NOVEL WEB Chapter 8: Chapter 8: "Magnets and Blades"
Jake Carter—Masquerade—stood in the dusty attic, the faint creak of the city seeping through cracked walls, Rogue's untouchable warmth still lingering on his skin. Anna Marie's departing words—"X-Men'll come for you. I might too"—rang in his ears, her newfound freedom from their chaotic union a spark in his chest. The Mask pulsed in his hand, its grin dusted with attic grit, its voice a gleeful rasp: "Seven queens in your chaos, kid—Natasha, Wanda, Jean, Ororo, Raven, Carol, Anna. Each one's got your seed growing. Ready to face a king?"
Jake's breath caught, a mix of pride and pressure. Seven women—seven nights of raw, reality-bending passion—and the Mask's talk of "seeds" was a drumbeat now. He was rewriting the 616, a lineage of chaos-born power spreading like wildfire. He slapped the Mask on, green light flaring as his zoot suit spun into place, and grinned despite the storm brewing in his gut. "Guess I'm the green god of this mess," he muttered, stepping toward the window. The night outside pulsed—sirens, X-Men echoes—but a deeper rumble shook the air: metal groaning, magnetic waves rippling.
A figure rose from the street below, crimson cape billowing, helmet glinting under streetlights. Magneto, Erik Lehnsherr, hovered on a platform of twisted steel, his eyes cold and commanding. "You," he said, voice resonant with authority, "are a blight on this world. Your chaos corrupts—Storm, Jean, Rogue—all warped by your reckless power. I will end it." Metal tore free—lampposts, cars, rebar—swirling into a deadly storm around him.
Jake's eyes widened, the Mask cackling: "Oh, he's a big shot, kid. Magnetic chaos—let's dance." "Magneto?" he blurted, voice a mix of awe and defiance. "Metal master himself? Name's Masquerade, chaos king. Just shaking up this 616 game—saved Black Widow, danced with Wanda, burned with Jean, stormed with Ororo, twisted with Mystique, sparked with Carol, touched Rogue. You here to crush or chat?" The Mask's charisma pulsed, but Magneto's glare didn't waver, immune to its pull.
"Your anarchy threatens mutantkind," Magneto said, raising a hand. "I felt your power—raw, uncontrolled. It mocks order." Steel spears launched, and Jake dodged, body stretching like taffy, conjuring a giant magnet—cartoonishly oversized—to redirect the barrage. The attic shuddered, beams bending, and Magneto sneered, hurling a car that Jake punched back with a boxing glove the size of a fridge. "Order's overrated, old man," he quipped, leaping to the roof as the building groaned.
Before Magneto could crush him, a new streak cut the sky—green skin, black leather, a blade flashing. Gamora, Zen-Whoberi assassin, landed hard, her sword slicing through a steel beam aimed at Jake. "You're the chaos Loki's whining about," she said, voice cool and lethal, eyes sharp with curiosity. "The Guardians tracked it—disrupting cosmic balance. I'm here to see why." She spun, cutting another projectile, her form a deadly dance.
Jake's jaw dropped, the Mask purring: "Oh, she's a killer, kid. Cosmic chaos—snag her." "Gamora?" he blurted, voice dripping with hunger. "Galaxy's deadliest babe? Loving the entrance—Masquerade, at your service. You?" Her lips twitched, caught by his flair. "You're a fool," she said, stepping closer, "but your energy's… intriguing." Her blade rested near his throat, testing, and the Mask pushed back, green tendrils clashing with her cosmic edge.
Magneto roared, "Enough!" Metal swirled tighter, a cage forming, but Jake stretched, grabbing Gamora and dodging into an alley as the attic collapsed. "Stick with me, blade girl," he grinned, the Mask's pull slamming into her. Her breath hitched, sword lowering. "You're mad," she murmured, a mix of scorn and want, as Magneto's shadow loomed.
Minutes later, they were in a derelict garage nearby—oil stains, rusted tools, city rumble muffled. Gamora shoved Jake against a workbench, her strength honed by galaxies, hands tearing his suit open. "You're a lunatic," she growled, but her lips crashed into his, fierce and biting, tasting of blood and stars. His shirt hit the floor, and he yanked her leather down, revealing green skin and curves carved by combat. Her breath hitched as his hands roamed—up her spine, gripping her hips—nails digging in as she pressed against him, deadly and alive.
"Lunacy's my charm, green goddess," he rasped, lifting her. Her legs locked around him, thighs flexing with assassin's power, and they crashed onto a hood, metal denting. She tore his pants free, and he peeled her suit off fully, baring her—scars crisscrossed her skin, a map of battles won. His mouth found her neck, her breasts, tracing the warmth until she moaned, a sound sharp and unguarded. When he entered her—slow, then deep—her cry was raw, sword clattering as chaos sparked with her cosmic edge.
The Mask flared, sharpening every pulse—the heat of her core, the rhythm of her gasps, the slick friction as she moved with him, fierce and relentless. The garage warped—tools levitating, walls bending—as she rode him, hair wild, eyes blazing emerald. Her climax hit like a blade's strike, shaking the frame, and he followed, spilling into her with a rush that made the Mask roar, green sparks melding with her green. A seed took root, chaos and cosmic lethality entwined, and they collapsed, sweat-slick and panting, her weight atop him a sharp anchor.
Gamora traced a scar on his chest, her smirk faint but real. "You're a storm, Masquerade. Too wild for the stars." "Storms need a blade," he grinned, savoring her heat. She rose, leather snapping back, tossing him a look—half-warning, half-hunger. "The Guardians will hear of this. So will I." She vanished into the night, leaving him with the Mask, its voice smug: "Eight down, kid. The galaxy's trembling."
Jake stood, the garage quiet, Magneto's metal storm fading. Gamora's edge, Rogue's touch, Carol's radiance, Mystique's fluidity, Storm's storm, Jean's fire, Wanda's magic, Natasha's steel—the 616 was splintering under his chaos. Magneto vowed war, SHIELD hunted, and cosmic eyes turned his way. He slapped the Mask back on, grinning wide. "Let's cut deeper."