Chapter 18
The sunlight sliced through the blinds of Xavier's office, glinting off polished wood and making the quiet tension almost tangible. Charles Xavier sat in his chair, hands folded, eyes calm as always, while the new recruits shuffled in. Cyclops stood beside him, arms crossed, visor glinting faintly red.
"Today," Charles began, voice serene but firm, "we will start your training to develop combat skills without using your powers."
The room went silent, a single pin could have dropped.
"Without our powers?" Colossus muttered, eyebrows knitting. "How are we supposed to—"
"Learn to fight like humans first," Xavier interrupted, "so that your powers enhance skill, rather than compensate for lack of it."
Nightcrawler's tail flicked lazily. "Ah, so we're meant to trip, fall, and hope the other guy has mercy?"
"I don't fall," Orora said, smirking, arms crossed. "I teach people how to regret underestimating me."
"Good attitude," Xavier noted, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Scott and Logan will lead you through this phase."
Logan let out a low growl, rubbing the back of his neck. "As long as you want your X-Men guys ruined… bon appétit."
Xavier only smiled serenely. "You won't."
Logan tsked, muttering under his breath as he pushed past the group toward the exit.
In the hallway, the new recruits murmured among themselves.
"Did you hear that?" Colossus said to Iceman. "That man thinks we're all doomed."
Sunfire grinned, "Well, that's one way to motivate us. Or scare us into shape."
Nightcrawler twirled once, tail flicking. "I vote for fear. Works every time."
"Hmm," Orora said, shrugging. "Fear? Nah. I like to see what breaks first: their confidence or their bones."
Cyclops spoke up, stern as ever. "Save your observations for the field. I will supervise—follow the instructions, or don't complain when you lose."
The team dispersed to their rooms, the murmur of excitement and apprehension trailing behind them. Training suits awaited: black with reinforced padding at elbows, knees, chest, and gloves, sensors embedded to track strikes, blocks, and falls.
The training room smelled faintly of sweat and polish, sunlight streaming from high skylights, glinting off the black mats. Each X-Man stood in their suit—sleek black with padding at elbows, knees, and chest, the faint hum of sensors under the material tracing every subtle movement.
Logan leaned casually against a wall, cigar dangling, arms crossed. Cyclops stood near the center, visor gleaming, scanning the group like a hawk.
"Pairs," Cyclops said, voice sharp. "Test skill, timing, and reflexes. No powers. I expect focus. Logan and I will supervise."
The first pairings were set: Banshee vs. Sunfire, Colossus vs. Nightcrawler, with the final bout reserved for Storm vs. Thunderbird.
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Banshee vs. Sunfire
Banshee cracked his neck, fists flexing. "Hope you're not hiding behind heat today."
Sunfire's stance radiated controlled tension. "Wouldn't dream of it, scream-boy. Strategy beats bluster."
They lunged simultaneously. Banshee swung low, aiming for Sunfire's midsection; Sunfire twisted, pivoting on his heel, elbow catching Banshee's shoulder. The smack of contact echoed off the mats.
"Too slow!" Banshee spat, ducking another strike.
"Focus, old man taught you nothing?" Sunfire shot back, spinning to land a glancing kick.
The two moved like predators circling, blocks met strikes, feints tangled with counters. Sweat beaded on their foreheads as both exploited minor openings, every dodge and hit meticulous.
Finally, a well-timed nudge from Sunfire sent Banshee stumbling back, and Banshee caught a last swing, smiling despite the burn in his lungs.
"Good… not enough," Banshee panted.
"Not bad yourself," Sunfire said, chest heaving.
Tie—but respect carved into each glance.
---
Colossus vs. Nightcrawler
Colossus planted his feet, towering and grounded, arms like iron girders. Nightcrawler bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, tail flicking with anticipation.
"Going easy on me, old man?" Nightcrawler teased, tail curling.
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Keep your eyes open, bub. One misstep, you're face-first on the mat."
"Old man critiques everything," Nightcrawler chuckled. "Guess I like it."
Colossus swung, deliberate and heavy. Nightcrawler ducked, rolling, kicking lightly off the mat, teleporting a short distance, appearing behind Colossus. "Miss me?"
"You'll pay for that," Colossus grunted, spinning to catch him mid-dodge. Nightcrawler twisted, slipping free, landing just out of reach, smirking.
Logan shook his head, half-amused. "Could be faster, bub. Try thinking ahead next round."
"Thinking ahead is boring," Nightcrawler said, teleporting again, laughing.
Back and forth, strike and counterstrike, grab and dodge—neither could claim victory. Finally, Colossus nodded. Tie.
---
The Big Bout: Storm vs. Thunderbird
Thunderbird planted his fists on his hips. "I don't fight women."
Storm's eyes flashed lightning-bright. "Who's the woman?" Before he could react, she ducked low and swept his legs. Thunderbird hit the mat with a grunt, rage flaring.
She moved like a storm unleashed: punches precise, kicks landing with sharp accuracy. Thunderbird blocked and countered, brute force against calculated movement.
Thunderbird growled, fighting seriously now, the room vibrating with tension. Storm refused to yield, every feint and pivot testing his limits.
Finally, Thunderbird pinned her briefly, hovering above. "Admit defeat."
"I won't!" Storm spat, eyes blazing, energy simmering like a thundercloud ready to break.