The plane landed at Dublin Airport. The moment the cabin door opened, a cold wind mixed with the scent of the sea sliced through like a blade, making Angel Salvadore, dressed in only a thin jacket, shiver violently.
She instinctively hugged her arms, her fingertips icy cold. She hated this damp, bone-chilling cold—and even more, she hated her lack of control over her own fate. Like luggage, she was being carried from one place to another by a mysterious man she had known for less than a day.
But she had no choice. The Hellfire Club wouldn't let her go. And the man named Hang was the only thing keeping her afloat.
Hang picked up his simple luggage and walked out of the cabin expressionlessly, as if he didn't feel the biting cold at all.
Angel hurried to keep up, staring at his steady back, her emotions a tangled mess. This man was powerful enough to crush the Black King with ease—yet as cold and distant as eternal ice.
The taxi left the airport. The driver, a friendly bearded man, asked in a thick accent where they were headed.
"City center. Just stop anywhere," Hang replied concisely.
Outside the window, rolling green fields and distant castle silhouettes sped past.
Hang closed his eyes. His immense mental power spread out like a silent tide, instantly enveloping all of Dublin.
Hundreds of thousands of consciousness points flickered in his mind. He filtered them at incredible speed, discarding ordinary human signals and searching precisely for that abnormal, powerful energy source.
Angel watched nervously, barely daring to breathe. She had seen Hang fight—but never experienced this kind of unfathomable detection ability up close. Her awe deepened.
In less than three minutes, Hang opened his eyes, calm as ever.
"Found them?" Angel whispered.
"Mm." His gaze shifted toward a direction outside. "By the River Liffey. A bar called Song of Neptune."
Angel didn't ask more. She was getting used to his style—lock target, act immediately, no explanations.
The taxi stopped on an old cobblestone street downtown. Hang paid, and the two walked side by side.
The air smelled of hops, grilled meat, and damp stone. The bar's sign—a hand-painted golden trident—looked worn under the gray sky.
Hang pushed open the heavy wooden door. Heat, smoke, and whiskey fumes rushed out.
Behind the bar, a red-haired young man in his twenties was wiping glasses, calm amid the noise.
That was him. Hang had already locked onto him mentally.
He walked straight over. Angel hesitated, then followed and sat beside him.
The young man looked up, green eyes sharp with caution, lingering on Hang. "What'll it be?"
"Whiskey."
"…Cola," Angel added softly.
The young man—Sean Cassidy—poured their drinks, speaking casually, "You're not from around here."
"Passing through," Hang replied, meeting his gaze. "Looking for someone."
"Who?"
"A mutant who thinks hiding at the edge of the world will change what he is."
Sean froze. His pupils shrank. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Charles Xavier knows you're here. So does the Hellfire Club," Hang said calmly. "But they're not your biggest problem."
At the mention of Hellfire, Sean's face went pale. "Come with me."
They moved into a storage room filled with barrels. The door shut.
"Who are you?" Sean demanded. "What do you mean they're not the biggest threat?"
"The Hellfire Club are wolves drawn by blood," Hang said coldly. "The real hunters are the ones with guns and laws. They're sharpening their knives—ready to cage mutants like you, or dissect you."
Sean fell silent, chilled to the bone.
"How do you know this?"
"I just pulled her out of Hellfire's hands." Hang gestured to Angel.
"Sebastian Shaw showed up himself," Angel added. "He got beaten like a child."
Sean's face drained further.
"What do I do?" he growled. "Go to Xavier's school? Live like a pet?"
"I've been there—" Angel started.
"Then why didn't you stay?" Sean shot back.
She fell silent.
"You have two choices," Hang cut in. "Go to Xavier's school and hope it protects you. Or come with me—and learn to become the hunter."
Sean stared at him. "Prove it."
Hang raised his hand.
A crushing mental force pierced Sean's mind—not an attack, but absolute domination.
Sean collapsed, trembling, unable to control even his thoughts.
"Stop…" he begged weakly.
Hang withdrew.
Sean gasped, drenched in sweat, looking at Hang like a god—or a demon.
"That's… your power?"
"Just a fraction."
Silence.
Finally, Sean stood.
"If I go with you… can I really get stronger?"
"I can teach control. Strength depends on you."
Sean closed his eyes, then opened them—resolve replacing fear.
"I'll go. But I want to see Xavier first."
"Fine. Now show me your ability."
---
Before dawn, they arrived at an abandoned dock by the River Liffey.
Sean took a breath—then opened his mouth.
A shockwave burst out.
A rusted metal lamp post ten meters away cracked—then exploded into fragments.
Angel winced, covering her ears. Hang stood unmoved, shielded by a thin mental barrier.
"That's my power," Sean said, pale. "Attack… and flight. But I can't control it well."
"Flight?" Angel asked.
Sean nodded, emitting a different frequency. He lifted into the air—
Then lost control and crashed hard, blood at his lips.
"Told you," he muttered.
Hang stepped forward. "Open your mouth."
Sean hesitated, then complied.
Hang's mental power scanned his mutated vocal cords.
[Ability: Sonic Manipulation]
[Rank: B]
[Description: Generates high- or low-frequency sound waves for destruction, vibration, or propulsion.]
B-rank.
Hang thought briefly of Black Bolt, whose voice could shatter mountains.
Compared to that—this was crude.
Not worth a copy.
His decision was instant.
He withdrew his mental power, already thinking ahead—to Apocalypse, whose power was far more valuable.
"Your issue is unstable output and poor frequency control," Hang said casually. "I'll teach you a mental method to assist with control."
He looked eastward, as if seeing a distant desert pyramid.
"But first—we go back to America. After meeting Xavier, I have something more important to do."
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