A copy of an imitation

Moments after leaving the resurrection chamber, they reverted to their original forms to avoid suspicion. They moved through the streets of Krakoa after Selene digested Sebastian Shaw. Despite concealing their true identities, their appearances still drew attention. Raven, Irene, and Selene loomed over those they encountered, causing many to look up and step aside as they passed. Although she delighted in the intimidation, Mystique knew sooner or later this would have to be addressed. In no time at all, the four had returned to Raven and Irene’s abode.

The four blue-skinned queens stepped through the front door of their ever-expanding home in a haze of satisfaction, the heavy wooden door closing behind them with a resonant thud. Mystique led the way, her towering eight-foot frame radiating raw power, crimson hair swaying down her muscular back. Close behind her walked Irene, Emma, and Selene — each one flushed, curves accentuated by their sheer garments, as they let slip the façade and took on their own blue hue and red hair.

The moment they entered the spacious living area, a chorus of eager voices rose. Several dozen blue-skinned children — ranging from toddlers to young adults grown through accelerated serum-enhanced development — swarmed toward their mothers. The eldest ones, already in their late teens by appearance, held back with disciplined reverence.

Mystique’s yellow eyes swept over her brood with possessive pride. She reached out, her hand gently ruffling the hair of one particularly tall and broad-shouldered young man who stood at the forefront. He was one of her first sons from that wild night with Bullseye — now a powerful young adult with the same deep ocean-blue skin and striking red hair as the rest of the litter.

“Come here, my son,” Mystique purred, her voice low and commanding. She cupped his chin, tilting his face up to meet her gaze. “You’ve grown strong. Tonight, you earn your first true purpose in our new world.”

The young man — who had no true name beyond the affection his mothers gave him — stood looking into her fierce gaze. “Anything for you, Mother.”

Mystique glanced back at her coven. Emma smirked with dark amusement, while Selene licked her lips slowly, still tasting the lingering echoes of Shaw’s essence. Irene watched with knowing foresight, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Mystique gently pressed two fingers to her son’s temple. Emma’s stolen telepathic power merged effortlessly with her own, opening the mental floodgates. Shaw’s memories flooded into the boy’s mind like molten metal—ranging from arrogant thoughts and scheming plots to sleazy negotiations and indulgent vices. The young man gasped and jerked as centuries of the Black King’s life surged into his consciousness. His muscles tensed, veins prominent along his neck, but he remained still as Mystique kept him steady, immersing him in Shaw’s entire identity until the foreign personality settled.

When she finally withdrew her fingers, her son’s yellow eyes fluttered open. A new sharpness gleamed within them.

“Now,” Mystique commanded softly. “Show me.”

He stood. Then, with effortless grace, his body began to shift. Blue skin lightened to a tanned Caucasian tone. Red hair darkened and receded into a slick, styled cut. His powerful frame condensed and aged into Sebastian Shaw’s signature broad-shouldered, middle-aged build. Expensive black tailoring materialized over his body — the crisp suit, the blood-red tie, the heavy gold signet ring on his finger. Even the faint scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke clung to him.

The transformation complete, “Shaw” rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck with a familiar arrogant tilt, and let a smug, predatory smirk spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he drawled in Shaw’s exact cultured baritone, adjusting his cufflinks with practiced precision. “I turn my back for one second, and what do I get for it? If you were going to make a meal of me, you’d at least have the courtesy of serving me with French fries and a cheap soda.” He trailed off, then chuckled darkly — the sound identical to the original.

“Perfect.”

Mystique circled him slowly, running a clawed finger along his shoulder. “Mmm. Flawless. Even Emma couldn’t tell the difference.”

Emma stepped closer, eyes narrowed in professional appraisal before she laughed. “He even carries that insufferable swagger. Well done.”

Selene purred approvingly, while Irene nodded, already seeing a thousand flawless paths ahead.

Mystique pulled her son — now their perfect puppet — into a brief, possessive embrace, her massive blue breasts pressing against his suited chest. “You will attend the next Council meeting in his place. Speak as he would. Scheme as he would. And report everything back to us.”

The false Shaw bowed his head with a wicked grin. “As you wish, mother.” Then he paused, raising an eyebrow as he went over the new memories. “And what of Orchis? They expect Shaw to respond soon.”

“Then go ahead... They believe they can usurp us? Two predators can't share the same hunting ground. They’ll realize that soon enough... Won’t they, sisters?”

The four queens shared a quiet, hungry laugh that resonated through their home. Emma then stepped forward, gesturing toward a pair of Mystique’s children. “Since we're here, you might as well designate proxies for the meeting, loves.” She indicated Irene and Selene, who both loomed over her, just like Raven—an effect of swallowing a man whole and growing to match his size. “Otherwise, people will start to notice how tall you’ve become, and it's not from the local cuisine.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that.” Selene smiled as she admired her expanded frame. “The locals are rather filling.”

Giving the two young adults a stare, Emma ****-fed them telepathically all they would need to duplicate Irene and Selene in appearance and thought. In seconds, both adults took on the forms of Destiny and the Black Priestess down to the last subtle detail. Tilting her head and smiling at her handwork, Emma circled the two as they posed and

The living room was filled with laughter again. The island nation had no idea what was starting under its very nose.