"Don't do anything stupid, mortal~!" Apocalypse shouted, his voice laced with desperation as he stumbled away, scrambling through the air while being pursued by a massive aircraft.
"You think you can still run, Apocalypse?" Magneto's tone was cold, unwavering.
He hovered behind the plane, eyes sharp with focus. At this moment, he knew—Apocalypse was genuinely afraid.
And Magneto had lived long enough to understand one thing clearly: when your enemy fears something, you give them more of it.
With that, he poured even more effort into steering the aircraft, metal groaning under his control.
It was impressive, really.
Piloting a plane this size with only his magnetic powers, and still managing to match Apocalypse's erratic flight path?
That took serious skill. Even Ethan, watching from the side, had to admit—Magneto was a veteran, and a damn good one.
"You leave me no choice!" Apocalypse snapped, frustration and fury bubbling just beneath the surface.
His wild evasions weren't helping anymore. He was cornered—literally.
It got so ridiculous, he almost yelled, "Why are you still chasing me?!"
Then, in a moment of frantic resolve, Apocalypse pulled out a glowing blood-red orb from the folds of his armor.
He hesitated—just for a second. Then, his eyes hardened, and he crushed it in his hand.
Ethan felt it immediately. A ripple in the air. A flash of some ancient power.
"Everyone, brace yourselves!" he shouted, his voice sharp with warning.
But nothing happened.
Apocalypse blinked. He looked down at the crushed remains in disbelief. "No... No, no, no. This can't be right. Where are you? Have you all really vanished after 5000 years...?"
The silence was cruel. He had reached out to allies long gone, remnants of a forgotten age.
And now that he truly needed them—nothing.
Just the empty sky.
Apocalypse, one of the oldest and most feared mutants, felt something he hadn't in a long time: hopelessness.
That moment of hesitation cost him. Magneto had closed the distance.
"You're done, Apocalypse." Magneto's voice was calm but merciless as he drove the aircraft straight into his target.
There was a thunderous crash.
The plane collided with Apocalypse at full force, swallowing him in a shattering explosion of metal and energy.
But when the smoke cleared...
Apocalypse was still there. Bruised, sure. Embedded into the side of the plane, yes. But otherwise? Barely scratched.
"You LIED to me!" Apocalypse bellowed, rage boiling over. The orb was fake. The explosion didn't destroy him. There was still hope.
If this ship wasn't a threat anymore, then escape wasn't impossible. He didn't need old allies. He didn't need anyone.
And the first thing he saw when hope returned? Magneto.
That smug, manipulative mutant.
"You'll regret this, you deceitful little worm." Apocalypse's eyes glowed with vengeance.
He ripped himself from the wreckage, fury blazing in every movement as he launched himself straight at Magneto.
Magneto's eyes widened slightly. Apocalypse looked barely hurt, despite taking the full brunt of the crash.
But Erik wasn't new to this. Decades of battles—especially the endless chess game with Charles Xavier—had honed his instincts razor-sharp.
With a swift gesture, Magneto commanded the metal around them. Chunks of steel twisted like snakes, coiling around Apocalypse and locking him in place.
"You think this will hold me?" Apocalypse sneered, already channeling energy to break free.
But before he could tear the bindings apart—
A blinding red beam shot up from below.
BOOM!
Half the plane was obliterated. Apocalypse disappeared beneath a storm of debris and smoke.
The real reason Cyclops struggles to control his powers? It's not because he's weak—it's because the energy is just too strong.
His uncontrollable optic blasts are kind of like the Phoenix Force inside Jean Grey. Both are powerful beyond measure, and both come with a price.
Right now, Cyclops is firing at full force. His beams slice through buildings like they're made of butter.
Anyone who saw what he did at the Alkali Lake Hydropower Station knows—Scott Summers is not someone you want to face head-on.
And Apocalypse? He just took the full brunt of those beams. Even with his energy-absorbing ability, the sheer force slams into him like a freight train.
He needs a second—or two—to stabilize, to redirect all that raw power. But in battle, a second is everything.
Above him, Jean Grey descends from the sky, wreathed in flaming wings and radiating pure cosmic power.
The Phoenix has taken over.
With a deafening cry, she crashes into Apocalypse, her flames burning straight into him.
"AAAGH!" Apocalypse howled, the searing fire tearing through his defenses. Instinctively, he discharged the energy he absorbed from Cyclops in a chaotic blast to throw her off.
But it cost him. That last move drained what was left in him.
He had to get out—now. Another minute, and the X-Men would finish what they started.
But just as he began to move, Ethan appeared behind him.
"Sorry," Ethan said quietly. "You're out of time."
In a flash, Ethan reached out, his ability distorting the very air around him.
His hand gripped Apocalypse's throat, cutting off any chance of escape.
CRACK!
Apocalypse's neck snapped under the pressure. But Ethan didn't stop. He sent a follow-up kick that sent the ancient mutant flying.
Without hesitation, he grabbed what was left of the still-living body and dragged him to Professor X.
"Professor, he's all yours. Should be safe now."
Professor X nodded calmly. "Thank you, Ethan. Don't worry, I'll handle it."
Apocalypse might've been close to godhood—maybe even one step away—but he was wounded, tired, and mentally drained.
Even if psychic power wasn't his weakness, he was no match for Charles in this state.
"We need to move," Professor X said, his expression serious. "All this noise? Other factions are bound to show up any minute."
