The reunion with his dead daughter hit Magneto from every direction at once.
Meanwhile, far away, after Ernst had drawn Wonder Woman off, the two of them tore across hundreds of miles in a high-speed chase before finally pulling up in an empty stretch of desert.
"Why didn't you run? Are you hoping to beg on your knees, trade your dignity for your life?" Wonder Woman halted, eyes full of killing intent.
"I'm curious where the confidence comes from. But it doesn't matter. We settle it with strength; the bigger fist decides the truth." Ernst produced a stunning golden knife.
"Exactly what I wanted. This time I'll teach you a lesson, and show you what despair feels like."
Wonder Woman pulled the shield off her back, gripping it in her left hand, sword in her right.
Ernst chuckled. He kept the knife low and behind him with his left hand and brought his sword up to meet hers with his right.
Steel met steel. He twisted and pulled, turning her blade aside, and in the opening stabbed for her shoulder.
She flipped back through the air, opening distance, slipping the blade clean, and landing balanced.
When Ernst slashed again, something odd happened.
She seemed to read the strike before it came, bringing her sword across to block exactly where he aimed.
'Chance?' Ernst's hand never paused.
He reversed the blade and cut from a new angle. Again, she was there ahead of it, blocking before the cut arrived.
Once could be luck. Twice was something else. Having stopped his sword, she took the moment to counter, and Ernst, no time to give ground, had to meet her head-on.
He turned her swordplay over in his mind, replaying it.
A realization formed, and with it an idea, one he only had to confirm.
On the next strike, he watched her eyes. The pattern held. She anticipated the attack, fixing on his shoulders, reading the line of the blade from there.
The style resembled old Chinese swordsmanship, he created.
Her command of it looked thin, but even so, it gave Ernst trouble.
Clang.
He struck the hilt of her sword and knocked it off line. He pulled back fast.
"Ah. There it is. You've been practicing Chinese swordsmanship. But who's your teacher? Didn't they tell you a style like this needs a matching level of skill underneath it? You're barely a beginner. Using it against me, aren't you afraid of being laughed at?"
The words landed. They echoed her old master's warning almost exactly. After their last meeting, after his magic, she'd gone looking and turned up an ancient Chinese fighting style.
The expert had tried to wave her off. She'd insisted. Cornered, he'd taught her, reluctantly.
At first, she'd beaten her fellow Amazons with it easily, leaning on it against those who didn't know better.
"No. It won't go like this. I'll beat you!" Rattled but unbending, she pressed her attack.
Ernst held his ground, parrying without effort.
"It's a wide gap," he remarked, almost idly.
"A duel between masters is a delicate thing. One small flaw and it's over. You think you'll take me down with half-learned swordwork? You're getting ahead of yourself."
He turned from defense to offense and cut with precision.
She blocked on instinct with the shield, but he adjusted, tapped lightly at its edge, found the gap behind it, and left a line of red along her arm.
She gave up on mercy. She came after him, heavy sword falling like a storm.
She couldn't keep her whole attention on Ernst while working sword and shield together, and gaps opened.
Wounds came, bleeding freely, none of them dangerous; her vitality ran too deep for that.
The longer it went, the more Ernst saw how far she'd come.
Strength, speed, and flexibility had all climbed.
Years of real practice showed.
But her gains couldn't keep pace with the way Ernst kept multiplying, and against that the comparison turned brutal. The wounds added up, and her movements slowed, while he stayed untroubled, still talking.
"What suits you is simplicity. Don't reach for the complicated stuff. Perfect the basics, and the advanced comes on its own. Return to the essence, that's the truth of it."
"I won't take your advice. I won't give up," she shot back, face flushed with anger and exhaustion.
It seemed she was bound to lose again.
The more irritable she grew, the more she erred. Goaded by his taunts, she opened up further.
Ernst took the opening, his knife flashed, and before she could react it was resting against her neck.
"Concede. Promise to leave me alone, and I'll let you go," Ernst offered.
Her eyes filled. To concede was to swallow her pride whole. The frustration sat there, years of dedicated practice, and the gap between them only widened for it.
The tears made Ernst sigh in exasperation.
"All right, all right. No need to cry. We'll call it here. No promises required. Go home, work on getting stronger, and come back when you're sure of yourself. We'll go again. If I lose, you can do as you like."
She glared through it.
"I won't be pitied. I'll beat you one day. You let me go this time, so I owe you. I'll pay it back when the time comes."
She sprang into the air on the magic of the boots and was gone in a streak of light.
Ernst watched her vanish and shook his head.
"What a hassle. Never mind her, there are bigger things."
He had Apocalypse's soul now, a real prize. He turned over what studying its abilities might yield.
It struck him that he hadn't been back to Earth in a while. He missed Tina, his sons, his newborn daughter, Elizabeth.
Time to set things straight with them. Ernst displaced himself back to the farm.
He found Chris on the swing, staring off into the distance. He looked troubled in a way he rarely did, as something sat heavily on his shoulders.
Ernst, who never usually had cause to worry about his eldest, came over with concern.
"What's weighing on you, Chris? Can you tell your old man?"
Chris managed a bitter smile.
"Mom got her memories back. You know? She looked at me with this, this trace of anger in her eyes. And right then, my chest hurt in a way I can't describe, almost enough to drive me out of my mind. I know it isn't her fault. It's still hard to take."
Ernst found himself without words, turning over how to comfort him. Looking back at his own choices, he owned his share of it.
Clever as he was, Chris was still a teenager, up against something cleverness couldn't touch.
Ernst reached out and gently rested a hand on his head. The others in the room, knowing he was back, quietly kept their distance and gave Chris room for what he was feeling.
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