AN: Omega and Bun-Bun are not mine, Omega is Descendant's and Bun-Bun is property of the owner of "Sluggy Freelance" (whom I have forgotten the name of). Banon, Sona, and Kyoushi are not mine either, the first belongs to Firebane5, and the last two belong to Inkaholic, who, incidentally, are the winners of my "OC Fighters" contest! Congratulations guys!

Chapter 36: Tournament of the Black Tear Arc: Gathering The Players

The early morning was silent, save for the soft sound of grass shifting underfoot. Not even the birds were awake in the early gray of the pre-dawn. Inside the Institute, most slept, peacefully or otherwise. Outside though, one member of the extended family that was made up of the X-Men and New Mutants pushed himself to his mental and physical limits.

So slowly that he seemed almost to be frozen in time, Shawn brought his bo around into a defensive stance. Still going at less than a snail's pace, he disconnected the two three foot segments, bringing them into an offensive strike position. Each movement was done with the same deliberate sluggishness, every move, every twitch, ingraining itself into muscle memory.

From the strike position, Shawn flowed into one stance after another, fluidly, flawlessly; and at such a slow pace that he practically quivered with the urge to explode into a frenzy of motion. But he controlled himself, his breathing slow and measured, almost bringing his heartbeat below normal levels as he continued the exercise. Eventually he stopped, bringing the bo back together and into the first defensive stance, a light sheen of sweat covering his bare chest and forehead. The sun was just peeking over the horizon as he scooped up his shirt from the ground, pulling it over his head as he snuck back inside.

He never saw the brown wolf creep out of the underbrush, nor did he see it turn into a wide-eyed girl.

Rahne shook her head, still trying to get the image of the martial artist she had just seen practicing, with the one of Shawn in the DR. But they wouldn't click.

Because the one in the DR didn't have scars…

Inside, Shawn shook himself like a dog as he came out of the shower, idly rubbing his hair dry. He stood before the mirror for a moment; another towel wrapped around his waist, and studied his reflection. Rust colored eyes gazed back at him from a face which still showed hints of his Roman heritage, despite the generations between him and Bahumut. His hair stuck up at odd angles from the abuse the towel had put it through, and he idly noted it was about time for a haircut. Rubbing at his chin and feeling rough patches under his palm, he hmmm'd. "Maybe it's time to start shaving too."

His gaze traveled down, taking in the various scars on his body. Here, a stab wound; there, a broken bottle had barely missed his kidney. Even as he looked at the scars, he focused his mind. Slowly the skin rippled, before appearing as unblemished as always, a few minor marks that wouldn't draw undue attention the only things left of the patchwork that had covered his body.

One of the first things he'd found about his powers was that his skin "healed" itself to a state of near perfection just before he transformed; scars and wounds disappearing in preparation for the growth of healthy scales. The wounds remained gone after he transformed back, but any scars he'd had beforehand remained when he relaxed his hold on the pre-transformation state.

In DBZ terms, he'd been walking around powered up, but not quite Super Saiyin, even before arriving at the Institute. Bahumut held the power levels steady when Shawn slept, or when he let his concentration shift to something else. It was something of a drain on his stamina reserves, but he'd adjusted to it.

Bahumut appeared beside him, hovering in miniature form mid-air. Shawn glanced at him, interrupting his chain of thought. "Kid, you really should stop hiding those things. I mean, transforming your skin partially is all well and good, but you need to trust the guys not to get freaked." Shawn shook his head.

"It's not that easy. I know they're my friends, and I know I can trust them for the most part, but I don't want them to be scared of me." Bahumut chuckled,

"Between Logan and Dante I think you don't have much to worry about kid." Shawn frowned.

"That's the problem right there. I'm a kid like them, not a half-demon or a never-aging amnesiac ex-super soldier." He grimaced. "God, that sounds like something out of a bad comic book."

Bahumut patted his descendant on the shoulder. "Sorry kid, no one said life's easy, but hey, that's part of what makes living so interesting."

Shawn shrugged. "Maybe. Well, better get some food and then go see the Professor. I need to clear it for the others to go with me."

---

Later

---

Shawn rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to quell the blazing headache he had. He was sitting in the Professor's study, opposite the Professor. Flanking the man were Logan, Dr. McCoy, and Ororo. None of them looked happy.

"Shawn, I know that this whole thing means a lot to you, but try to understand, I cannot allow you or any of the other students to go to this tournament. It would be irresponsible of me to let you walk into such a dangerous place." Shawn looked the Professor square in the eye.

"Two words. Danger. Room."

"That is a controlled environment meant to test and improve your control of your powers. Not a gathering of vicious murdering cutthroats," Storm snapped. This debate had been going on for almost an hour, with Shawn refusing to back down. Add his blatant disrespect for the Professor just now and well…

Bahumut appeared next to Shawn; sword casually slung over one shoulder. "Watch it 'Ro. Tom's one of those "vicious murdering cutthroats", along with several people that probably have more honor by themselves than a whole platoon of Boy Scouts does collectively." His tone was friendly, but his eyes were narrowed in warning. "Not to mention that several of them have not only helped raise the kid here, but have protected the boy when some of Tom's more ruthless enemies tried to get at him through Shawn."

