The Golden Destroyer

Now that I was no longer trying to flee or deny my situation, I had noticed I was in a decidedly strange version of Marvel. I was by no means an expert on the franchise, and I think any sane person in my situation would have immediately assumed they had landed in the MCU. The fact that I was hearing about mutants on the news and Stark at the same time should have tipped me off. But, well, the damage was already done. I had other fish to fry at the time.

Returning to the singularity of this universe, according to my research and observations, it was a mix of the MCU, the X-Men franchise, and elements taken from the comics. It was fascinating and all that, but it was messing with my meta-knowledge. Apart from the fact that it was 2008, the Avengers weren't around yet, the mutants weren't their comic book versions in terms of power, and everyone considered me a big shot, I had no other advantages to rely on.

I was powerful, that was obvious. But as time passed, the others were bound to adapt to me. I was an outsider; they were the protagonists. The universe would always give them a deus ex machina to solve their problems, and until proven otherwise, I was one of them. Admittedly, I hadn't yet fully exploited my abilities. But I doubted I could face beings like the Ancient One, Jean in Phoenix mode, or Wanda in berserker mode.

"My god," I complained, "a week and I already miss the quiet of Earl's garage."

Even if I was hiding in the back end of nowhere, I was sure someone would come looking for trouble. Which, in the end, didn't really leave me a choice. I had to plan everything while searching for the perpetrator of the attack.

Starting to remember everything useful and making allies within the Brotherhood was the first step.

---

Sabertooth didn't know why, but he pathologically hated the newcomer from their first meeting. Besides being a calamity, the guy exuded an aura that made him uncomfortable, made him feel small, even when he was in his human form.

But what bothered him the most was that this damn dragon had principles.

"Who would have thought?" he said sarcastically to himself.

Even though he had protested, Magneto had insisted he accompany him on a Brotherhood mission (not even a week since his arrival). With the goal of acclimatizing, understanding their work, their ideology. A bunch of nonsense, in short.

Everything was going well until the guy stopped him from offing some dude as he pleased. The worst part was that he hadn't even uttered a single word; he had only given him a disapproving look. And he, like an idiot, had backed down like a puppy in front of its master.

He felt his influence diminishing rapidly. A vampiric slut, a dragon, if it continued like this, he wouldn't rule out going his own way. He was Sabertooth, a damn beast; there was no way he was going to be relegated to the background.

---

The room was dark, dimly lit by flickering chandeliers. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the air itself hesitated to circulate in the presence of the two figures within.

I leaned against a cold stone wall, studying Selene. She moved with supernatural grace, her heels tapping softly on the marble floor. Her dark, almost unfathomable eyes were fixed on me, and a slight smile – or was it a smirk? – graced her lips. Since my arrival, she hadn't stopped looking at me like a piece of meat. Which, frankly, gave me mixed feelings.

"So, this is the famous dragon," she said in a smooth, almost singsong voice that seemed to glide over my skin like silk. "I must say, you're more impressive than I was led to believe. And yet… I expected more."

I raised an eyebrow, amused by her game. "Disappointed, then? It often happens when expectations are set too high."

From what I knew of her, if I didn't want to get screwed over or manipulated, I had to adopt an attitude just as skewed as hers.

She laughed, a crystalline laugh that nevertheless carried a hint of menace. "Disappointed?" Not yet. "Curious, however. You are… fascinating." She moved closer, reducing the distance between us. "But also terribly reckless."

I crossed my arms, meeting her gaze steadily. "That's amusing, coming from someone who literally feeds on the life of others. Who of us is truly reckless here?"

At this remark, her eyes lit up briefly, a predatory gleam dancing in them. "Oh, I see. You know my reputation. And you, Jonathan, what is yours? Destroying cities? Reducing those who defy you to ashes? Or perhaps… breaking those who dare to understand you?"

Her sudden proximity was suffocating. Not that she scared me, but she exuded an aura that forced one to be on guard, while triggering primal instincts within me. Yet, I refused to give her that satisfaction.

"It depends," I said, tilting my head slightly, a smirk on my lips. "Do you want to understand or defy?"

She stepped back slightly, her smile widening, almost carnivorous. "Perhaps both. After all, dragons are rare, and I collect rarities."

"Interesting," I replied, my tone tinged with irony. "But I'm not a trinket to display in your showcase."

"No, you're not," she said, extending a pale hand, almost like an invitation. "But everything that glitters attracts greed, and I am very… possessive."

I simply looked at her, not moving an inch, sparks crackling in my fingers. "And I'm a dragon; between us, I'm the one who's greedy for treasure."

A tense silence settled, charged with electricity. Faced with my determination, she finally withdrew her hand, but her smile remained.

"We'll see who loses, Jonathan. In the meantime, don't give me a reason to devour you."

"I'll return the advice," I replied, walking past her, my shoulder brushing against hers. "It remains to be seen which of us has the bigger appetite."

As I left the room, I felt her gaze following me, piercing, calculating. Then, just as I closed the door, she stopped me.

"There's someone important who wants to meet you; that was the purpose of my visit."

