VCM The bar was nearly empty, a stark contrast to what it should have been on a weekend night.
Normally, places like this would be filled with noise—laughter, music, the clinking of glasses—but instead, only a handful of patrons were scattered about, drinking in silence.
There were no rowdy gangs, no deafening rock bands, just a quiet, almost eerie atmosphere.
Despite this, the owner of the bar—a striking woman draped in a white robe—seemed entirely unbothered.
She lounged behind the counter, one elbow resting lazily on the polished wood as she poured herself a drink.
Her expression was one of amusement rather than concern.
With a sudden flicker, a figure materialized in front of her—a man with crimson skin, sharp features, and a long, devilish tail curling behind him.
"White Queen, don't you think this is getting dull?" Azazel, also known as the Red Devil, smirked as he took a seat.
Emma Frost barely spared him a glance. "If you're so bored, go rescue Magneto."
Azazel chuckled, his tail curling around a wine glass and lifting it effortlessly to his lips. "Ah, but you see, the humans are watching that place closely. They've put up interference to block teleportation. Getting in is tricky. Besides, it's not up to me when he leaves—it's up to Erik."
Emma rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. "So, what? You want to go out and cause trouble?"
Azazel leaned in, his voice like velvet laced with something darker. "I was thinking we could have a little fun. Live a little. Doesn't that sound tempting?"
Emma frowned and set down her glass with a sharp clink. "Azazel, cut the mental tricks. You know they don't work on me." She exhaled, her tone bored. "Go if you want, but don't bring trouble back here."
Azazel sighed theatrically. "Tch. Still as dull as ever."
Just as he was about to teleport out, a shift in the room's energy made everyone pause. The door creaked open, and a commanding presence filled the space.
A tall man in a flowing red robe stepped inside, his helmet gleaming under the dim lights.
At his side stood a woman with skin as blue as the ocean, her golden eyes scanning the room like a predator assessing its territory.
The silence in the bar shattered.
"Magneto!" One of the mutants near the door shot to his feet in excitement.
Cheers erupted, and mutants all around the bar raised their drinks in celebration.
Some, unable to contain their excitement, even demonstrated their powers—a flicker of lightning here, a burst of flame there.
This was no ordinary bar. It was a Brotherhood hideout, and every person inside was one of their own.
Azazel grinned, teleporting in a flash of red light to stand before Magneto, drink still in hand. "You're back earlier than usual this time. Got tired of their hospitality?"
Magneto's gaze was unreadable. "There are more pressing matters at hand."
The excitement in the room quieted as he raised a hand, commanding their attention with nothing more than his presence.
"Brothers. Sisters. I have returned," his voice resonated through the bar. "For too long, we have fought to show humankind their place beneath us. We have proven time and time again that we are superior.
And yet, they still refuse to accept it. But make no mistake—our time is coming. Mutants will rise. Mutants will rule."
"Long live mutants!" The crowd roared in response, their voices shaking the walls.
As the echoes of their chant faded, Magneto raised a hand again, his voice shifting to something more measured.
"Tonight, we welcome a new brother into our ranks. A powerful and promising addition who will bring fresh strength to the Brotherhood."
With that, he stepped aside, revealing a figure who had been standing just behind him.
A dark-haired young man stepped forward, wearing a black mask that covered the lower half of his face, the mask had a sleek and menacing design.
It appears to have a rigid, almost metallic structure with sharp, jagged patterns running across it, giving it an intimidating and eerie appearance.
His presence was quiet yet commanding. The Brotherhood members eyed him warily, exchanging hushed whispers.
The masked figure let the murmurs continue for a moment before he took a slow step forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat deliberately. "Let me introduce myself. You may call me Accelerator. And I suggest you remember that name… because—"
He let the sentence hang, his gaze sweeping across the room, locking eyes with each and every mutant present.
The masked youth's lips curled into a smirk beneath his mask.
"Because I'm your future boss."
A stunned silence filled the bar before chaos erupted. Whispers turned to murmurs, then full-blown disbelief.
Mutants exchanged looks of shock, amusement, and outright scorn. But the most striking reaction?
Magneto, standing calmly beside the masked youth, showed no sign of objection.
That alone made the Brotherhood take him seriously.
Some were intrigued, others wary, but most were downright dismissive.
They had all earned their place in the Brotherhood through blood, sweat, and fire.
Their loyalty to Magneto was unquestionable, but this kid? He was an unknown.
A flash of red light.
The next moment, the Red Devil appeared behind the masked youth, his voice a low, mocking whisper.
"Kid, do you even know where you are?"
The masked youth didn't so much as flinch. "Of course. This is one of the Brotherhood's strongholds. I'm here to introduce myself and prepare for my future leadership."
The Red Devil chuckled darkly. "I'll give you five seconds to take that back, or I'll snap your neck."
In an instant, he teleported again, grabbing the young man's collar. His grip was tight, his tail twitching in irritation.
He wasn't just angry—he was insulted.
Mutants like Mystique, the Emma Frost, and himself had been Magneto's most trusted allies for years.
If there was going to be a successor, it sure as hell wasn't going to be some kid.
The masked youth looked up at him, eyes eerily calm. "I'll give you five seconds to let go, or I'll make sure you regret it."
A wicked grin spread across the Red Devil's face. "Oh, you've got a mouth on you. Let's see if you can back it u—"
Suddenly, a strangled scream filled the room.
The Red Devil had teleported ten meters away, his body convulsing.
His skin, already crimson, was now stained with fresh streaks of blood as veins beneath his surface burst.
His breathing was ragged, his pupils wide in shock.
The masked youth tilted his head. "You should be grateful. If I had actually tried, you'd be dead."
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, just as the tension seemed to ease, the Red Devil disappeared and reappeared in a blur, his hands crackling with violent, red energy aimed straight at the young man's heart.
"Boom!"
The explosion sent the Red Devil flying backward, his body skidding across the floor.
This time, he didn't get up.
His chest heaved, his hands trembled, and the realization dawned in his eyes—pure, unfiltered fear.
The young man still stood in the same place, completely unscathed.
"There won't be a next time," he said coldly.
The Red Devil didn't move.
Those closest to him noticed a slight tremor in his fingers.
It wasn't just pain—he recognized something.
No, someone.
The raw energy rebound, the absolute dominance… it reminded him of a nightmare from the past.
The Hellfire Club's Black King—Sebastian Shaw.
During the Cold War, Magneto and Charles Xavier had put an end to Shaw, dismantling the Hellfire Club's power.
The Brotherhood had risen from its ashes, but the Red Devil never forgot the terror Shaw instilled in his enemies.
And yet, this kid…
This kid was worse.
He wasn't just powerful—he was untouchable.
The Red Devil lowered his head. "I understand."
The rest of the Brotherhood followed suit.
Respect in the Brotherhood wasn't given; it was earned through power. A leader had to prove they were stronger than the rest.
And this kid? He had just done that.
The masked youth's gaze swept over the gathered mutants, then locked onto the White Queen.
She had been watching silently from behind the bar, her piercing gaze unwavering.
"It's you," she murmured, gripping her glass tightly.
He could see the recognition in her eyes.
The last time they had crossed paths, it was on Liberty Island, and it hadn't been a pleasant experience for her.
She remembered him.
She remembered the sheer, overwhelming force that had dominated her, leaving her powerless.