The Professor opened his mouth to say something, but Bahumut kept on going. "Look Xavier, this is not something that's optional. Not only is the good name of the Dragonfire dojo and its entire school of fighting at stake here, but Shawn's life is on the line. If he fails to show up with an entourage as specified by that scroll, he will be killed, and there will be nothing you can do to stop the Shinigami clan from doing it; or him, as the case may be." Logan snarled at the spirit, but Bahumut was on a roll. "If you couldn't detect one of their low ranking delivery boys, what makes you think you'd be able to protect him from one of their Elite? And trust me, they would send their best to take him out, if only as a way of showing respect to his teacher."

Xavier sighed. He may have been eloquent and a good debater, but Bahumut had about a thousand or so more years on him in the experience department, and he knew what he was talking about, while Xavier didn't have the firsthand knowledge needed to make a good counter argument.

"Look at it this way Chuck, the only ones going are volunteers, they get an exposure to different cultures since this thing has people from all over the world coming, and they get to see some of the greatest fighters on earth in action. Maybe they'll pick up some moves."

"But the danger," Beast began.

"Hank, you're more than qualified to go as a chaperone and guardian, as are Scott and Jean. Logan's been banned for obvious reasons, and the Professor's been barred to keep him from trying to turn it into some sort of political thing. Storm… well I don't know why she was on the blacklist, but they don't ban people from the tournament without a good reason. Besides, not only will Tom be there, but I guarantee Coyote will be too, along with Sebastian's sensei, whoever he might be. I'd suggest Dante go, but he pulled a Logan and left on some sort of training trip this morning."

Xavier sighed. "All valid points, and ones I'm afraid I'm not equipped to argue." He tented his hands and gazed at Shawn over them. "Very well, I will allow you to go to this tournament, and to take a group, a small group mind you, of students with you." Shawn raised a fist in victory, but was brought up short by the Professor's next words.

"However, should this prove to be as dangerous as I think it is, I will have no choice but to forbid you from participating in such events so long as you are a student of the Institute." Shawn's teeth bared in a snarl, but Bahumut laid a hand on his shoulder, giving the teen a warning look, before turning cool eyes on the Professor.

"Fair enough, Charles." Xavier winced internally. He'd just made a grave error in judging how much authority he actually had with the boy, and both his and Bahumut's reactions showed that he'd lost a more than a bit of trust with his ultimatum just now. Sometimes he hated the fact that he couldn't read the martial artist's mind, it would have made it so much easier to control the conversation and force the outcome in his favor. He hated having to do it when he did, but it was for the student's own good after all…

Shawn pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. "These are the people I'd like to ask to go." He smoothed the paper a little, before handing it to the Professor. Logan eyed the list over Xavier's shoulder, while Hank and Ororo waited for him to finish. Xavier's eyebrow shot up when he reached about mid-way down the list.

"Why do you want Jamie to go?"

"An attempt to widen his social circle you could say. If Jamie goes with us it's guaranteed he's going to meet someone his own age who's probably just as lonely as he is. At the least he'll get a pen-pal, and at best we might be able to arrange play dates or something so they could hang out together, and just be little kids."

Ororo nodded, pushing aside her irritation with the younger mutant. "It does sound like a good idea Charles. Jamie has been acting a little withdrawn lately, and he only seems to come out of this funk when he's playing with that raptor Jon gave him." Hank spoke up then.

"I think it's because the two seem to be about the same age, mentally speaking. I did a few tests to see how intelligent Razor is, and the results indicated that he experienced an intensely rapid growth in intelligence the first few weeks, but it's slowed to that of a normal human's mental development. It's almost as if he was trying to keep pace with the person he's closest to."

Shawn shrugged, throwing his two cents in. "When it come to Hack and programming I wouldn't count anything as too out there." Charles nodded, conceding the point, before finishing skimming over the surprisingly short list, which he handed to Hank. The doctor read through it, lifting one shaggy brow at the end as he passed it to Storm.

"I notice you left out most of the New Mutants and original X-Men. May I enquire as to why?"

Shawn frowned a little. "The people on the list are those that I consider either mature enough, or simply smart enough to go to the Tournament and not come back missing a limb because of something stupid." Storm looked up.

"That explains Rogue, but what's the reason you put Tabitha down on the list?"

"She may act like she really doesn't care, but judging by her pick-pocketing skills; she knows enough to tell when a mark is too dangerous. And with Rick there to keep an eye on her, she should be able to keep herself under some sort of control."

Xavier leaned back in his chair, and nodded. "Very well, ask them, and I'll speak to Jean and Scott about going as chaperones with Dr. McCoy, should he agree to go."

"I'm all for it Charles. It would be fascinating to see what types of abilities non-mutant fighters have perfected, especially if they allow them to go toe-to-toe with mutants on an even playing field."

