Richard had barely reached the entrance of the casino when he stopped.
His hand was already moving toward the glass door, prepared to step inside and earn himself another round of "living expenses." But something brushed against his awareness—subtle, probing, deliberate.
Telepathy.
Someone was trying to lock onto him.
He didn't know who it was yet, but the moment the psychic thread touched him, he traced it back instinctively. Like two radio signals crossing, his own mental presence identified the source almost instantly.
Two to three kilometers away.
A rooftop.
People with psychic abilities could defend against mental intrusion. But that defense worked both ways. Just as telepaths could detect attempts to invade their minds, they could also sense other telepaths reaching outward.
A psychic firewall wasn't universal. Only full telepaths or mutants with psychic isolation could truly block others. Mutants with partial psychic abilities—hypnosis, charm, illusion—were simply more sensitive to intrusion, not immune to it.
Whoever was scanning him was not subtle enough.
Super Vision.
Richard activated it immediately.
His sight sharpened, extended, pierced.
Buildings that blocked ordinary line of sight became transparent obstacles. Concrete and steel no longer mattered. Through the layered cityscape, his gaze landed precisely on the rooftop that matched the telepathic origin.
Two figures stood there.
He recognized them at once.
Emma Frost.
Azazel.
The White Queen wore a fitted white skirt that emphasized every line of her tall, perfectly proportioned frame. Blonde hair shimmered against the wind, blue eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Even at distance, her presence radiated confidence.
Beside her stood the Red Devil. Black suit. Dark red skin. Prehensile tail shifting lazily behind him. Twin scimitars rested at his waist.
They couldn't see him physically through the buildings.
But Emma felt it.
She sensed the moment he locked onto her position. She felt him reinforce his psychic defenses, shutting down her attempt to probe deeper.
So Shaw was right.
He was a telepath.
Emma had doubted that intelligence. Richard had displayed too many abilities already. Lightning. Teleportation. Force manipulation. Super strength. Thermal vision. More than ten distinct power sets had been recorded publicly.
Another one seemed excessive.
Yet here it was.
On the rooftop, she turned slightly toward Azazel.
"I found him," she said calmly. "And he found us."
"Where?" Azazel asked.
"Entrance of Vasilis Casino. Two or three kilometers."
Azazel extended his hand. "I'll take you."
Emma lifted her left hand without hesitation.
Just before their fingers touched, Azazel froze.
His expression changed instantly.
He withdrew his hand and drew both scimitars in a single fluid motion.
Spatial distortion.
He felt it.
Teleportation.
Unlike Emma, who specialized in mental perception, Azazel sensed space itself. He recognized the fluctuation immediately.
Emma straightened.
Under their combined gaze, space rippled.
Richard appeared in front of them as if stepping out of nothing.
Azazel assessed him in silence for a brief second before sheathing his blades again.
Emma spoke first.
"We're not here to cause trouble," she said smoothly. "We came to deliver an invitation."
She reached into her handbag and withdrew a black envelope trimmed in gold.
She stepped forward and handed it to him.
Richard already knew what it contained. Time. Place. Nothing else.
He opened it anyway.
Atomic Nightclub. Eight p.m.
He closed it calmly.
"I don't think I have anything to do with the Hellfire Club," he said evenly.
Emma smiled faintly.
"Not yet," she replied. "But that doesn't mean you won't."
Her eyes lingered on him slightly longer than necessary.
Up close, he was even more striking than in the footage. The silver-white hair moved gently in the wind. His posture carried a quiet, controlled confidence. There was nothing frantic or unstable about him.
Handsome was an understatement.
Interesting was more accurate.
Richard ignored her appraisal.
"Even if that changes," he continued, "I don't see why I'd attend a dinner without knowing its purpose."
"I can't disclose the specifics," Emma replied. "But I can promise you this. If you attend, you won't regret it."
Her tone carried assurance, not seduction—though a trace of both blended naturally.
Richard studied them.
The Hellfire Club did nothing casually. Invitations were selective. Every invited mutant had value.
They were planning something significant.
A recruitment?
A power play?
Or something tied to Wanda and Pietro?
He considered a simpler option.
Kidnap them.
Right now.
Emma's telepathy couldn't breach his defenses. Her diamond form, while durable, wasn't invincible against his arsenal.
Azazel's teleportation mirrored his own. But Azazel lacked super strength, lacked enhanced durability. In direct combat, Azazel was physically inferior.
Unless he was struck cleanly in the eye by a blade, Azazel posed no lethal threat.
They stood before him calmly, assuming he was deciding about the invitation.
Silence stretched for five seconds.
Then Richard looked directly at Azazel.
"Let me ask you something," he said.
Azazel narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Have you ever raped Mystique?"
The question landed like a blade.
Emma's expression tightened.
Azazel's face hardened immediately.
"I don't need to answer that," he said coldly.
"You'd better," Richard replied calmly. "Because your answer determines whether you leave here alive."
.....
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