Heading north from New York, past Hartford and Albany, they would soon reach Canada. There were vast stretches of uninhabited wilderness and mountains here, where no one would disturb them.
Azazel had already found the best vantage point. In this nameless valley, he had picked out a basalt column with a flat top, rising high above the ground. From there, he could just make out two figures in the distant mountains.
Sebastian Shaw wasn't in any hurry. He rose slowly, brushed the dirt from his refined silver-gray suit, and said, "Sir, I still prefer the atmosphere we had when we sat down and talked earlier. We're both members of a small group living among billions of people. If our ideas don't quite align, I believe we can resolve that through communication."
James continued looking down at Shaw, his long hair whipping in the wind. Faint, blood-red streams of energy swirled around him.
The white shirt he had been wearing had been torn to shreds by the turbulent Gang Qi swirling around him. His black combat trousers and boots, on the other hand, had been custom-made from high-resistance materials developed by the Howlett Institute, designed to withstand as much damage as possible from the energy radiating off his body.
"I've spent all these years steadily increasing my strength, building this family and power, so that when I don't feel like talking, I can simply show my claws."
Bang, bang, bang—BOOM!
The blood-red flames around James roared one after another. Bone Blades and Shield Spikes instantly sprouted from his arms, and his biological energy scraped against the air, sparking and crackling around him.
During the brief time they had spent racing here, Shaw had constantly wondered what kind of mutant power this "young man"—who still couldn't be bothered to tell him his