Shawn smiled mentally as he and Bahumut high-fived in the Nexus. "Very well played kid, we set em up, and then cut their legs out from under them. I may make a negotiator of you yet."

"Just call me Roger Smith."

"Does that make me Big O, or Dorothy?" Smaug asked sarcastically from his cave mouth. "After all, it seems that Bahumut's got Norman down pat." Shawn chuckled.

"I see you've been looking though my memories."

"Just trying to catch up on missed times. Sebastian really is an anime freak, isn't he?"

"The correct terminology I believe… is Uber-Otaku."

There was a moment of silence while Smaug and Shawn stared at Bahumut, who grinned widely, before all three burst out laughing. But in the back of their collective minds they knew that this tournament was anything but a laughing matter. The Triad was coming back together, true, but Shawn knew that each of them had changed, though how much was yet to be truly determined.

What Shawn did know was this; they would present a seamlessly united front to whatever adversaries and adventures came at them. No matter what had happened in the time since they had last bid each other good-bye, they were still brothers in spirit.

They were still brothers in blood.

---

The Hood House

---

The entire Brotherhood was gathered in the living room for what Coyote jokingly called a "council of war". Lance held his chin cupped in one hand as he surveyed the room.

Todd was sticking to the wall, as was his wont nowadays, lamp-like eyes going over the assemblage in much the same manner as Lance, thought his gaze tended to linger on Wanda quite a bit longer than necessary. The black-haired girl in question was leafing through a magazine, seemingly uninterested in what went on in the meeting. But there was the slightest tinge of red at the back of her neck.

And since nothing was floating around the room one would assume that she wasn't angry, but that she was acutely aware of the attentions of a certain amphibian. Lance looked over at Freddy who was vainly trying to hide a wide grin, and they shared a quiet chuckle. The large boy had become much more observant than most of the other Brotherhood, seeing important things before others and breaking them down analytically to see how best to manage a given situation. This was due to all the tactical scenarios Coyote gave to the boys as they meditated, which he had picked up on surprisingly fast, showing quite a tactical mind under that mohawk. He was reclined on the sagging sofa, a small (for him) sandwich in one hand

Next to the Texan, Jon was sprawled out on the floor, an arm around his girlfriend's waist as the two of them just enjoyed the other's companionship while they waited for the meeting to get underway. Lance smiled to himself. The two had fit into the Hood far better than he had thought at first, with Jon teaching Todd about computers and information systems, and in turn the klepto demonstrated the best techniques for picking a pocket.

The two had amassed quite the collection of driver's licenses and credit cards, all made out in the names of a Mr. Matthews and a Mr. Kelly, in the one and a half weeks since Jon had shown up.

Sharon was still very withdrawn, but she'd taken a shine to Raven, Wanda and, surprisingly, Freddy. Whenever Pietro drew near her she seemed to get very twitchy, unless Jon was in the room. Coyote, Todd, and himself she seemed to respect, but also seemed to be wary of them for some reason.

Over in a corner, Pietro mumbled to himself as he fumbled with a Rubik's cube. It was a special one that Coyote had given the speedster, with a built in mechanism that locked the cube in place for a full five minutes after each rotation if at least two of the rows on the grid weren't aligned correctly, barring the first ten rotations after its activation. The man had called it an exercise in patience and logic. After the first half hour Pietro had called it several things best left unsaid in polite company. Still, Lance was surprised to note that the speedster had persisted, instead of throwing a tantrum as usual.

Speaking of Coyote, the enigmatic man was perched on the arm of the chair Lance was in, tottering from side to side as he scribbled in a cross-word puzzle. He was an addict it seemed, something Lance would have never suspected of the man. Raven sat patiently in a chair that Jon had crafted, a bright green eyesore that was surprisingly comfortable. But it was only a temporary fix until they could get a couple more chairs, or another sofa or something to solve their current seating problem. Lance shook off thoughts of furniture as Coyote suddenly stood up, tucking the battered crossword book into his pocket, and pulling out a small scroll with the same hand.

"Okay people, listen. I called this meeting because we've got to make some plans. As you already know, Hack's been summoned to fight in an underground martial arts tournament alongside the other representatives of his dojo. He's supposed to take an entourage of people with him, and I figure you guys could use a road trip since you've all progressed so far with your training in such a short time." He smiled at the teens before him, which was hesitantly returned by most of them, with the exception of Jon, who grinned wholeheartedly. "However," the tentative grins faded.

"However," Coyote repeated, "I'm afraid not everyone will be going." He cast an apologetic glance at Wanda and Sharon. The girls shot up in indignation.

"Why not!" Wanda demanded harshly. Raven laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder, but it was thrown off harshly. Several small items began to rise into the air around the room. Sharon bristled as well. Coyote gave them another apologetic look.

"Because girls, the Shinigami have blacklisted you. Wanda, I'm afraid they didn't believe me when I told them you could control your temper (yes, they know about your powers), and now I see that they were right. If you can't control yourself when this kind of news is delivered, then taking you with us would be literal suicide. There will be people there that would jump on the chance to kill a mutant at the slightest excuse. They'd bait you, and then, at the slightest sign of you using your powers against them, run you through, shoot you, or worse."

