Esdeath scrolled through another report, ice-blue eyes scanning data patterns across multiple screens. The wall of monitors cast an eerie glow across the newly established command center—a converted industrial space that still smelled of fresh paint and ambition.
"Fourteen confirmed mutant disappearances in Berlin last month," she said, marking the location on a digital map. "Six in Warsaw. Another cluster forming near Prague."
Emma Frost stood beside her, elegant in white despite the late hour. "Anti-mutant sentiment is growing faster in Eastern Europe than Xavier predicted." She swiped through a classified file on her tablet. "His intelligence network is impressive, I'll give him that."
"But limited by his methods," Esdeath countered, zooming in on a particular hotspot. "The X-Men can't be everywhere."
"Neither can we."
"Not yet."
Esdeath pulled up another file—this one marked with an X symbol. The image showed a blue-skinned mutant with pointed ears and a prehensile tail. Kurt Wagner. Nightcrawler.
"He's been operating independently," Esdeath noted, studying his movements across borders. "Helping refugees—mutant and human alike."
Emma leaned closer, her perfume momentarily distracting Esdeath. "Kurt Wagner is a bleeding heart with a martyr complex. He's loyal to Xavier's dream to a fault."
"You know him?"
"I know his type." Emma's fingers brushed against the screen, tracing his recent activities. "Religious. Principled. Believes in redemption and second chances."
"Perfect."
Emma arched an eyebrow. "Charles tried recruiting me for years. Wagner won't be any easier to convince."
"I'm not Charles." Esdeath closed the file with a swipe. "And we're not offering what he's offering."
"Do enlighten me."
Esdeath turned to face Emma fully. "Xavier wants soldiers for his cause. We want builders for our sanctuary."
A hint of a smile played at Emma's lips. "My, aren't we idealistic today."
"Pragmatic," Esdeath corrected. "Wagner has skills we need. Teleportation. Combat experience. And connections to underground networks we haven't even identified yet."
Emma handed her a small metallic disk engraved with arcane symbols. "Your friend Magik said this will get you there and back. One-time use each way."
Esdeath pocketed the teleportation charm. "I thought you didn't trust her."
"I don't. But her magic works." Emma's expression turned serious. "Wagner is currently near Sokovia. The region is unstable—politically and otherwise."
"I've handled worse."
"I'm sure you have." Emma's tone suggested she knew more than she let on. "Just remember—we're building something here. Getting yourself killed playing hero would be... inconvenient."
Esdeath smirked. "Worried about me, Frost?"
"About my investment," Emma corrected smoothly. "Try to return in one piece."
Esdeath gathered her equipment—a lightweight tactical suit that wouldn't hinder movement, communication devices, and emergency supplies. Before activating the charm, she caught Emma watching her with an unreadable expression.
"What?"
"Nothing," Emma said. "Just wondering what Wagner will make of you."
Esdeath felt the question beneath the statement. "And what do you make of me, Emma?"
"The jury's still out." Emma's eyes glinted. "Impress me with this recruitment, and I might share my thoughts."
With a half-smile, Esdeath activated the charm. The world dissolved into swirling darkness.
Eastern Europe greeted her with cold rain and the distant rumble of artillery. Esdeath materialized in a forested area, immediately crouching low to assess her surroundings. The teleportation charm had deposited her precisely where intended—half a kilometer from a refugee camp nestled between abandoned farmhouses.
Moving silently through the underbrush, Esdeath tracked the camp's perimeter. Magik's intelligence was accurate. Approximately sixty refugees—a mix of humans and mutants—huddled under makeshift shelters. Armed guards patrolled sporadically, more concerned with external threats than their charges.
She spotted him near the medical tent—unmistakable even in the dim evening light. Kurt Wagner moved with fluid grace, his blue skin almost purple in the shadows. He teleported short distances, delivering supplies and comfort with equal efficiency.
For nearly an hour, Esdeath observed him work. Nightcrawler showed no favoritism between human and mutant refugees. He prayed with some, joked with others, and treated each person with dignity regardless of appearance or ability.
Her attention shifted when three armored vehicles approached from the east—unmarked but military-grade. Not government forces, then. Something worse.
Nightcrawler noticed too. He gathered the camp leaders, directing evacuation procedures with practiced calm. But they wouldn't move everyone in time.
The first shots rang out as the vehicles breached the perimeter. Mercenaries poured out—at least twenty, heavily armed and wearing patches Esdeath recognized from intelligence reports. Purifiers. Mutant hunters.
