The blue-skinned mutant tensed as Kurogai Alexander Blackwood strode toward him. The man's mismatched eyes glimmered faintly in the light, drawing the kind of cautious respect that came from a reputation alone. Nightcrawler didn't know exactly who Kurogai was—but the wary glances Storm and the others had thrown him moments ago were enough to confirm he was no ordinary mutant.
"Something wrong?" Nightcrawler asked, his tone polite but guarded.
Kurogai stopped a few feet away, a faint smirk on his lips. "Nothing you need to worry about. I'm not here to hurt you." His gaze sharpened. "But I want your blood."
Storm's head snapped toward him from the front passenger seat, her voice cutting sharp. "Kurogai, don't push this!"
He met her eyes with a calm, almost lazy glance. "I'm not forcing him. That's my version of being polite."
Her jaw tightened. Years ago, she and the X-Men had seen him do this—harvest mutant blood for reasons he never fully explained. They had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that he'd given up the practice. Seeing him revert to it now made her uneasy.
"This isn't necessary," she pressed.
"It is for me," he replied evenly. "I need it to refine my abilities. I'm asking instead of taking. That's generosity, by my standards."
Storm's words faltered. She hated to admit it, but he was right—Kurogai rarely asked for permission. That he was doing so now was… unsettling in its own way.
Turning back to Nightcrawler, Kurogai tilted his head slightly. "So. Your decision?"
The teleporting mutant shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward Storm for support. He considered simply bamf-ing away, but the thought barely formed before Kurogai's hand clamped down on his shoulder like an iron vise. His muscles locked up, and the world seemed to slow.
"I—" Nightcrawler swallowed hard. "Fine. Take it."
"Smart man."
A slim blade appeared in Kurogai's hand, the steel gleaming as he made a quick, precise cut across Nightcrawler's forearm. Blue blood welled up, and Kurogai collected it in a small vial. The wound closed almost instantly, his own energy sealing it before the mutant could even flinch.
The moment the blood touched his vial, Kurogai felt it—the surge, the subtle hum of alien energy intertwining with his own. In his mind, the voice of the Eye stirred.
Third ocular ring at saturation. Upgrade available. Initiate?
A grin spread across his face. Saturation… now? Perfect.
He hadn't expected this. For months, maybe years, he had been convinced his third ocular ring had plateaued. But in hindsight, it made sense—since the last upgrade, he'd taken samples from Magneto, Sabretooth, Mystique, Rogue, and half a dozen other mutants. Nightcrawler's unique teleportation gene was the final piece.
"Do it," he ordered silently.
Warm energy bloomed behind his eyes, flowing like molten gold through his optic nerves. His eyelids fluttered closed as the transformation settled in—a sensation both intimate and overpowering.
When he opened his eyes again, they burned with a crimson, kaleidoscopic glow, the shifting fractals of his Enhanced Ocular prowess twisting in patterns almost too complex to follow. After a few seconds, the glow receded, his mismatched irises returning to their usual dual-color state.
He didn't need to test the new ability to know exactly what it was.
Susanoo.
The name echoed in his mind like an old legend, but in his case, it wasn't chakra or mysticism—it was the Eye's way of projecting an armored, energy-based avatar, woven from pure psionic resonance and hardened light. The manifestation could grow to colossal size, shield him from attacks, and channel his other abilities with devastating amplification.
In the wrong hands, it could level a cities. In his, it could end wars.
The Eye supplied further details: energy constructs shaped by the wielder's mind; weapons forged from concentrated photonic-matter; aerial mobility through psionic wing structures; seamless integration with his mutation-enhanced combat skills. And, unlike the original prototype ability from its alien source design, there would be no blindness or physical decay. His body could handle it.
Kurogai's lips curled in quiet satisfaction. "Finally."
Storm caught the look and frowned. "Whatever you just did… I have a feeling I'm not going to like it."
He only shrugged. "You'll like it fine when it's saving your life."
He glanced at his palm, briefly envisioning the towering construct his mind was already shaping—a black-armored giant with sweeping, blade-like wings and a weapon no one alive had ever seen before.
Different users would manifest it differently; his would be unlike anything the X-Men or their enemies had faced.
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