Join us

Kurt Wagner had been tailing them at a distance for nearly an hour, a shadow among shadows. He moved like a ghost, bamfing in short, controlled bursts between the dense canopy of Krakoan trees and the twisted living architecture that formed natural alcoves along the path. Sulphur lingered faintly in the air with each teleport, but the island’s constant floral scents masked it well enough. His yellow eyes darted constantly, heart hammering with a growing sense of dread.

Jean, Logan, and Scott were doing their best to appear casual, but Kurt knew the signs. The way Scott’s shoulders stayed rigid. The way Logan’s nostrils flared every few seconds, claws itching at his sides. And Jean… poor Jean kept pressing her fingers to her temple, her face growing paler with every passing minute.

He had bamfed to a thick branch overlooking a small clearing when he heard them.

Two mutants stood near a cluster of glowing bioluminescent flowers, their petals pulsing soft violet and teal in the fading light. They spoke in hushed, excited tones.

“…the Mistress is ready. The plan moves forward tonight. Soon the last holdouts will join us or feed us.”

“Good, I grow tired of wearing this face.” The other sighed, scratching at her blonde hair. “I will relish the opportunity to feast and indulge, to join our matrons in the hunt instead of being **** to be so… limited.”

“Patience, sister.” The other spoke, rolling her shoulder and making a face of discomfort, as if she had been **** to smile for hours. “It will only be until tonight. I, too, am tired of being as small as these lesser prey. But we have hidden amongst them long enough. Our brothers and sisters are legion now, and everyone else will know of our presence and the futility in resisting.”

Kurt’s blood ran cold. He leaned forward, straining to hear more, his tail frozen mid-lash.

The taller one chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent ice down his spine. It was far too husky, far too self-satisfied. “Cyclops with his pet Wolverine has been sniffing around like a bloodhound searching for rabbits. Let them. By the time they realize what’s happening, half the island will be ours. The other half… well. They’ll make excellent additions to the brood.”

The second figure smirked, running a hand through hair that, for just a heartbeat, seemed to shimmer with crimson highlights instead of green under the bioluminescence. “Our sister posing as Emma Frost has already prepared the next wave of ‘medicine.’ The baselines will beg for it. And when the hunger hits them…”

Kurt shifted his weight for a better angle.

That was his mistake.

Both of them turned sharply as one. Their eyes met Kurt’s instantly.

For a split second — no more than a heartbeat — the disguise flickered. The pleasant, ordinary mutant features melted away like wax, revealing rich ocean-blue skin, sharp yellow eyes, and a mane of vivid crimson hair framing a face that wore a predatory, all-too-familiar smirk.

Mystique.

Kurt’s stomach dropped. He didn’t hesitate.

Bamf!

He teleported instantly, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest. Sulphur exploded around him as he reappeared in the secluded clearing where he had last sensed Jean’s mind. He found her standing by the fountain, where he quickly joined her, trying to catch his breath.

“Jean!” he gasped, yellow eyes wide with terror. “We must leave now! I overheard—”

Jean turned slowly.

The motion was graceful. Too graceful. Her flame-red hair caught the light beautifully, but something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

Her green eyes had shifted. Bright, glowing yellow stared back at him — predatory, amused, and utterly confident. A wicked, all-too-familiar smirk played across lips that were suddenly far too smug, too sensual, for Jean Grey.

“Kurt,” she purred, her voice low and husky, carrying that unmistakable velvet-steel cadence that belonged to only one woman. “You really should learn to mind your own business, son.”

Kurt staggered back a step, his tail lashing wildly. “Gott im Himmel… Jean… no…”

Behind her, Rogue stepped out from between the trees, green eyes sparkling with dark delight. “Hey there, sugar,” she drawled, her Southern accent thick, sweet, but far more dangerous than usual. As Kurt watched in mounting horror, her skin rippled like water. Deep ocean blue spread rapidly across her body. Her white-streaked hair darkened and brightened into vivid crimson. She licked her lips slowly, openly hungry, fangs glinting.

“Did you enjoy the game?” Her accent was gone, her demeanour every bit that of Mystique’s as she tilted her hip and crossed her arms. “And to think I was called a BAD mother; we’ve been playing hide and seek for days. Well… FOUND you.”

