Chapter 207: Don’t Go

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Psylocke raised the hem of her kimono with delicate fingers and descended the staircase. "Sorry for being late."

Dante shook his head. "We’d have waited for Ororo anyway."

Feeling a shift in the air, he glanced over to find Ororo drifting a foot off the floor, surrounded in a gentle cocoon of wind that made her white hair billow like a living crown. Just by exerting her powers she had made the room warmer.

"She’s back."

Ororo’s bare feet touched the ground and the wind around her dissolved into nothing. She stepped closer and pulled Candra into a tight embrace, pressing her cheek against the older woman’s shoulder.

"Thank you, aunt."

Candra’s expression softened for a moment before she was back to the cocky mutant. "Thank my son. I wouldn’t have lifted a finger if you weren’t working with him."

"Still..." Ororo stepped back, turning to Dante with a nod. "I don’t have to stand back and watch anymore."

The words were simple, but the emotion behind them could be felt by anyone. Ororo had finally gained the freedom to use her powers for herself, but she could only sit on the sidelines and watch Jean enjoy the said freedom. It had been a torment, but she had endured.

Emma was the first to reach Ororo and congratulate her. "Welcome back to the land of the overpowered, darling. Here, your powers will be put to good use, and nobody will tell you to not use them."

The subtle jab at Xavier made him chuckle.

Jean followed, hugging Ororo, putting a smile on the weather goddess’s face. Somehow, the moment snowballed until the entire lobby was applauding. Remy and Felicia even whistled.

Ororo’s cheeks flushed in the face of such an overwhelming response. "This is... unnecessary, everyone."

"Shut up and enjoy it," Emma said with a chuckle. "You’ll be working overtime from tomorrow."

Ororo laughed softly. "You can rest assured about that. My fingers have been itching to manifest thunder."

Once the moment passed, Dante created a portal and let everyone get in one by one. They were brought to a private wing in Hellfire Club. The same room where he had his first date with Silvija and his first meeting with Emma. The memory tugged at something in his chest. He had a call with Silver after breakfast this morning, but that was never the same as having her beside him.

He could teleport to her anytime, but it would get in her way. But he had arranged a date with her for next week. A date in Asgard, where he would be able to see Lady Loki and Hela for any issues they had.

"This is where it all began, didn’t it?" Emma whispered beside him. "My life would’ve entered a different trajectory if not for this."

"Yup." He fully agreed with the sentiment. "You should make a call to the kitchen. Illyana’s gonna start eating the furniture if food doesn’t arrive soon."

Emma chuckled and pulled out her phone from her pocket. "By the way, love, is Sharon still with Death?"

"Yes. We should let them have their mother-daughter moment."

Cats needed a lot of sleep; Sharon was no exception. His adopted daughter wouldn’t have gotten a wink if he brought her to Manhattan. So he had made the decision to let Death take Sharon. Death’s domain was the coziest and most peaceful place in existence. Sharon would get the best sleep of her life there.

Emma nodded and stepped away with the phone pressed to her ear. She began guiding everyone to an adjoining hall. A grand space with circular tables draped in black cloth and soft, moonlight glow spilling from the gem-like devices on the walls. Not even Felicia stopped to admire the ambience that Selene had handcrafted for Hellmoon Club. They were too hungry to care about it.

The group fragmented into clusters as people found their seats.

Laura, Felicia, Jean, and Ororo claimed a front table, already chatting about Ororo’s powers. Felicia’s teasing forced Laura to speak up from time to time.

Gambit and Piotr took another table. Remy sat down and shuffled a deck of cards to pass time until the food arrived. He barely had time to deal a hand before his worst nightmare joined him on the table.

"M-Madame, how can I help you...?"

Piotr shot up and moved over to the seat next to it. "Please, Miss Bella."

"It was Lady Candra’s idea," Bella Donna said coldly as she took a seat across from Remy. "I have no interest in treacherous bastards."

"Ouchie..."

Candra slid into the chair beside Remy with a grin. "You two are so cute. I almost wish I stopped Remy’s exile."

Bella Donna refused to acknowledge Remy at all. "You weren’t in the wrong, Benefactoress. He was. For leaving me."

Remy put the cards on the table and leaned back in his chair. "What was I supposed to do, Bella?"

"Ask me?" Bella turned her furious gaze on him. "I was your fucking wife. How dare you leave without telling me a thing?"

"Well..."

Bella shook her head. "I don’t need excuses."

"So," Piotr said brightly, utterly oblivious to the tension. "Do I book a marriage counsellor?"

Remy looked like he wanted to cry.

Then there was Psylocke. She had taken a table in the back, sitting with her hands folded on her lap in proper etiquette. The white cranes on her kimono caught the moonlight in an eye-catching manner. She was stealing glances at him from beneath her lashes that she thought were subtle. It was hard to escape his notice.

Her only real friend here was Emma, who was busy running the show. Psylocke wasn’t the type to insert herself into any group uninvited, but rather the type to enjoy her own company. But he couldn’t let her be alone while everyone else enjoyed warmth and company. She deserved better than an empty table. He wouldn’t find a better moment to have a one-on-one conversation.

