"Do you know why we're here?" Ajax sneered, the infamous villain from Deadpool 1. "Because we buried the Deadpool of our world."
"Hah. Cowards," Deadpool scoffed, smirking with mockery. His eyes glinted with mischief.
"Look at you—bottom-tier antagonists trying to stop me, the main character of this universe? If your storyline keeps going like this, even the screenwriter's gonna hate you. The audience already does."
"There won't be a third movie for you," Deadpool added, glaring. "You should know the only reason you're even here, having this conversation, is because of me."
Then he turned to the fourth wall.
(Seriously, author, this is the best you've got? You're scraping the barrel now—throwing in minor villains just to pad the scene?)
Deadpool's internal grumbling didn't slow his reflexes. In a blur of motion, he kicked off the ground and launched toward Ajax and Angel Dust like a crimson blur. They barely had time to react.
"I'm upgraded, baby. You're not ready for me!"
With that shout, the skirmish erupted.
Meanwhile, Gambit, Blade, and the rest cleared a path for yellow-suited Wolverine to ascend the staircase. Deadpool trailed behind, quietly slipping away from the brawl below.
Those who remained formed a defensive line at the foot of the stairs to stop the enemy mutants from interrupting the showdown between Wolverine and Cassandra Nova.
Everyone found their own opponents.
"Bullseye?" Elektra's voice hardened as she recognized the man facing her. Their rivalry spanned timelines. In some worlds, Bullseye had even killed her.
"Dracula," Blade muttered. Old enemy. Older grudge.
Wolverine found himself face-to-face with a twisted version of Cyclops—eyes glowing red, jaw clenched with contempt.
Then there was poor Gambit. No film franchise. No personal archnemesis. Just cannon fodder to slice through. But even without a villain of his own, his charged-card explosions were dazzling, and his fluid motions carved his presence into the battlefield.
(You punks don't get it—Gambit was supposed to get his own solo film. But the studio went belly-up. So yeah, maybe I couldn't afford the licensing fees. Be grateful I gave you a cameo in my movie!)
Above the chaos, yellow-suited Wolverine entered the heart of Cassandra's lair.
There she was.
Cassandra Nova, poised and ethereal, reclined lazily on a velvet couch. A porcelain teacup nestled in her gloved fingers. She sipped English afternoon tea like the world wasn't crumbling beneath her.
Gunfire echoed below. The stench of blood. The screams. And yet, Cassandra's realm was serene—a haven of soft light, silk curtains, and eerie calm.
A tyrant wrapped in elegance.
She placed the cup down and rose with deliberate grace, her gaze falling on Wolverine with eerie fondness. She walked toward him slowly, each step a calculated lullaby.
She'd never captured a Wolverine before.
Logan, after all, was the beating heart of the X-Men—beloved by Charles Xavier.
And Cassandra loved nothing more than taking from Charles.
"Come with me," she said gently. "The two of us together—unstoppable."
Before Logan could answer, a voice cut through the stillness.
"Baby Knife!"
Hell's Deadpool lunged from the shadows, his beloved blade in hand.
Cassandra barely flicked her wrist. Hell Deadpool was flung back like garbage, slammed against the far wall with bone-cracking force.
She scowled, annoyed by the interruption.
"You've ruined our moment," she muttered.
But Deadpool wasn't done.
"Hey, show some respect. I'm not that broke loser Wade. I've got money, allies—and Alex Ray's backing me up."
"I already called Alex," he added confidently. "He might bring Charles too, so maybe show some manners? When he gets here—"
"Aba… Aba…"
He didn't finish.
In one grotesque motion, Cassandra peeled the flesh and skin off Deadpool's body as easily as one would remove a glove.
Then, a flash.
A golden charm around Deadpool's neck shimmered with ancient power. The Horse Talisman activated. Brilliant light enveloped his mangled form, and within seconds, muscle and sinew reformed. Bones snapped into place. Skin reknit.
He rose—whole again.
Cassandra's eyes lit with intrigue.
"A relic that can undo death. Now that's interesting," she purred. "Let's take a look inside that head of yours."
Before Deadpool could move, Cassandra's fingers punctured his skull with supernatural precision.
Unlike Professor X or Charles, she didn't scan minds gently. She needed physical contact—deep, invasive, violent.
"Did you sanitize first?" Deadpool whimpered, twitching as her fingers pierced his gray matter. "This isn't sanitary!"
His mind convulsed. Thoughts fractured. Memories twisted.
Cassandra stood calmly, an explorer thumbing through his soul.
Deadpool's memories unspooled like reels of aged film.
His transformation. His suffering. His madness.
Meeting Alex Ray.
Saving Wolverine.
The restaurant.
Cassandra paused.
She found herself on a weathered street, where a warm neon sign read: Good Luck .
A modest little restaurant.
Sunlight bathed its doorway in gold. The glow was nostalgic—comforting. This was where Deadpool's heart lived.
"So this is your most precious memory," she murmured and stepped through the door.
Inside, she saw Deadpool and Pietro playing video games. Around them, familiar faces gathered.
Magneto.
Doctor Strange.
Bruce Banner.
The Punisher.
Daredevil.
They weren't allies. Deadpool had killed most of them.
But here, in this memory, they laughed and shared drinks. A sanctuary. A dream.
Cassandra moved freely. No one saw her. She was a ghost in this mind.
But something was… off.
A table in the corner. A few figures stared directly at her.
Cassandra frowned.
"This world doesn't seem so interesting," she said dismissively.
Then, a voice answered her—not Deadpool's.
"This is just a quiet restaurant," it said, calm and chilling. "How interesting could it be?"
"And Ms. Nova," the voice added, "It's quite rude to rummage through someone else's memories."
"Oh—and welcome to Hell's Kitchen."
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