Wanda shuddered at this information, each word like a blow. When Coyote finished, she was pale-faced and subdued. Todd dropped down from the ceiling, and strode over, placing a supporting arm around the black haired girl's shoulders. For a moment Wanda seemed to take comfort from the gesture, before realizing that there were people present. She shrugged off the arm, and hissed a half-hearted, "don't touch me" at the boy, falling back on her old manner. Todd drooped at the backslide, but then shrugged it off much like Wanda had just shrugged off his arm. Lance gave a fraction of a smile, you had to admire Todd's resiliency.

"Why doesn't Catseye get to go though?" Sharon muttered, looking a bit put off by the brutally direct way Coyote had defused the situation. Coyote cleared his throat delicately.

"Um yes, well your situation is a bit more… political. What it boils down to though, is that the Shinigami doesn't want the Hellfire club," Jon scowled thunderously at the mention of the organization, "pissed off at them for hosting an…escapee, so to speak."

"So they're afraid of the Hellfire Club?" Jon spat. Coyote shook his head.

"No, it's just that the members of the Council think that having to track down and kill all the members is more of a hassle than its worth to them at this point in time." He gave Jon a shrug at the teen's look of disgust. "Don't get me wrong kid, more than a few of the Council members hate the Hellfire organization just as much or even more than you do, for various reasons. They just can't afford to take them out right now because the majority's worried about the fallout from such an act, such as the final fates of all of the students of the Massachusetts Academy, not to mention they're not prepared to fill the vacancy in the underworld's power structure quite yet. Until issues like that are resolved, they can't move against the Club."

"Anyway, getting back on track. Girls, Raven's going to be staying behind as well; so I'll be able to sleep marginally better knowing you're keeping her under contr-OW!" Decoy got up and picked up a shoe off the floor, returning it to Raven with minimum drool.

"Thank you," she deadpanned, giving her brother a glare that promised whole new worlds of pain, "for those delightfully tactful explanations of why the girls aren't going." Coyote shrugged.

"Meh, that's why you're here sis, to cover my tail when I bungle the emotional stuff and stick my foot in my mouth. And…" Raven glared at him, "…I'm gonna shut up now…"

Lance shook his head. Sometimes the similarities between Raven and Coyote's relationship and Pietro and Wanda's were scary beyond belief.

"Okay, we've established the girls and I won't be going with you. You boys will, of course, make sure that the house is clean before you leave, right?" The boys and Coyote all winced, and nodded rapidly. If there was one thing that Raven hated, it was being treated like a servant.

Fred raised his hand. "I guess that makes tomorrow clean-up day?" he asked glumly. Sharon got up and patted his shoulder.

"Don't worry Freddy, Catseye and the girls will help. Won't we?" This last was directed at Raven and Wanda, who both nodded.

"It's only fair after all," Raven agreed.

Coyote clapped his hands together. "Good, now that that's settled we've got three days to get the house cleaned, stock up on food and stuff, and anything else that needs done before we leave." As the rest of the Brotherhood began to move off in different directions Sharon and Jon stood, but otherwise stayed where they were.

"Catseye doesn't like this Jon-jon. Who'll protect you if Catseye not there?" Jon chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend.

"What'd I ever do to deserve you?" he fondly whispered into her hair. Sharon just burrowed deeper into his embrace. "It'll be okay Cat. The other guys from the Triad'll be there watching my back. And don't forget, the 'Hood and Coyote'll be there too, along with O'Reily-sensei." He chuckled. "Honestly, if anyone does try to attack us I feel sorry for them." Sharon didn't reply, content to bask in the comfort her boyfriend provided and trust in him and his friends.

What the two teens didn't know was that Coyote and Raven had lingered outside the doorway and had heard the entire conversation. Coyote glanced at his sister, their bond ringing with shared concern.

'I don't like this Big Sister, she's still very fragile emotionally. Separating her from the one person she feels truly safe with…'

Raven shook her head and gestured for her brother to follow her as she walked towards the stairs. 'I know you worry about these children Little Brother, but I honestly believe this will help Sharon and Wanda both. Both have been betrayed by their "family",' her mental voice made the word sound like a horrible disease and Coyote had to repress a shudder at the thought of what his sister would do to Magneto and Frost if she ever got her talons on them; 'And both have someone who's willing to do whatever it takes to help them and who they care for in return, though getting Wanda to admit that is as probable as Big Brother Wolf taking up ballet.'

Coyote cocked a brow even as he began picking up various articles that had been left on the small landing by the teen occupants of the house. 'Now there is a disturbing image.' Raven giggled a little at the mental image her brother sent her, before getting serious. 'The point is that I think Wanda can help bring Sharon out of this shell of hers, get her to show a bit more spirit. She has animal instincts on top of her human ones, and they sense that Lance and Todd have the potential to be extremely powerful and dangerous, and seem to know that you are somehow. I hate to see her cringe like she does whenever you three walk into the room.'

