The first time he saw Mallory on the battlefield, she was at the very edge of it, looking vulnerable and harmless. He’d actually made the mistake of ignoring her, summoning a fireball meant for Myrtle Snow instead. But then in the blink of an eye, his fireball suddenly went wild, as if somebody had yanked Myrtle to the left. Of course she’s a goddamned speedster. He’d bared his teeth furiously, looking for that stupid, tiny, waif, but she’d disappeared.
But now? Now he’s waiting for her. He sends fire billowing out towards some innocent civilian filming on a cell phone, and when Mallory speeds them out of the way he catches her, freezes her feet so she goes down hard.
“Run,” he hisses, enjoying the taste of the threat on his tongue, and the civilian doesn’t have to be told twice.
He stands over her, blocking out the sun. “Hello, Mallory.”
He can see her trying to generate enough friction to break free, but with her feet in that block of ice, it’s not working. He crouches down to brush her hair away from her face, like a good villain, and she fights a shiver at his touch.
“Is this where you ask me to join the dark side?” she asks, and his laugh is deceptively light. “Who would I have to play with then?”
To tell the truth, Michael doesn’t care about Fiona’s mutants are the master species bullshit. And he hasn’t bought into her you’re my most valued lieutenant crap, unlike Madison. No, Michael’s here because taking over the world is fun.
And hey, if that includes watching Mallory’s bones freeze over and snapping her into brittle pieces, well? Well, then’s just doing his duty to his species, after all.