Kurt tried to bamf away — but a disk of energy wrapped around him and sent him right back where he was. The scent of brimstone and something sweeter, more intoxicating, filled his nose. He recognized that power instantly as Illyana’s transportation disks. He tried again, only to be tossed back at the feet of both women against his will. Almost as if she knew where he was going to land before he did.

Seeing his reaction, Jean wagged her finger at Kurt with a ‘tut, tut’ of her tongue.

“Too late, sweetheart,” Jean’s voice — now fully steeped in Mystique’s predatory confidence — whispered hot against his pointed ear. Her breath was warm, her grip possessive as she gripped his wrist with inhuman strength. “Did you really think we're going to let you leave NOW? While we were enjoying ourselves? No. No, we have so much more fun to be had.”

From the shadows all around the clearing, more figures emerged.

Tall.

Powerful.

Every one of them blue-skinned, crimson-haired, yellow-eyed, moving with the same graceful, feline prowl. They smiled with the same smug satisfaction, tails flicking lazily, horns catching the fading light. Laura stepped forward with regal poise, her adamantium claws extended and glistening in the evening light. Storm — Ororo — appeared with flowing crimson hair and sweeping horns, her presence crackling with barely contained power.

Dozens of his friends came and encircled the horrified Nightcrawler, many of them chuckling, while many more leered down at the man like cats cornering a terrified mouse.

Together, as one, the group spoke with a shared voice, one that changed pitch until it was a near-perfect match for his mother. Mystique.

“We have become something more, Kurt. Something far more than a predator that could sneak amongst sheep like a wolf. The greatest predator in nature is not a tiger, or a shark, or a spider… It’s a virus. We have infiltrated more than just the Quiet Council or Krakoa itself. We are Krakoa. We have seeped into the flesh and minds of mutant-kind; we have taken what we wished and shared what we are.”

Kurt’s legs nearly gave out. He tried to teleport again, but Illyana’s grip tightened, and a wave of psychic pressure from Emma and Jean locked his muscles in place.

Mystique’s voice echoed through the growing link — rich, triumphant, and impossibly intimate, as though she were speaking directly inside his soul.

The New World Order welcomes you, Kurt.

The words vibrated through him, warm and seductive, laced with promises of power, pleasure, and belonging. Around him, the coven closed in slowly, their bodies radiating heat. Jean — no, the thing that wore Jean’s face — stepped closer, hips swaying with predatory grace. Rogue’s gloved hand traced his arm almost tenderly. Her skin is now as blue as his, and her green eyes are a stark yellow. Storm’s tail coiled around his waist as she leaned down and pressed her chest against his back.

Jean stopped directly in front of him, crouching over the Nightcrawler. She reached out with one clawed hand and gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Even when I discarded you all those years ago, you proved to be useful,” she murmured, her voice like velvet wrapped around steel. “You could rejoin me, son. Join US in the future of mutant kind, MY kind. All you have to do… is drink.”

She brought her extended finger to her mouth and bit down. A thick bead of dark red blood welled up, shimmering with unnatural vitality. The coppery scent hit Kurt like a slap to the face — sour, metallic, intoxicating.

The coven pressed closer. Hands roamed over his shoulders, his chest. Tails brushed against his legs. Yellow eyes watched him with shared, ravenous hunger.

Jean leaned in, lips brushing his other ear. “It feels so good, Kurt,” she whispered, voice thick with remembered ecstasy. “The power… the pleasure… you’ll never be alone again.”

Rogue’s fingers traced his jaw. “Come on, sugar. Join us.”

Jean held her bleeding finger closer, the droplet trembling on the edge of falling.

“I will NEVER join you! I will NEVER be like you! The X-Men will stop you! I WILL STOP YOU!!!”

The group of men and women traded looks before breaking out into uproarious laughter. The same kind of laughter he remembered from his mother’s worst moments.

Jean’s fanged smile widened as she wiped a stray tear with her other hand. “Hmm, oh son, never say never…”

With blinding speed, she grabbed his chin in an unbreakable grip, forcing his mouth open. Kurt thrashed wildly, but it was useless. The combined strength and psychic hold of the coven rendered him helpless as she shoved her finger into his mouth.

“Now… drink.”