Marvelous Meditations #58

Omega Red’s boots crunched through the snow, his long, heavy strides carving a path through the frozen wasteland. The biting wind howled around him, but Arkady Gregorivich Rossovich hardly noticed.

His crimson eyes were fixed on the military base nestled ahead, the dull floodlights casting long shadows against the walls. His lips curled into a savage grin, his breath misting in the frigid air.

Ever since he’d clawed his way out of the dirt, one thought had consumed him—one obsession that drove him forward through blood and ruin: the Carbonadium Synthesizer. The key to stabilizing his condition. Without it, the carbonadium coursing through his veins slowly poisoned him, forcing him to feed—to drain the life from others just to keep himself from rotting alive.

And while Arkady had no qualms about killing, he preferred it as a sport rather than a necessity.

The moment he came into view of the fortress, the wail of alarms split through the night. The stationed guards, who had been patrolling near the entrance, froze for only a moment before retreating inside, scrambling to seal the reinforced doors.

Arkady’s grin widened. Ah, the smell of fear... He inhaled deeply, reveling in it. No finer tonic for a battered soul.

His coils slithered to life, hissing against the cold air, poised to strike. The nearest fleeing guard—so close, so vulnerable—would do nicely to quench his hunger. The moment his tendrils shot forward, however, they jerked to an abrupt stop.

His grin faltered.

The coils quivered, straining against an unseen force, as if shackled in mid-air. Confusion flickered in Arkady’s expression before his gaze snapped upward.

A figure hovered above the base, silhouetted by the pale floodlights—red hair whipping in the storm winds, emerald-green eyes burning with focus. She wore a tight green and yellow bodysuit, the unmistakable X across her chest marking her allegiance. Her right hand was outstretched, fingers curled with invisible force.

Arkady’s eyes narrowed. His voice, low and guttural, carried over the howling winds.

"A mutant…"

Jean Grey looked down at him, her expression calm but resolute. Power shimmered around her like heat off pavement.

"Things won’t go your way this time," she declared, her voice firm, unwavering. "These people are under my protection."

Arkady’s expression twisted into a scowl, his crimson eyes narrowing as he growled through gritted teeth, "American…" The word dripped with contempt.

Without hesitation, he unleashed his Death Factor. A sickly red mist burst from his body, the airborne spores spreading in all directions like a malignant fog. The air itself seemed to pulse with their toxic presence, a slow, creeping death made manifest. He’d show this damned American mutant why she had no business interfering with him.

But before Arkady could relish the impending suffering of his enemies, a voice—mocking, unfazed—echoed through the snowy air.

"Nice try, pal, but no cigar."

At the same moment, a piercing chill ran down his spine—an unnatural cold that made even the Russian winter seem mild in comparison. The air grew thinner, sharper, lethal. Arkady’s breath misted in front of him in thick, unnatural clouds, and when he glanced down, his frown deepened.

Ice had begun to form on his hands, creeping up his arms like a living thing. More alarmingly, his deadly spores—his most potent weapon—froze midair. Instead of drifting like a deathly fog, they crystallized, brittle and useless, before dropping to the snow below, locked in deep cryostasis.

His gaze snapped upward, scanning for the source of the sudden drop in temperature.

A streak of ice carved through the air above him, a sculpted figure of frozen elegance riding its crest. Encased in a thick layer of translucent ice, Bobby Drake—better known as Iceman—grinned down at him. He looped around in effortless arcs, a frozen specter weaving through the storm.

Arkady's mind clicked into place. His eyes flicked toward the military base, then back at the mutants before him. The alarms. The guards retreating inside. The perfectly timed ambush.

He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, the amusement clear in his tone.

"A trap, is it?" He tilted his head, his lips peeling back into a grin that showed too many teeth. "So be it, little comrades… I shall enjoy making you suffer."

Without warning, he lunged forward, his massive frame moving with startling speed. The ground trembled under his charge as he broke into a full sprint, his muscles coiling like a predator locked onto its prey.

His target? Jean Grey.

He had no patience for mind games. If he could get close enough, he’d rip her out of the sky and send her crashing into the snow, where she’d be at his mercy. Then he’d deal with the other one.

Or so Arkady thought.