Back in the living room, Jon continued to hold Sharon, still not one hundred percent sure that this wasn't a dream, and he'd wake up to the sight of a mind-controlled Catseye preparing to tear his throat out, Frost's triumphant smirk in the background. He shook himself mentally to get that image out of his head, and placed a light kiss on Sharon's temple. She was safe, and away from Frost. With Raven, Scratch and Wanda here while he was gone, she would remain that way.

He'd always been the one in the background back home, while Sebastian and Shawn flirted outrageously, and now that he'd found a girl that he loved, and who seemed to return that love, he was going to make sure that no one threatened her ever again. Idly, he wondered what the others would say about his protectiveness.

---

Morlock Tunnels, The Alley

---

Sebastian crossed his arms in front of him, a grim look of finality on his face. "Forget it Spyke, there is no way in all the hells that I'm taking Feral with us. That crazy bitch'll try to kill someone! This tournament is not for the psychopathic!"

"At least not psychopathic spectators," Shippo muttered under his breath.

The demon/mutant hybrid and his kitsune teacher were sitting in one of the corners in the Alley with Spyke and Calisto, trying to decide who was going to go with the two to the Tournament. Spyke had already been decided, so they only needed three more, since Shippo was technically part of Sebastian's "entourage". Both Morlock leaders had been tossing out names of some of the fiercest fighters in the Morlocks, and each and every one had been shot down in flames by the dog-eared teen. Shippo was content to sit back and let his charge handle things for the most part, but he was swiftly getting annoyed with their lack of progress. He cracked one eye from where he was lying against the wall and glared at Calisto.

"Look, we're getting nowhere. Instead of just tossing out random berserkers for Sebastian to shoot down, why don't you try listening to what the boy thinks would make an acceptable teammate, because let's face it, they're going to need to be able to work well together, even if it's outside of battle, to prevent an incident." Calisto nodded slowly, while Spyke folded his arms like a petulant child.

Sebastian closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened his eyes again, looking significantly calmer. "Alright, he sighed, "here's what we need. We need people who won't fly off the handle, who won't immediately assume every curious glance is a death threat, and that every question is loaded with the intent of finding out how to wipe out mutants."

"Well that eliminates everyone on my list," Spyke grunted in a semi-joking manner. Sebastian ignored him.

"We need people that will keep their mouth's shut, and know how to bow out of a situation gracefully, who don't really look all that intimidating, but are powerful enough to get some respect." Calisto raised a brow.

"It sounds like you've already got someone in mind." Sebastian nodded.

"Thorn, Capybara, and Lizard-lips are the three that best fit those criteria out of the Morlocks I've talked to." One of his ears flicked off to one side, and he cast a sidelong glance at Shippo. Through the fox never looked at his student, he inclined his head slightly, as if about to nod off, before two of his tails shot out from under him and into a shadowed crevice in the wall. There was a squawk of surprise from the hole in the wall, before the appendages gently extracted a sheepish looking Exo and a pouting Torpid from their hiding place. The girl had her over-sized arms crossed in front of her, and was shooting an "I-told-you-so" glare at Exo, who looked like he was halfway to transforming into a clockwork mouse just to get out of this situation.

Shippo deposited the two directly in front of Spyke and Calisto, who were giving the two children disapproving looks. "What were you two doing back there?" Spyke growled, unconsciously imitating Logan. Exo and Torpid both gulped, before the young boy visibly gathered his courage.

"We wanted to go too, but we knew you wouldn't let us. So we were going to find out where you're all going, and then follow you there." Shippo raised a brow and smiled.

"Sneaky, cunning, and semi-well planned. There's an almost fox-like bend to your mental processes Exo." He shared a look with Sebastian, before looking the two children over with an appraising eye. "You both could be useful, especially if we needed an ace in the hole, so to speak. And you do fit the requirements we're looking for…" Sebastian was nodding at the suggestion from his sensei, but both Calisto and Spyke looked incredulous, and furious.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Calisto thundered. Torpid and Exo both cringed fearfully, and she lowered her voice to a reasonable level. Not that she planned on being reasonable about this.

"I refuse to allow two children to go with you on this trip, it's bad enough that three Morlocks are getting dragged into this whole thing as it is, and I refuse to let anyone else get pulled in after you while I'm responsible for their safety!" Sebastian and Shippo both adopted hurt looks.

"So what you're saying…" Sebastian began.

"Is that you don't trust us as far as you can throw us," Shippo finished. Calisto nodded harshly.

"And even less so when the safety of children is brought into the equation," she confirmed. She glared at Shippo. "Especially since you proposed that completely suicidal scheme of yours." Sebastian threw a questioning look at his sensei, but the fox merely motioned for him to be patient, before tucking both hands behind his back and leaning against the wall. Sebastian nodded and settled back, he trusted his sensei enough to expect an explanation sometime later, if not in the immediate future.

Shippo sighed in defeat. "Fine then, we'll play it your way. Are there any objections to asking Thorn, Capybara and Lizard-lips to go then?" Calisto sighed and held her forehead, waving the fox away with her other hand.

