Chapter 142: Bankai — Sōkyoku Final Form: Devil's Cricket
Cyclops, his brother Havok, Iceman, and Colossus moved through Hell's Kitchen's narrow streets in formation.
This block hadn't seen federal action yet. It was quiet in the particular way that battle-adjacent places get quiet — everything waiting.
Colossus scratched the back of his neck. "Are we actually doing this? Destroying Hell's Kitchen because the government said so?" He'd been here before, a handful of times with Wade. "It's different from what they say on the outside. The people here — most of them are decent."
What he didn't know was that the residents had been decent to him specifically because they'd once watched bullets bounce off him and made a collective decision to be very polite about it.
Iceman — Bobby Drake — nodded slowly. "There are a lot of mutants in here too. What if this whole thing is a setup? Get us to do their dirty work for them."
Havok — Alex Summers — said nothing. He looked at his brother.
Scott was the team's field leader. Whatever he decided, Alex would back it. That was how it worked. But Alex felt the pull of the question — the X-Men existed to show the world that mutants could be something other than a threat. And here they were, marching into a neighborhood to level it on behalf of the federal government. He couldn't see how that told the story they were supposed to be telling.
Cyclops heard them both. "This is the mission," he said. "Professor Xavier has given more for us than any of us can account for. If he's made this call, he has reasons. We trust that."
He had his own doubts about what the government actually wanted here. But Charles had agreed to this, and that was enough. It had to be.
Then the weather changed.
All four of them felt it — a pressure in the air, the specific charge that precedes a storm being summoned rather than arriving naturally.
Storm's side had made contact.
Cyclops went tense immediately. "We move. Now. Storm and the others need backup."
Jean was with them. Jean was always the part that worried him.
If something provoked her — if the situation pushed past a certain line—
He didn't finish the thought. He started moving.
They pushed through the dark streets toward the source of the atmospheric disturbance.
Someone stepped out of the shadows ahead of them.
Red suit. A sword at the hip. Standing in the middle of the street with the patience of a man who had been waiting for exactly this.
Colossus moved forward first, the steel transformation rippling across his body. "Out of the way. We don't want to hurt you."
"Daredevil," Cyclops said quietly, recognizing him. "Everyone stay sharp."
The name landed. All four recalibrated.
Daredevil — Matthew Murdock — didn't say anything. He just stood there.
Havok, whose patience had a shorter fuse than most, made the decision for everyone. He raised his hands and fired — a plasma blast straight from the chest, full force.
It hit.
The explosion bloomed across the street, and smoke rolled outward in every direction.
"Go," Havok said to Iceman. "They need us."
The smoke was already thinning.
Cyclops stopped. "Wait."
Something in his voice made everyone pause.
Iceman looked at where the smoke was clearing. He pointed.
Havok turned.
His expression emptied.
Daredevil was standing in exactly the same position. In front of him, a square of perfectly transparent air had stopped the blast completely — a barrier with no visible substance, no shimmer, no energy signature. The plasma had simply ceased to exist at that surface. Behind it, Matthew Murdock was unmarked.
Colossus, who had some genuine claim to being the X-Men's most durable member and knew better than most what a direct hit from Havok felt like, stared at this.
"That's not possible."
Cyclops was running S.H.I.E.L.D.'s file on Daredevil in his head. Blind lawyer. Enhanced senses. Exceptional hand-to-hand fighter. Completely unpowered. That was the file.
The file was wrong.
Newly manifested mutant? he thought. Or something else entirely?
Daredevil spoke for the first time. His voice was measured. Unhurried.
"This is Hell's Kitchen. You're not going any further."
Matt felt something like relief, actually. He'd spent two days doing almost nothing but training — pushing through what the Aizen template had given him, learning the Kidō spells that surfaced in his memory fully formed, finding the edges of the Bankai. He hadn't been certain any of it would hold up.
It had held up.
Ethan, he thought, would probably say something about this being appropriate for someone like Aizen. I'll take the compliment.
"If you won't move," Colossus said, setting his feet, "we'll move you."
He came forward at full speed, full steel, all of his considerable mass behind it.
Matt tilted his head slightly, like a man hearing a sound from a long way off.
His right hand went to the sword at his hip. His left hand closed around the round guard at the hilt.
He drew it slowly.
"Bankai."
His voice was quiet. Almost gentle.
"Sōkyoku Final Form: Devil's Cricket."
The power came out of him like a breath released.
The four X-Men watched the sword's guard transform behind his hand — one ring becoming nine, the rings spreading and multiplying in a fraction of a second, silver in the dark.
Matt swung.
Nine rings flew outward in a perfect arc, trailing silver light across the street.
The darkness that followed wasn't a shadow. It was something else — a black ellipsoid that expanded and sealed itself around all four of them before any of them had time to move. Not a cage. Something more thorough than a cage.
Inside, the world went wrong.
No sound.
No light.
No sense of where the walls were or how large the space was or whether there were walls at all.
The four X-Men stood in complete sensory erasure, and in that erasure, something very close to panic started to move.
What is this.
Why can't I hear anything.
Where are the others.
Matt stepped inside the barrier with them, unhurried, his sword still in hand.
"Now," he said, into the dark, "it's my turn."
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