CHAPTER 136 – BREAKING THE MAZE
The world was a blur of neon and steel, every wall humming with mechanical malice. Murderworld.
Cyclops staggered to his feet inside a mirrored chamber, chest rising and falling as the glass walls threw back endless reflections of himself. Not just reflections—doppelgängers stepped forward, each one raising a glowing visor.
"Cute," Scott muttered, sweat streaking down his face. His eyes darted, mind racing. "He wants me to fight myself? Fine. I've been doing that all my life."
The clones moved in unison, beams slicing out in perfect synch. Scott dove, rolled, visor flaring wide open as he fired back. The room lit like a warzone, red energy ricocheting from mirror to mirror.
Scott's thoughts burned fast and sharp. 'Too many. Can't blast forever. Think. Control, not chaos.'
He found it. One mirror angled just right. He grit his teeth, aimed, and fired a concentrated shot. The beam ricocheted clean, cracked through glass, and tore a hole straight through the wall.
The clones paused, tilting their heads like broken marionettes. They didn't follow. Couldn't. Confined here.
Scott sprinted through the opening, lungs tight.
"Please let someone be on the other side—"
Colossus. Bound in coils of metallic serpents, the Russian's armor straining as the machine constricted tighter. Piotr's face glistened with effort, eyes shut, lips whispering in Russian as though praying.
"Hang on, big man!" Cyclops shouted.
He unleashed a blast at the constrictors. Sparks flew, the coils shattered. Colossus dropped to his knees, groaning but alive.
Scott reached down, pulling him up by the arm. "On your feet. We've got no time."
Colossus's eyes opened, heavy with shame. "I… I nearly gave up."
"Then don't," Scott snapped. "Not when the rest of us are counting on you. Now move."
The two charged together, back into the mirrored maze. Scott stopped, glanced at another wall, and his brain clicked again. He adjusted his visor, sent another blast angled sharp—mirror to mirror—until it burned a hole into yet another chamber.
Storm lay there, lightning sparking helplessly around her wrists as restraints absorbed every jolt. Her eyes glowed white with fury, hair plastered to her face with sweat.
"Ororo!" Colossus boomed, tearing the clamps free like paper. She collapsed forward, gasping, then rose with her queenly posture snapping back into place.
"Thank you," she breathed. Her eyes narrowed. "Arcade will regret this insult."
Scott didn't let them pause. "Stay sharp. This place is a rat's maze—we keep moving."
Another mirror, another blast. Banshee spilled out of a soundproof coffin, throat raw from screaming against silence. He coughed, voice ragged. "Begorra, I thought I'd suffocate in there—"
"You're fine," Scott cut in, but with the ghost of a smile. "Save the lungs. We'll need them."
Together, they freed Nightcrawler—dangling above a pit of flame, bamfing in panic but always reappearing right where he started. Colossus caught him as he dropped, Kurt's heart hammering like a frightened bird.
Finally Thunderbird, bruised and bloodied from a gauntlet of steel gauntlets slamming him back and forth, still raging against the machine even half-broken. "Took your damn time!" he snarled, spitting blood as they dragged him out.
"Glad to see you too," Banshee muttered with a dry chuckle.
Now they stood together, battered but united. The maze still shifted around them, lights flaring, alarms howling—but the X-Men had momentum.
Cyclops's visor glowed as he looked at them, his voice iron. "He wanted us scattered. Broken. Instead we're together. And that means he's losing."
Thunderbird cracked his knuckles. "So let's show this Arcade clown what happens when you try to play games with us."
Storm raised her hand, lightning crawling along her fingers. Nightcrawler twirled his tail with a grin, despite his scorched fur.
And Scott, lips tight, pointed down the next mirrored corridor. "Forward. One room at a time. Until we tear this whole damn carnival down."
The X-Men moved as one, their footsteps echoing through the mechanical labyrinth.
Meanwhile, far above them in the steel vents, another predator hunted. Logan. Silent. Stealthy. Watching. Waiting for his strike.