"Yes, yes, ask them already, just go!" Shippo nodded and rose sinuously, Sebastian mirroring the fox's motions. As Shippo passed Exo, he seemed to stumble over a crack in the cement, catching himself, but not before gently bumping into the young boy.

"Sorry about that Exo," the kitsune apologized, ruffling the boy's hair. Exo scowled and jerked out from under the clawed hand. He hated having his hair touched. As he raised one hand to smooth the tousled locks, he realized that the fox had slipped something into his other hand. It was flat and hard and slightly warm, possibly a small rock. Exo absently ran a thumb over its surface even as he finished flattening his hair. There seemed to be something etched into it too. Beckoning discreetly to Torpid, he turned and ran off down one of the safe side tunnels. Glancing down at the rock, he saw that it had a place and time etched into it. The gears began to turn in Exo's juvenile mind, and a smirk crawled across his face. He and Torpid were going to show Spyke and Calisto how useful they could be, whether they wanted to see or not…

---

England

---

A flash of light on bone followed a sizzle of purple energy, before the 'clunk' of a blocked strike sounded through the air. A young woman leapt back, tossing her long purple hair even as she readied the blade of same-colored energy that sprang from her hand to strike again. She giggled a little at her opponent, a distinct British accent coloring her words. "Well luv, you've certainly improved. Must be all the… exercise you've been getting," she said slyly, the innuendo plain to hear. She yelped as a tendril of prehensile bone grazed her shapely bottom, the tip bending back against itself to pinch, effectively goosing her. She swatted at the tentacle, but it was gone before she connected.

Across from her a handsome young man smiled roguishly. "Of course I've gotten better, Bets, with such an excellent sparring partner." Four tentacles of white bone lashed through the air from his arms, but the young woman, Elizabeth "Betsy" Braddock, nimbly maneuvered through them towards her opponent, body-guard (not that she needed one mind you), and boy-friend/lover, Michael "Mike" Nagrite, whom she had met on a trip to America two years prior and hired as her bodyguard in order to bring him back with her to England. She turned a cartwheel, and launched herself at him, tackling him to the floor and straddling his stomach.

She leaned over him, holding the knife of psychic energy to his throat, and purred in his ear. "Got you now." Mike just grinned at her, before his bone tentacles looped around her upper torso and shins, pinning her arms and legs together. He hefted her off him, and leered at her as she squirmed.

"Who's got who?" he grinned, the tips of his tentacles beginning to tickle her. She began to squirm even more, laughing loudly.

"Let me go you bloody idiot!" she screeched. He grinned even wider, before dropping her into his waiting arms.

"Have a nice flight?" he quipped, before dropping a small kiss on her lips. She smiled and leaned in for another, but the distinct sound of a cell ring tone caught their attention. Betsy squirmed around a little in Mike's arms, before producing the offending electronic item. She glanced at the number, on the verge of turning the thing off, then did a double take. She gave Mike an apologetic look.

"Sorry luv, but I've got to take this." So saying, she flipped it open. "Hi daddy."

Betsy's father's voice was a low drone over the phone, and even though Mike was holding Betsy pressed against him, he couldn't make out exactly what he was saying. But Betsy's expression told him that whatever it was, was surprising, to her at least. "I don't know daddy, it is pretty short notice…" More droning. "Oh, alright daddy." This time the droning had a wry sound to it. Betsy colored slightly. "Yes daddy, we'll behave. Okay, love you too."

Mike raised a brow as Betsy hung up. "Well…?" Betsy gave him a bright smile, the one she used to convince him to act as the pack-mule during a shopping trip. Not a good sign.

"What do you think the weather in New York is like this time of year?" She was using a casual tone of voice that carried a hint of sugar, her best "you're not gonna like this to much, but we're doing it anyway" voice.

'I feel a sudden urge to say no coming on… aw crap, puppy dog eyes.' He sighed. "So when do we leave?"

---

Cincinnati, Ohio

---

In one of the grungier parts of Cincinnati, a small office building stood on a corner, a weathered sign bearing a symbol made up of three B's inside an O, under which was what looked like a rabbit's version of the Jolly Rodger's skull and cross-bones, the rabbit skull wearing a green beret. The building was given a wide berth, many of the drug dealers and crack fiends that scoured this particular area going to extreme lengths to avoid it. Whatever business this was, the people that ran it were enough to scare a strung-out crack fiend looking for something to steal for quick cash off.

Inside, a tiny shadow sat reading a scroll, while three figures played cards. One of the figures, a whip-thin man with a goatee and a hat that looked like a mixture of a fedora and a ranchers hat pushed back on his head, looked carefully at his opponent's faces, his mismatched eyes, one hazel, the other green; gleaming. Two cross-draw holsters were draped over the back of his chair, with a dark grey duster lying over them. A large black fox lay at his feet, paws twitching as it ran in its sleep. "Got any threes?" he asked the player on his left.