Just as he was about to close half the distance to Jean, a cloud of deep purple smoke exploded into existence with a sharp, unmistakable BAMF! The acrid scent of sulfur burned his nostrils, and before him, two figures emerged from the swirling mist.

One was a petite young woman with short brown hair, her expression calm yet resolute. The other, looming just behind her, had the unmistakable silhouette of a demon. Golden eyes gleamed from his dark, furred face, a prehensile tail swaying behind him.

Before Arkady could fully process the sudden intrusion, the devilish figure gave him a knowing smirk—a taunt wrapped in a dare. Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he vanished into another burst of purple smoke, disappearing with another sharp BAMF! leaving only the lingering scent of brimstone.

The girl remained.

Arkady’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her, puzzled by her presence. She didn't flee. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she shifted her stance, lowering her center of gravity.

Her feet glided effortlessly over the snow, carving subtle lines into the frost as she widened her stance. One hand curled behind her back while the other extended forward—open-palmed, steady, inviting.

It wasn’t just defiance.

It was a challenge.

Arkady’s confusion turned to disbelief. Then rage.

This slip of a girl had the audacity to stand in his way? To square up against him as if she were his equal?

A slow, predatory grin stretched across his face.

“Bold,” he rumbled, his deep voice laced with dark amusement. “And foolish.”

He changed targets instantly, his massive frame pivoting toward her as he charged. His right arm swung—a brutal, skull-crushing arc meant to end this farce in one blow.

But Kitty Pryde was ready.

At the very last second, her hand flicked out, striking his wrist with just enough precision to shift its trajectory. His fist, once set to obliterate her face, now whistled past harmlessly.

Arkady’s eyes widened slightly in surprise—but only for an instant.

She was already moving. Her feet barely touched the snow, moving like a ghost. Twisting. Pivoting. Rotating.

Kitty weaved around Arkady with effortless grace, her movements precise and deliberate. Too deliberate. She wasn’t panicked. She wasn’t scrambling. She was trying to get behind him.

Arkady’s fury only deepened.

His lips curled back into a sneer, his sharp teeth flashing. A mere child was mocking him. Toying with him.

The vein in his forehead throbbed as his voice boomed, filled with disdain.

“You are a gnat toying with a hurricane.”

With raw, monstrous power, Arkady twisted, his massive fist rocketing toward her torso, intent on obliterating her in one strike.

It connected— except it didn’t.

His hand passed through her body as if she wasn’t even there.

Arkady’s snarl faltered for the briefest second, his mind scrambling to process the impossibility before him.

A trick? A hallucination?

In that instant of hesitation, Kitty had already finished her maneuver.

Before he could react, both of her gloved hands pressed firmly against his back—open-palmed, precise.

Then came the electricity.

Bright tendrils of white-hot current exploded from her hands, cascading through his body like a raging storm. The charge hit his cybernetic enhancements first, causing violent spasms as his internal systems overloaded.

His vision flared white.

His muscles locked.

His lungs seized as arcs of electricity crawled over his metallic coils.

Then, he screamed.

A deep, raw howl of agony ripped from his throat, echoing across the snow-covered battlefield. Steam hissed off his skin as his cybernetics crackled and short-circuited, sending erratic jolts of power through his veins.

But his suffering wasn’t over.

Because before he could even attempt to recover, another sharp BAMF! split the air.

The acrid scent of sulfur flooded his nose once again.

And in a fresh swirl of violet smoke, the demon returned.

Kurt Wagner.

But this time, he wasn’t alone.

Standing beside him was a young woman with wild brown hair streaked with a stark white lock.

Her grip was firm around the two gleaming battle axes in her hands—each one thrumming with a dangerous, crackling blue energy.

Rogue.

Arkady barely had time to process before her fierce green eyes locked onto him.

She rolled her shoulders, adjusting her stance, then tilted her head at him with a smirk.

"Now that just ain't fair, sugar," she drawled, tapping one of the glowing axes against her palm. "But then again... neither are you."

Arkady’s hateful glare burned into Rogue, his blood-red eyes seething with fury.

But she wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

She had already made up her mind.

With a sharp breath, Rogue adjusted her stance, shifting her grip on the axes. Then, with superhuman strength, she raised both weapons high above her head and brought them down in a vicious arc.

