{Chapter: 109 - Thank You}
Or so he thought.
The moment he relaxed, a gigantic glowing fist formed out of nowhere—slamming into him with the force of a high speed car. Riptide's smirk shattered into a gasp of pain as his body was smashed downward, spiraling toward the earth in a blazing streak.
He crashed into the ground, carving a crater into the concrete like a comet hitting the surface of a moon.
Aiden floated down slowly, eyes locked on the smoking crater. He didn't gloat. He didn't waste time. The glowing fist above him twisted in the air, morphing mid-flight into glowing ethereal ropes, thick as chains and faster than serpents.
They dove toward Riptide's position, wrapping around him before he could fully rise.
"You should've thought this through," Aiden muttered coldly, his voice steady.
"Attacking me? Alone? What were you thinking?"
The ropes constricted, pulsing with energy, locking Riptide in place, constructs of hard light.
Now, Aiden would get his answers.
But more than that, this was a reminder—even for himself.
His power wasn't complete. He had tools, yes. Power, yes. But finesse, experience, and preparation? Those still needed work.
And if enemies like this kept coming, he'd better start training like his life—and his ambitions—depended on it.
Because, in the worlds he walked… they did.
Riptide's vision swam with confusion and pain as his head throbbed violently. Disoriented, he barely registered that the whirlwind which formed the lower half of his body had unraveled into a dissipating gust. With a graceless tumble, he plummeted through the air, his limbs flailing helplessly.
Before he could even orient himself, a dark green rope—radiating a strange mystical shimmer—snaked around his body and yanked him out of freefall. The cord wasn't ordinary in the slightest. It pulsed with a peculiar energy, as if it bent the light itself. With a sharp crack, it reeled back toward Aiden like a harpoon line, dragging Riptide through the air like caught prey.
The whiplash snapped Riptide out of his daze, and he instinctively spun his lower body into a vortex once again. The raging wind coiled around him, attempting to slice through the rope and free him. But he quickly realized that this wasn't any rope— No matter how fierce the winds became, they couldn't even scratch the cord.
With a surge of supernatural force, the rope pulled Riptide straight toward Aiden like a rocket.
In the blink of an eye, Riptide was face-to-face with his attacker—only to see a blazing flame-covered fist barreling straight toward him.
"Wait! Listen to me fir—PFFOO!!"
Riptide never finished the sentence. Aiden's punch slammed brutally into his jaw with a resounding crack, snapping his head to the side. His face rippled under the force, lips split open, and the side of his cheek instantly ballooned into a swollen mess. He was hurled backward like a ragdoll. Blood sprayed from his mouth, staining the air red.
But Aiden didn't let him go.
The rope recoiled again, pulling the disoriented assassin back like a yo-yo, only for Aiden to unleash another punishing blow. His right became a relentless hammer. Flames licked his knuckles as he pounded Riptide again and again with no mercy or pause.
Pah!
Another fist connected with his ribs, then one to the gut, another to the temple. Riptide—once a spinning tempest of destruction—was now reduced to a battered punching bag. He writhed in pain, his limbs twitching sporadically. Initially, he tried to resist, flailing his arms, forming minor gusts in hopes of escape. But the effort was futile. After the fifth or sixth blow, his strength gave out, and his body simply dangled like a doll.
Minutes passed.
When Aiden finally ceased the barrage, he drew the battered Riptide close once more. The rope shimmered and morphed in the air, transforming from a coiling restraint into a colossal green palm. It held Riptide aloft with divine precision, elevating the mutant before Aiden's calm but razor-sharp gaze.
Riptide was half-conscious, his face grotesquely swollen and stained with blood. His nose was broken, one eye was nearly swollen shut, and he wheezed from the pain that bloomed in every inch of his body.
Aiden regarded him coldly.
"If you have something to say," he began, his voice steady and almost calm, "now is the time to speak."
Riptide, barely able to stay conscious, blinked slowly. Now I can speak? The bitter thought echoed in his bruised mind. Now? After turning me into ground beef?!
But of course, this wasn't the time to argue.
"Don't want to talk?" Aiden continued, tilting his head slightly. The Reality Ring shimmered again, and in a flash of emerald light, it conjured a sleek, firearm—hovering just inches away from Riptide's bloodied temple.
The barrel gleamed coldly under the sky.
"Then don't ever speak again."
The implied threat was crystal clear. If he didn't answer immediately, his brains would decorate the nearby wall.
"W-Wait!! WAIT!!" Riptide screamed in sheer panic, the words tumbling out of his swollen mouth. "I-I'll speak!! I'll talk!! Just don't shoot!"