"Go fish," the man grunted. He was a solidly built man of mid-height, with blonde hair and dark blue eyes. He seemed normal enough; muscular, with a farmers tan; except that from the elbows down both arms seemed to be composed of some sort of metal that moved as fluidly as real flesh. A small tendril of the stuff detached from somewhere around his wrist, and absently rearranged the cards in his hand, before being re-absorbed. He locked eyes with the final player. "Well cuz, you got any kings?"

The third player grumbled good naturedly as he passed a card over to his cousin. He was the strangest looking one out of the trio, and at first glance one could even mistake him for a superhero! A dull rocky hide covered him from head to toe, making him an almost exact likeness of the muscle of the team known as the Fantastic Four, the ever-loving blue-eyed Thing, aka Ben Grim.

However a second look debunked that theory. While the Thing was known for being a bright orange in color, this man was light beige. The breaks between the plates that now made up his skin seemed to be filled with some sort of sand, though none fell out of the grooves that contained the substance. He also had a thick head of black hair that was held back in a short pony-tail, brown eyes looking out at the world from under the fringes. He was dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, and two small silver knobs stuck out of the back of his jacket through holes that had been made for them. He also had semi-normal looking hands, although his fingertips were as thick as a newborn child's wrist and as rock-hard as the rest of him.

Suddenly a small throat cleared itself, and all three players stood up at attention, cards forgotten as the tiny shadow sitting at the heavy desk in the front of the room put down the scroll and looked them over, his voice tinted with slight a Brooklyn accent. "Alright you three, here's the game-plan. Since the Shinigami blacklisted me to keep their own hides intact, you three are gonna go and represent at the Tournament, and try to scare up some fresh business. Remember our policy; anything short of genocide is open to consideration. And if any more of those FOH grassroots nuts show up…" the figure whipped out a switchblade with a menacing "ka-klick", "Deal with them. Got it?"

All three saluted crisply, "Yessir Bun-bun!"

The mini-lop rabbit standing on his hind legs on the desk nodded, before twirling and throwing his knife straight at a picture of a symbol that seemed to consist simply of three capital letters, F,O, and H, hitting the O dead center. "I may be a merciless bastard, but even I draw the line at the wholesale slaughter of kids," he growled to himself, flexing his strangely hand-like paws as if he wanted to latch his claws into someone's throat. The "Friends" Of Humanity had better not show its racist little face, or else Bun-bun's Black Ops would tear it off and feed it to them.

---

New York, New York

---

Peter Parker slid into his room, wincing as he tugged on a wound across his stomach. He'd interrupted a B&E in progress, and one of them had had a gun. His Spider sense had warned him just before the shooter fired, but he'd been fighting in a narrow alley, and jumping or webbing up would have gotten him shot someplace worse than his head. So he'd opted for the next best choice, arching his body backwards to let the bullet pass over him.

Unfortunately he hadn't arched quite far enough, and the bullet had grazed his stomach, drawing a line of fire across his abs. Luckily the stunt had managed to stun the shooter long enough for him to web the gun out of his hands and lay an old fashioned Spidey-Smackdown on him. The crook was currently hanging with his buds in front of the police station. He examined the rip in his suit, before groaning quietly and chucking it into his closet, making sure that it was covered well. Wouldn't want Aunt May to find it if she got into a cleaning mood after all.

As he crashed into bed Peter glanced over at the calendar on his wall. The third day from now was marked with a large red circle and a note to pack extra film. He'd also marked it mentally for bringing his spare costume and plenty of web cartridges, especially after what JJ had told Robbie and him. Mutants he didn't really have a concise opinion on, though the more he heard the more he sympathized with most of them; although some of the extremist nutjobs reminded him of some of his own foes. Magneto especially reminded him of the Kingpin; not quite so massive, but equally manipulative and ruthless.

Mercenaries and other types of fighters however… Well JJ had said he trusted this friend that would be escorting them implicitly, but Peter wasn't so sure… He shrugged mentally since he was to tired to do the motion. He'd just have to be extra careful. Besides, JJ had mentioned something about a mandatory truce…

---

Hoboken, New Jersey

---

Three teens sat around a small chemical stove in an abandoned lot. One of them was dressed in a dark green button-down shirt with a golden leaf pattern on it, left open over a black t-shirt with a green and black yin-yang on the front, with baggy khaki cargo shorts and white and green sneakers. A pair of dark green tinted sunglasses were perched on his head above a pair of forest green eyes. His hair was black, short and messy, though two bangs had been allowed to grow out to frame his face, and dyed an emerald green. The firelight glinted off of two small silver rings in his left earlobe. Two swords lay beside him as he roasted a hotdog on a small branch he'd stripped of bark.

Across from him another boy dozed, hands behind his head. He wore a white headband, which was currently pulled down to cover his eyes as he snored. His wild black hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, which bushed out comically behind his head as he lay on it. He wore a black martial arts gi trimmed in white, with both sleeves ripped off, along with pants of the same scheme that were tied with a white cloth belt. He mumbled in his sleep and turned on his side, exposing the Japanese character "aku" on his back. A pair of hard white martial arts slippers were lying about a foot away where he'd kicked them off, a pile of white athletic tape almost covering them. The tape had been on his arms, if the difference in skin color from his elbows down was any indication. He was laying down on a large canvas-wrapped object. It was almost six feet long and slightly surfboard shaped, with a long hilt sticking out of the broader end.