"Yeah, about that... our plane's totaled," Cyclops said, not even trying to sugarcoat it.
Charles smiled faintly. "Good or bad, does it really matter anymore?"
Then he turned to Magneto, who was just now landing nearby.
"Erik," he added with a smirk, "your piloting skills have definitely improved since last time."
Magneto gave him a long look. "..."
Meanwhile, far away across the Mediterranean, deep beneath an ancient Roman ruin, a different scene was playing out.
In a dark underground chamber, lit only by torchlight, a group of black-cloaked figures stood in reverent silence, gathered around a black statue.
Suddenly—CRACK!—a fracture split down the center of the statue. The crack widened, spreading fast until the whole thing burst apart.
From the rubble, a woman emerged.
She had jet-black hair and wore a long, dark robe. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she descended from the altar.
The room was dead silent—then erupted.
"It's her! The Moon Goddess has returned! She heard our sacrifice!" one of the black magicians cried, overwhelmed with joy.
"Goddess, please grant us strength!" another begged.
The woman's eyes cleared as she took them in. Her expression curled into a sharp, amused smile.
"Oh, you still crawl for power, do you?" she said softly.
"Goddess, we are your faithful servants," the one in front stammered. He tried to keep his voice steady. "Please... let us serve you."
"So eager," she said. "Then I'll give you exactly what you want."
As she finished speaking, the shadows at her feet stretched unnaturally, slithering across the stone floor and reaching out to the magicians like hungry vines.
At first, they cheered. Power surged through them. But then—
"Wait... what's happening?!"
Their joy turned to horror as the shadows pulled them under like quicksand.
"My Lady—no, please! Mercy! We are your slaves!"
They were gone before the last word left their lips.
The woman shook her head, disgusted. "Mortals never change. Always begging for power they don't understand."
Then, her gaze drifted south.
"That signal earlier... must've been Apocalypse. He woke up after five millennia and already got himself into trouble. Typical."
She gave a small, amused sigh. "And none of the others responded either? Hmph. Maybe they're all gone. No matter."
She stepped forward, a portal swirling open in front of her.
"After all these years, I think it's time I went home. Let's see what's left of the world."
With that, she vanished into the shimmering vortex.
In the underground laboratory of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Ethan paced restlessly in front of the door, glancing inside through the glass every few seconds.
Beyond that door, the sounds of Apocalypse's guttural roars echoed through the corridor — angry, pained, and defiant.
Sitting nearby, Magneto watched him with a knowing look.
He stood and gently patted Ethan on the shoulder.
"Relax," he said, half-smiling. "I've seen that look before. When you pour everything you have into something, it's hard not to get nervous at the finish line."
Ethan gave a small nod but didn't respond.
He couldn't stop worrying.
This wasn't just another mission — they had gambled everything on this risky procedure.
Magneto leaned back against the wall with a nostalgic sigh. "Back in my day, I'd cause chaos and leave Charles to clean up the mess. And he always did — with that annoyingly calm smile."
Just then, the lab lights flickered off with a soft ding, and the door slid open.
Dr. Hank McCoy — Beast — stepped out, still wearing his white coat, looking tired but satisfied.
"Doctor, how did it go?" Ethan was at his side in an instant.
"It went smoothly," Beast replied, adjusting his glasses. "Better than expected."
"And... everyone's okay?" Ethan asked, eyes darting past Hank toward the lab.
"They're fine. Tired, but safe. Apocalypse put up more resistance than we predicted, but with help from Professor X, Jean, and Emma Frost, we managed it."
He pushed the door fully open.
Inside, the trio of psychics looked drained but intact.
Jean sat catching her breath, Emma rubbed her temples, and Professor X rolled back from the console with a deep exhale.
No one underestimated the threat Apocalypse posed.
Even reduced to just a severed head, the danger was real.
After all, this was a guy whose bald head practically screamed "possible second form."
Caution was necessary.
In the movies, the professor had once been disintegrated by an unstable Jean, only to reappear later in Japan like nothing happened, telling Logan, "No time to explain, get in the car."
At this moment, Professor X called out, "Come in, everyone, it's time you see the results."
Ethan stepped into the lab and saw it: a cylindrical pod in the center, with Apocalypse's head suspended inside, wires and sensors threaded into his skull.
"This... this is what's left of him?" Ethan murmured.
A mechanical voice, cold and flat, echoed from the speaker overhead. "Apocalypse is what I was. If you wish to use that name, I won't resist."
Beast stepped beside Ethan. "Using the combined telepathic strength of Charles, Jean, and Emma, we wiped his mind clean — kept his memories, but removed all traces of his consciousness. Then I integrated his brain with the school's mainframe."
"So... we turned him into a mutant AI." Ethan nodded slowly. "Honestly, not a bad outcome."
"You can test him. Ask something." Hank gestured toward the console.
Ethan leaned closer. "Do you know the true origin of mutants?"
"I know part of it," the voice replied, calm and emotionless.
"Across the universe, there exists a race of ancient beings — godlike entities that transcend natural law. Millions of years ago, they came to Earth.
Through their experiments, they modified early humans, embedding a dormant gene that would activate under the right conditions. That gene is now known as the X-Gene."
Apocalypse paused, then continued.
"Over time, the carriers of this gene evolved rapidly, diverging from the rest of Homo erectus. The creators left behind two genetic templates. From these emerged two powerful offshoots: the Eternals and the Deviants."
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Word count: 1964
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