Psylocke noticed him approaching and shifted in her seat—straightening her back and chin slightly raised, the unconscious shift from alone to be more present in the room. "Dante..."

He pulled back the chair opposite her and sat down. "Feeling lonely?"

"I’m used to it," she said, leaning subtly toward him. "How did things go in Egypt?"

She was the first person to inquire about the situation in Egypt. Everyone else had seen that he was alive and in one piece and put Apocalypse under ’handled.’ Or they never took Apocalypse’s threat seriously enough to bother asking. But Psylocke used it as a way to change the subject.

"What do you think?"

Her eyes traced his face, reading his micro-expressions the way only a trained assassin could. A faint crease appeared between her brows before it smoothed away. "Your smugness tells me you’ve done it."

He chuckled. "We did. Emma got front-row seats to Selene’s execution."

A smile touched her lips. "And you returned with a mother."

They both glanced across the hall at Candra, who was leaning into Remy’s personal space and whispering something that made the Cajun look despaired. Candra laughed mischievously while Bella Donna stared at him with open disgust.

From any bystander’s perspective, Candra looked like a charming older woman teasing Remy. Playful and entirely harmless. But appearances were the most dangerous lies. Only those who really knew this was just a lie. Every moment she was scheming something. Every moment she was putting on a mask to hide the evil lurking beneath her charming performance.

"I give her a week before she gets booted out for pulling some evil shit." He turned back to Psylocke, and his gaze was drawn to the black silk kimono. The cranes in mid-flight. The way the moonlight played off silver hoop earrings. Her nearly-black lipstick and striking violet eyes. It was impossible not to be mesmerized. "Psy, what made you bust out a kimono of all things?"

Psylocke straightened her back unconsciously and rested her hand gracefully over the other. "Does it look bad on me?"

"Uh, quite the opposite, actually. It’s refreshing to see you in something new." He paused, reading a hint of anxiety in her gaze. "Not saying your usual outfit is bad in any way. It has a different charm."

She accepted the compliment with a gentle nod, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. The clarification was necessary. Quiet people had a habit of dissecting every word that was spoken to them, then getting anxious over misunderstandings.

He poured himself half a glass of water and chugged it down. Talking to Psylocke today was nerve-wrecking. He was stressing over every little detail, trying his best to avoid hurting her feelings in any way.

Psylocke must have noticed his troubles as she assumed a serious expression and held steady eye contact with him. "I wore it to get compliments from you."

What she said next nearly made him choke on water. She could go from the shiest woman on the planet to being the most straightforward one in seconds. Maybe her dual state ability had influenced her personality in some way because there was no other explanation for her drastic shifts.

He activated Death’s cloak around their table, silencing the hall. "Psy, we need to talk about... this. Don’t worry, nobody will hear us talk."

Since she was being direct, it would be cowardly for him to dance around the truth.

"This is the first for me..." she whispered, her fingers tightening over the fabric of her kimono beneath the table. "I don’t know what to do with any of it. Everything just... it makes my head spin."

Her violet eyes told the story better than her words ever could—romantic confusion layered over something fragile, something she had never been taught as an assassin. It wasn’t just the feelings tangling her up, overwhelming her mind from every direction. It was far deeper, tying back to her absence of self-worth blossoming from being treated as an Executioner for decades.

A woman who had never learned to love herself, or rather despise herself, was being forced to confront the terrifying possibility of desiring love from someone else.

"Psy, we don’t have to rush anything. Neither of us is going anywhere."

"I don’t have time." She looked down at her hand resting on the table, perhaps seeing the blood of those she had killed staining them. "I might not return from Japan."

He placed his hand over hers. The contact made her breath tremble for a moment, making her gaze lift. He saw another layer of truth in her violet eyes.

The Hand had gone radio silent since their operation on Oscorp Island. They operated like a hydra—cut one head, two more rise. The death of one executive wouldn’t make them retreat, but rather, it would make them thirsty for revenge. Psylocke, who had spent years being their puppet, knew their silence signaled the arrival of a raging storm. She feared they had found a new tool to strengthen their armies, perhaps some ancient weapon or dark alliance of sorts. Things like that happened constantly in the comics, so her hunch was ninety-percent on point.

Even if her hunch turned out wrong, she had to fight an army of ninjas mixed with secret weapons (mutants) to kill the Hand’s leaders. Despite how much stronger Psylocke had become, she would have to fight flawlessly. One mistake would end with a bullet to her head. Even now, she seemed to lack the confidence to complete her revenge.

"Then don’t go," he said in a firm voice, squeezing her hand. "Let me kill them."

Psylocke closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, he could feel her cold rage. A rage that wouldn’t be extinguished by reason or comfort.

"I have to cut off their heads myself." Her voice carried decades of resentment. The rage of having her mind rewritten, her body reshaped, her life stolen and rebuilt to cut down innocent families. "If I don’t... I’ll go mad. This... this will eat me alive."

Her heart wouldn’t find real peace until she had drenched herself in the blood of the Hand’s leaders. Some vengeance had to be personal.

***

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