The final member of the party sat outside the ring of light cast by the small stove, reading a scroll identical to the ones received by all other participants in the Tournament of the Black Tear. He was dressed in a black hoodie and baggy camouflage pants. The hood was down, displaying mussed short black hair, and a pair of haunted blue eyes, which were scanning the piece of paper in his hands. Beside him was an open black backpack, which had a small cooler sticking out of it along with a pair of metal studded leather gauntlets.

Absently he reached into the cooler and pulled out what looked like a packet of fruit punch. But the biohazard sticker and thickness of the fluid revealed it to be something a bit more morbid. He idly stuck a small length of tubing into the packet and stuck the other end, which had a needle, into his arm after the air had drained from the tube. All this was done with an air of long practice, not even wincing as the needle pierced skin. He gave a sigh of relief as he held the blood packet up and let it slowly drain into him. As it emptied his skin, which had been slightly pale, began to turn a darker tint, until it was lightly tanned.

The teen by the stove spoke, not taking his eyes off his hotdog. "Feeling better, Banon?" Banon grunted as he withdrew the needle from his arm, the hole in his flesh closing almost immediately. His voice was slightly raspy, as if from disuse as he answered the campfire chef. "I was getting…"Hungry"; and I didn't want to force you and Sona to corral me again by ignoring it, Kyoushi."

The teen with the hotdog, Kyoushi, chuckled. "Very thoughtful of you Banon." There was a moment of silence and then, "What do you think of this tournament. Apparently my parents were involved in it somehow, and now I'm expected to take their place. You and Sano would make a good entourage I think…" Banon finished the other boy's sentence.

"And we might find someone with either a clue about your parents, or a lead to a cure for my… condition." Kyoushi smiled brightly.

"Bingo!"

Banon shrugged. "Eh, not like the last lead did us any good. Those Friends of Humanity nuts were more interested in exterminating us because they thought we were mutants." He fingered the area where the needle had been just moments ago. "Not that they were too far off in my case," he muttered. An empty can smacked into the back of his head courtesy of the formerly sleeping Sona. The headband had been moved back up to his forehead, showing that his hazel eyes were open and glaring at the morose teen.

"Would you quit telling yourself you're some sort of monster already Banon! So you got caught by Morbius and he infected you with his symptoms when he bled on an open wound. Not your fault! You've already left everything and everyone you know just to keep them safe, so stop blaming yourself for the way you are! Me an' Kyoushi found ya and we kept ya from hurtin anyone when you went a little to long without blood. We're gonna stick with ya and try to help ya, so stop with the "I'm a monster" routine, 'cause all it does is piss me the hell off!" Sona sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "And now I need a cigarette." He fixed the other boy with a hard stare.

"Listen, you're a damn good fighter, and you're a good guy at heart. And while you hang with me and Mr. happy-pants split-soul we've got your back, Capiche?" Banon nodded warily, slightly afraid of what the volatile Sona would do next to convince him to stop the well deserved (in his opinion) self loathing sessions he engaged in from time to time. But the teen merely snorted and began to dig in his pockets, before producing a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a battered Zippo, and proceeding to light up. Banon sighed and turned his eyes back towards the darkness. It was his turn for watch after all.

Tomorrow they'd head for the designated meeting place. Though why in the world a ninja had delivered a scroll telling them to go to a scrap yard in New York was beyond him. He sighed again. "Just another day in the comedy of errors that's become my life," he whispered.

---

Location Unknown

---

The FOH representative scowled into his beer as he waited at the designated stool in the bar that served as the rendezvous point. He hated this. He hated working with people who were just as much of a bunch of freaks as mutants. Even more so, in that they had chosen to be freaks! Their arrogance disgusted him, and even though he was a low man on the ladder in the scheme of things, he knew that the "alliance" between the group and the FOH wouldn't last longer than needed. And when it dissolved… he chuckled under his breath, even as he noticed the sheet of parchment under his mug. He pocketed it and paid his tab, cursing all ninja under as he left.

---

All over the world fighters prepared themselves for the confrontation that would come, while wealthy men and women in the know began to place obscene bets on the final outcome, while in the shadows players moved their pieces, setting the stage for a grand battle.

The Tournament of the Black Tear would take place in three days, and it would be like no Tournament before…

---

To Be continued…

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AN: Surprise, I'm still alive! I know it's been a while, and I really am sorry for the wait, but the Navy's been a pain. Let's just say that standing watches sucks, and leave it at that. Next time, Tom returns to the Institute, bringing along some new, and not so new, faces. The final rosters of who goes and who stays is locked in stone, but whose' to say that everyone will abide by it? And what happens when the Triad finally reunites? Find out next time, but until the Read & Review!