"Oh really?" I asked, curious. "Judging by the way you're telling me, it's not Magneto. Is he aware?" "What are you up to?"

"Don't play dumb," she said with a laugh. "Everyone in our community has their own agenda. We're collaborators, not subordinates. You have yours too. And I intend to find it out."

---

The Hellfire Club was a curiosity in itself, a place that seemed to come from another time. The air was heavy with wealth, power, and ambitions carefully concealed beneath impeccable smiles. The dim light of the crystal chandeliers caressed the dark woodwork of the walls, reflecting the brilliance of champagne glasses and the jewels adorning the fingers of its members. Every detail – from the button-tufted leather armchairs to the subtle scent of cigar mixed with expensive perfume – seemed designed to remind one that this place was reserved for an elite.

The hushed silence was broken by discreet murmurs, conversations laden with stakes that no one dared raise above a certain volume. This was not a place of celebration or innocent pleasure. It was a social arena, where every word, every gesture, every look was a weapon.

I took a moment to observe, arms crossed, a slight smirk on my lips. This world, I only knew from afar. In my previous life, I had never set foot in a place like this. I had been an ordinary man, a cog in the machine of an ordinary life, with bills to pay, a lackluster job, and dreams that had eroded with time. What governed my world then was routine and necessity.

Here, everything was different. It wasn't money that was the real currency, but raw, pure power. A game of dominance that I now understood, but that, at one time, would have completely escaped me. In St. Louis, before everything changed, I had seen people playing ego games, but they were just amateur amusements compared to what was happening here.

At the Hellfire Club, ambition was worn like armor, manipulation like a second nature. Those who were there did not live in the same world as me, not even in the world of mere mortals. They reigned. Or at least, that's what they thought.

A waiter passed by me, a silver tray laden with sparkling glasses. I took one distractedly, letting my fingers caress the icy crystal of the glass. I wondered if, in this new environment, I could adapt or if my nature would eventually betray my intentions.

But as I leaned against one of the massive pillars of the room, one thing struck me. It wasn't the luxury or the excess that bothered me. It was the emptiness. Everything here was just a facade, ego battles masking deeper insecurities. They considered themselves powerful, but I saw people terrified at the idea of losing what they had built (their looks towards me were far from subtle).

In this club that glorified ambition and power, I felt strangely detached. Neither superior nor inferior. Just… different. A part of me wondered what I could learn from this world, while another wondered: was I here to observe, or had I already become a...player without realizing it?

While I was lost in thought, Sebastian Shaw approached, his demeanor calm and full of assurance. In his impeccable three-piece suit, he looked like the very image of a man who never doubted his place in the world.

"Jonathan, I'm delighted to see you here," he said, shaking my hand. "Few people have this privilege, even fewer whose mere presence redefines the dynamics around them."

I raised an eyebrow and offered him a polite smile. "A privilege, you say?" I suppose that's a compliment. But you didn't invite me here out of mere courtesy, did you?

Shaw chuckled softly, in a calculating tone, and added, "Of course not. I appreciate your perspicacity. You are unique, Jonathan. A raw, unexplored force, but not without subtlety. That kind of potential attracts attention… mine in particular."

"And what do you seek to gain from this attention?" You know, I've never been comfortable with compliments, especially those that hide expectations.

As we walked, he invited me to sit down, his gaze lighting up with a mixture of fascination and ambition. "I'm talking about opportunities. Magneto would see you as a pawn in a war against humans. I see you as a partner. Imagine what we could accomplish together, without being constrained by outdated ideologies."

I took a sip of my whiskey, letting his words hang in the air before replying. "I'm not sure I quite grasp what you mean by 'partner.' In this kind of arrangement, there's always an imbalance, isn't there?"

"Not necessarily," Shaw replied, his voice smooth but firm. "I'm not looking to control you, Jonathan. I want to offer you a place worthy of who you are. You don't need to limit yourself. With me, you could reach heights that even you don't yet imagine."

I set down my glass, thinking for a moment. "You speak well, Shaw, and I recognize that there's sense in what you say. But I'm not sure I'm ready to align myself with anything just yet. There are too many things I don't yet understand in this world… and about myself."

He tilted his head slightly, as if he expected this answer. "That's a reasonable response, and I respect your caution. But think about it: everyone here wants something from you. I offer you the opportunity to choose your own path, with the resources necessary to succeed."

I stood up slowly, giving him a slight but sincere smile. "Your offer is interesting, and I don't dismiss it. But for now, I'm here to observe and understand. Thank you for the invitation, Shaw. I'm sure we'll meet again."

His smile remained fixed, but I could sense a hint of disappointment in his gaze. "Take all the time you need, Jonathan. Big decisions require reflection… but they also have their deadlines."

As the evening was in full swing, I thought it best to go home. I had a lot to think about. I had just crossed an invisible threshold. Shaw had his plans, Selene too, just like Magneto. But I wasn't ready to be part of their game yet. Not before I knew what the real rules were. And had a head start.

But the probability that they were behind the attack on St. Louis seemed unlikely to me.