Aiden didn't move, but the pistol hovered steady.
"I-It's Magneto!" Riptide stammered, each syllable strained through clenched teeth and broken pride. His entire body was shaking—not just from pain, but from raw, primal fear.
The moment Aiden heard the name, his eyes narrowed and his demeanor changed instantly. A dark glint sparked behind his calm exterior.
"Magneto?" he repeated quietly, though his voice now carried an edge sharp enough to draw blood. Riptide felt the chill crawl up his spine. That subtle shift in Aiden's tone was far more terrifying than the physical beating.
"You've joined the Brotherhood of Mutants?" Aiden asked, his gaze drilling into Riptide's skull.
"Yes," Riptide muttered, nodding meekly. "Yes, I joined the Brotherhood. Magneto said you… you killed Pyro. He—he told me to eliminate you. That if I succeeded, I'd be promoted. He'd make me a core member of the inner circle."
"And if you failed?" Aiden asked without blinking.
"If I failed…" Riptide swallowed thickly, "he said he wanted to see you… face to face."
Aiden fell silent.
His jaw tightened slightly. The puzzle pieces fit together all too well now. That old fox… he thought.
Magneto had played a clever hand.
He didn't truly care whether Riptide lived or died. The man had sent a disposable pawn—a mutant whose power looked flashy, but whose actual combat strength was wildly outmatched. If Riptide succeeded in killing Aiden, Magneto would gain vengeance, loyalty, and a powerful reputation boost within mutant circles. But if Riptide failed, it would lure Aiden out, forcing him to confront the Brotherhood head-on.
A win-win scenario.
"This Riptide is nothing but cannon fodder," Aiden muttered aloud. "He was never meant to return alive."
Riptide's face twisted in bitter shame. He knew it was true.
He'd been sacrificed without a second thought.
---
What Riptide didn't know—what only Magneto knew—was the true extent of Aiden's power. Aiden possessed a rare and terrifying gift: the ability to absorb the abilities of other people. Aiden didn't just defeat opponents. He consumed them—ripping their power from their bones, stealing their strength, and turning their uniqueness into his weapon.
Magneto, calculating and heartless, surely knew this. He wasn't sending Riptide to win. No, this wasn't a mission. It was a death sentence. A test. A baited hook cast into deep waters. Whether Riptide succeeded or not was irrelevant.
Aiden would never let him leave alive.
He was cannon fodder, a disposable pawn in a much larger game.
But one question lingered in Aiden's mind like smoke refusing to disperse—Was John really dead?
He'd fought John—Pyro—with restraint, even mercy. He'd taken the man's powers and wounded him, but he hadn't dealt the killing blow. Not out of compassion, but because of Quake. They were just deeping the connection and Aiden didn't want to just crush her first thing she asked from him, He had spared John's life out of calculation, not sentiment.
But if John had lost his powers… then in Magneto's eyes, he was now useless.
Magneto was not a leader who clung to failed soldiers. His ideology was cold and sharp—mutants mattered only if they were strong. If they were valuable. If they could contribute to his war against humanity. Weakness was not tolerated. Feelings? Even less.
So, what had become of John?
Had he killed himself in despair after losing everything?
Or had Magneto—ruthless as ever—eliminated him to erase a liability as he knew secrets?
Aiden's gut leaned toward the latter. Magneto wouldn't miss the opportunity to pin John's death on him. It was just another layer of manipulation. Another play in a grand game of chess where pawns bled and kings never touched the board.
The deeper Aiden thought about it, the clearer it became. The scenario reeked of Magneto's cunning. Cold. Efficient. Calculated cruelty.
Aiden narrowed his eyes and reached inward, attempting to glimpse the future—his mind reaching for that faint thread of precognition.
Nothing.
A wall.
A foggy, blank void.
Something was blocking him. Or perhaps the events ahead were simply too volatile, too unstable to be predicted. He lowered his gaze, frustration crawling at the edge of his thoughts.
Then Riptide suddenly flinched, panicked as he realized he was drifting closer to Aiden. The young mutant's eyes widened in fear as he screamed, "W-What are you doing?! Stay back!"
Aiden's expression remained calm, almost indifferent. But beneath the surface, his thoughts churned like a storm. Mutants born with abilities are naturally superior to those created through serums or experiments or accidents… he mused to himself. Their potential was raw. Untamed. But real.
He looked at Riptide and smiled—genuinely, as if he were grateful.
"Thank you," Aiden said quietly.
*****
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