The moment the glowing edges struck, Omega Red’s coils were severed at the base.

A new scream tore from his throat—raw, guttural, agonized.

The sound of metallic tendrils clattering onto the frozen ground echoed across the battlefield.

His coils weren’t just weapons. They were part of him. Nerve endings, veins, muscle.

Losing them was no different than losing a limb.

The pain was unbearable.

Still, Arkady was no stranger to suffering.

His rage burned through the pain like an unholy fire, and his survival instincts screamed at him to act.

He wouldn’t fall here.

Not to some children.

With a defiant snarl, Arkady forced himself forward, ignoring the searing agony pulsing through his body.

Then, he raised both arms high above his head—massive, monstrous, dripping with raw power.

And he brought them down.

The impact was thunderous.

The earth beneath him cracked open as a violent shockwave rippled outward.

Snow exploded into the air in a blinding white cloud, thick as smoke.

Vision became near impossible.

And Arkady grinned.

This was his chance.

Despite his injuries, he was still a warrior, still a predator, and still dangerous.

This battle was lost unless he evened the odds. He needed a hostage.

Quickly, his mind sorted through the possibilities. Jean Grey? Too powerful. Iceman? Too mobile. Nightcrawler? Untouchable. Kitty? Intangible.

But Rogue...

She was the perfect target.

She was tough, but grounded. Strong, but tangible. And most importantly, she was in the thick of the fight.

If he could get his hands on her, he could turn this battle in his favor.

His heightened senses kicked in.

Through the blinding haze of swirling snow, he listened. He smelled. He felt.

And then, he found her.

A shadow in the storm, standing exactly where he expected.

His lips curled into a savage grin. With the speed of a striking viper, Omega Red lunged.

As Arkady closed in, his smirk twisted into something truly wicked.

He could already see it in his mind’s eye— Rogue, struggling, gasping as his iron grip closed around her dainty little throat.

He’d squeeze just hard enough to make her friends hesitate, to make them falter. Then, with her life in his hands, he’d dictate the terms.

They would step back, they would let him leave, and once he was at a safe distance?

Snap.

Her body would crumple to the ground, lifeless. By the time the others rushed to her side, Arkady would be long gone, hidden away in some dark corner of the world, licking his wounds.

His injuries were severe, yes. But his healing factor was not just for show.

In time, he would recover, a nd once he was whole again, he would hunt them down.

One. By. One.

Not just them.

Their families. Their friends. Anyone who had the misfortune of standing by their side.

He would end them all.

But then—

Something was wrong. A sudden, faint red glow pulsed from Rogue’s left arm, cutting through the swirling snow and smoke like a warning beacon.

Arkady’s eyes widened. "What—?"

His instincts screamed at him to halt, to retreat, to rethink.

But it was too late.

The moment he reached for Rogue, a familiar BAMF! rang out.

A dense cloud of purple smoke erupted behind her, its sickly-sweet scent of sulfur burning his nostrils.

Then—that cursed demon again.

Nightcrawler appeared, one hand resting lazily on Rogue’s shoulder, a smug grin on his face.

Rogue smirked up at Arkady, her green eyes glinting with amusement. Then, with a wink, she and Kurt vanished in a swirl of violet mist.

Leaving Arkady alone.

As the snow settled around him, an unfamiliar sensation clawed its way up his spine.

It wasn’t just anger.

It was rage.

A slow, seething, burning rage.

Whoever had set this up had been thorough. They hadn’t just planned for his tactics, They had studied him, anticipated his every move.

And they had executed their counters perfectly, trapping him like a caged beast.

What Arkady didn’t know, what he couldn’t have possibly anticipated, was that his plan had been doomed from the start.

Not because of their strategy, not because of their teamwork, but because of Rogue herself.

Even if he had grabbed her—even if he had wrapped his fingers around her throat—His plan would have failed the moment he made contact because his mutant power would have become hers.

His life force, his very essence, his suffering—she would have taken it all.

And that was a risk no one was willing to take.

That was why Nathan had chosen this method of execution.

They hadn’t just outplayed him.

They looked down on him and rejected his very being in the worst way possible.