Nightcrawler teleported into action, disarming two mercenaries before they could target a group of children. His movements were efficient, non-lethal but effective. He wasn't just avoiding killing—he was protecting his people while giving them time to escape.
Impressive, but insufficient against these numbers.
When three mercenaries cornered him against the medical tent, Esdeath made her decision. She stepped from the shadows, channeling her power through her fingertips. The ground beneath the attackers froze instantly, climbing up their legs and locking them in place.
"What the—" One mercenary raised his weapon toward her.
Esdeath flicked her wrist. The gun frosted over, metal components cracking as ice expanded within the mechanism.
"Leave," she commanded, her voice carrying across the suddenly quiet camp. "Or the frostbite will take more than your weapons."
The mercenaries hesitated, looking to their leader—a burly man with a scarred face. He assessed the situation, noted his frozen men, then gave a sharp nod.
"This isn't over," he spat, signaling retreat.
Esdeath maintained her position until the vehicles disappeared into the distance. Only then did she turn toward Nightcrawler, who stood watching her with wary yellow eyes.
"You're the ice witch," he said in accented English. "The one they speak of in whispers."
"Esdeath," she corrected. "And you're Kurt Wagner."
His tail twitched. "You know my name. Should I be flattered or concerned?"
"That depends on how you feel about job offers."
A small smile revealed pointed teeth. "I already have employment, as you can see." He gestured to the camp, where refugees were cautiously emerging from hiding.
"Dangerous work," Esdeath observed.
"its Necessary work."
Rain began falling harder. Kurt teleported to a nearby structure—the remains of a small chapel with half its roof missing. Esdeath followed, stepping under the partial shelter.
"They'll be back," she said. "With more men."
Kurt nodded. "They always come back. But so do I." He studied her openly now. "Why are you here, Ms. Esdeath? You're a long way from New York."
"I'm building something," she replied. "A place where mutants don't need to run or hide."
"Many have promised such things."
"I don't make promises. I create results."
Moonlight filtered through the broken roof, illuminating the remnants of religious iconography on the walls. Kurt glanced upward, then back to her.
"You offer sanctuary," he said. "But at what cost? I've heard stories of your methods."
"My methods keep people alive."
"At what cost to your soul?"
Esdeath almost laughed. If only he knew how complicated that question was for someone living their second life.
"I'm not asking you to compromise your principles," she said instead. "I'm offering resources. Protection. A network that extends beyond what you can build alone."
Kurt's tail curled thoughtfully. "And what would you ask in return?"
"Your skills. Your knowledge of these underground routes. And your perspective." Esdeath gestured to the camp. "You see things differently than I do. That has value."
"You mean I'm not as willing to freeze men solid?"
"Among other things."
A distant explosion illuminated the horizon. Kurt's expression hardened.
"More attacks," he murmured. "They grow bolder each week."
"They're organizing," Esdeath confirmed. "Across continents. This isn't just random hate—it's coordinated."
Kurt teleported to a different corner of the chapel, his movement leaving a faint scent of brimstone. "And you believe your... organization can stand against this tide?"
"I know it can. But not without people like you."
"People with consciences, you mean?"
Esdeath stepped closer. "People who remember what we're fighting for. It's easy to become the monster you're hunting."
Something shifted in Kurt's expression—surprise, perhaps, at her self-awareness.
"I won't abandon these people," he said finally.
"I'm not asking you to. Your network becomes our network. Your refugees, our responsibility."
Kurt studied her with those penetrating yellow eyes. "You speak of sanctuary, but I sense you're preparing for war."
"I'm preparing for reality," Esdeath countered. "Sometimes that includes war."
The teleporter fell silent, his gaze drifting to a broken crucifix on the wall.
"I need time," he said finally. "To pray. To consider."
Esdeath nodded. "Fair enough." She pulled out a small communication device and placed it on a stone ledge. "When you're ready—either way."
As she turned to leave, Kurt's voice stopped her.
"Ms. Esdeath? Your sanctuary... does it have a name?"
She looked back over her shoulder. "Not yet. Perhaps you could help with that too."
Kurt didn't smile, but something in his posture softened. It wasn't acceptance, but it wasn't rejection either.
Esdeath stepped back into the rain, satisfied. Emma would be pleased—or at least, as close to pleased as Emma Frost ever allowed herself to appear.