh, her touch passing through him like a shiver—her final words a teasing promise: "They'll find you. I might beat 'em to it." The Mask sat in his hand, slick with sweat, its grin a silent taunt, whispering in that raspy glee: "Eleven queens, kid. Kitty's got your spark now—chaos phasing through her. Ready for a tempest?" He grinned, slipping it on, green light flaring as the zoot suit spun around him, the fabric a loud echo in the quiet space. "Guess I'm rewriting the rules one storm at a time," he muttered, stepping toward the window.
The night outside wasn't still—thunder rumbled, unnatural and sharp, cutting through the city's hum. He barely had a foot on the ledge when the skylight exploded, glass raining down as a figure descended on a gust of wind—white hair whipping, eyes glowing with storm-born fury. Storm, Ororo Munroe, landed hard, her cape snapping like a whip. "You've gone too far," she said, voice resonant with authority. "Your chaos spreads—Rogue's shaken, Jean's restless. The X-Men end this now." Lightning cracked, splitting the sky, and the wind howled, pinning him against the wall.
Before he could quip, a second figure dropped through—green-and-yellow suit, white streak stark in her hair. Rogue, her gloved fists clenched, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something softer. "Sugah, you're tearin' us apart," she drawled, stepping closer. "Touched me like no one could, but this stops here." Her power brushed him, a faint pull, but the Mask deflected it, green tendrils sparking against her untouchable ache.
The Mask cackled in his mind: "Old flames, kid. Storm and Rogue—let's whip 'em up." He stretched an arm, snagging a beam to swing free, grinning wide. "Ladies, good to see you too—missed me that much? Saved Natasha, danced with Wanda, burned with Jean, stormed with you, Ororo, twisted with Mystique, sparked with Carol, touched you, Rogue, cut with Gamora, shielded with Sue, minded with Emma, phased with Kitty. Just spreading the love!" The charisma pulsed, and Storm's lightning faltered, Rogue's stance wavering, but a third presence sliced the air.
A blade flashed—purple energy humming—and a woman landed, sleek and deadly, her ninja grace a blur. Psylocke, Betsy Braddock, her psychic katana glowing, eyes sharp with focus. "You're the chaos tearing through the team," she said, British accent crisp. "Storm called us in—I'm here to cut it out." She lunged, blade arcing, and he dodged, body bending cartoonishly, conjuring a giant fan to blast wind back at Storm. The loft shook, beams groaning, their powers clashing—lightning, absorption, psi-energy meeting green chaos in a riot of sparks.
"Psylocke? Ninja babe?" he called, dodging again, stretching to the ceiling. "Loving the vibe—Masquerade, chaos king. Wanna slice or dance?" Her lips twitched, caught by his flair, and the Mask pushed harder, tendrils brushing her psi-shield. Storm hurled a bolt, Rogue charged, but Psylocke hesitated, blade lowering. "Your mind's a mess," she said, stepping closer, "but it's… compelling." Her psychic probe met his chaos, sparking a jolt that synced them—green and purple flickering together.
Storm roared, "Betsy, focus!" and lightning cracked, but he grabbed Psylocke, stretching through a wall as Rogue's fist splintered wood. "Stick with me, blade girl," he grinned, charisma slamming into her. Her breath caught, katana dimming. "You're insane," she murmured, a mix of resistance and want, as the X-Men's pursuit echoed.
Minutes later, they were in a shadowed warehouse nearby—crates stacked high, city drone faint through rusted walls. Psylocke shoved him against a crate, her ninja strength precise, hands tearing his suit open. "You're a bloody disaster," she growled, but her lips crashed into his, fierce and hungry, tasting of steel and psi-energy. His shirt hit the floor, and he tugged her suit down, purple fabric pooling at her waist, revealing tanned skin and curves honed by combat. Her breath hitched as his hands roamed—up her spine, gripping her hips—nails digging in as she pressed against him, katana clattering aside.
"Disaster's my charm, Bets," he rasped, lifting her. Her legs locked around him, thighs flexing with assassin's power, and they crashed onto a crate, wood splintering. She yanked his pants free, and he peeled her suit off fully, baring her—psi-sparks danced along her skin, teasing. His mouth found her neck, her breasts, tracing the warmth until she moaned, a sound sharp and unguarded. When he entered her—slow, then deep—her cry was raw, psychic blades flaring, slicing air harmlessly. The Mask surged, sharpening every pulse—the heat of her core, the rhythm of her gasps, the slick friction as she moved with him, fierce and fluid.
The warehouse warped—crates levitating, walls bending—as she rode him, hair wild, eyes blazing purple. Her climax hit like a psi-strike, energy rippling, cracking the floor, and he followed, spilling into her with a rush that made the Mask roar, green sparks melding with her glow. A seed took root, chaos and psychic power entwined, and they collapsed, sweat-slick and panting, her weight atop him a sharp anchor.
Psylocke traced a scar on his chest, her smirk faint but real. "You're a whirlwind, Masquerade. Too wild for my mind." "Whirlwinds need a blade," he grinned, savoring her heat. She rose, suit snapping back, tossing him a look—half-challenge, half-longing. "The X-Men won't stop. Neither will I." She vanished in a psi-flash, leaving him with the Mask, its voice smug: "Twelve down, kid. The storm's raging."
He stood, the warehouse quiet, Storm and Rogue's pursuit muffled by distance. Psylocke's edge, Kitty's phase, Emma's mind, Sue's shield, Gamora's blade, Rogue's touch, Carol's radiance, Mystique's fluidity, Storm's storm, Jean's fire, Wanda's magic, Natasha's steel—the world was splintering under his chaos. Thanos loomed, SHIELD hunted, and the X-Men tightened their net. He slipped the Mask back on, grinning wide. "Let's ride the wind."