The steering wheel felt cold and solid under Raizer's grip. He was crossing the bridge back into New York City, the skyline rising like a jagged tombstone against the horizon. He was alone this time. Jessica stayed in that dusty South Dakota town.
"Ha~ Feels so good to be back," Raizer exhaled.
[Honestly, I miss Mom already,] the System whimpered in his mind, its text fluttering with digital tears.
"You didn't even talk to her, buddy," Raizer countered.
[Bonds are about the time we spend together! Not about the words! My digital heart is aching!]
"Yeah, yeah." Raizer shook his head. This trip had been an eye-opener to his own reality. It taught him two things: first, he was significantly dumber than his mother; and second, he was still too weak to protect the things he cared about. Before the dormant celestial, he was still a weakling.
As he maneuvered through the gridlock, he headed toward his apartment. He had called S.H.I.E.L.D. before leaving, casually 'suggesting' they fix his door and floor since they were so keen on surveilling him. S.H.I.E.L.D., an agency built for global espionage and counter-terrorism, found the request for residential carpentry absurd. Yet, they had fulfilled it nonetheless. Fear of the 'King' was a powerful motivator for home renovation.
[That saved a lot of money, huh?] The System sounded worried. [You know, the real 'King' doesn't mind money this much! He's a hero!]
"The real King receives a direct deposit of millions from the Hero Association every month. I, on the other hand, am a paid worker. Every penny I save is for my perpetual survival."
- Tak!
Raizer parked his car and stepped out, inhaling a deep lungful of the toxic city air.
"Huu~ Ha~ Just enough smog and carbon monoxide to keep me alive for another day."
He walked back home, climbing the cold staircase. A sigh leaving his lips as his senses had already picked up on a few unfamiliar presences before his house. He paused, one foot on the top step, debating whether to turn around and find a hotel.
'Should I leave?'
Suddenly, he felt it. A soft, intrusive tap against the walls of his mind—like a finger trying to poke through a soap bubble.
- Thud!
Inside his soul, the passive trait 'King's Resolve (EX)' didn't just block the intrusion; it treated the telepathic probe like a fly hitting a bug zapper. The mental connection was incinerated instantly, leaving no room for recovery.
"Charles!" a frantic voice screamed from just around the corner.
Raizer turned his head decisively toward the exit, 'I am clearly not at fault here.'
[I mean, technically, you aren't!] The System shouted. [But running away doesn't suit the 'King'! Go in there and show them why you're the boss, Host! Beat their ass!]
'Why would I fight? Dude, stop trying create chaos in this world.' Raizer chided the system before continuing, 'That's my job.'
However, Raizer rounded the corner and heading to home since he didn't have friends, whose house he could crash in. Standing in front of his newly repaired door was a group of people dressed in what could only be described as high-fashion tactical spandex. There was a man with a visor, a woman with white hair that seemed to defy gravity, and a burly man who smelled faintly of cigars and old leather.
And on the floor, slumped in a very expensive-looking wheelchair, was a bald man who looked like he had just tried to divide by zero. Charles Xavier's eyes were rolled back, and a faint, thin line of drool was threatening the dignity of his suit.
"Charles!" the white-haired woman, Ororo, gasped, dropping to her knees beside him.
The man with the visor, Scott Summers, swung his head toward Raizer, the newcomer they came for. The red crystalline lens of his visor glowed with an ominous, suppressed energy. "What did you do?"
Raizer didn't flinch. He didn't even drop his grocery bag. He looked at the high-tech wheelchair, then at the unconscious man, and finally at the tactical group blocking his entrance. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"I didn't do anything," Raizer said, his voice flat and devoid of the 'King's' typical thunder. "But I can see the problem. This hallway has terrible ventilation. It's a heat trap. Poor old man probably saw the stairs and his heart gave out before he even reached the lift."
He already declared Charles as a dead man.
"His heart is fine," Logan growled, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of Raizer—or rather, the lack of scent. Raizer smelled like cheap laundry detergent and ozone, a combination that made the hair on the back of Logan's neck stand up. "He was going to talk to you. Telepathically. Then he became like this!"
Raizer pulled out his keys, leaning over the group with a helpful, almost pitying expression. "Telepathically? Is that a new brand of Bluetooth? Look, I don't know about what happened, but I do know that staying out in the sun at his age is irresponsible. You people should be more careful with your grandfather."
[HOST!] The System shrieked in his mind, its text pulsating in a nauseous shade of green. [STOP IT! Your acting is worse than WWE wrestlers! Tell the truth! Tell them that you didn't just 'block' him, you mentally backhanded the most powerful telepath on Earth! Tell them to grovel! Tell them to pay a 'Mental Trespassing' fee!]
'Grovel? Stop being so Wuxia. We're all peaceful guys here,' Raizer thought back. He didn't want to be sued by this wealthy man.
"Move aside, please," Raizer said politely to Scott. "The floor is cold. It's bad for his joints. Bring him inside. I have an air conditioner and some lemon-infused water. It's excellent for recovery."
The X-Men stood frozen. They had come here expecting a confrontation with an Omega-Level mutant, a man whose very presence on a grainy cell phone video had made the Pentagon tremble. They expected a monster, a god, or at least a very angry mutant. Instead, they found a man in a slightly wrinkled dress shirt who was currently holding his door open and worrying about a senior citizen's joints.
"Is he... serious?" Scott whispered to Logan.
"I can't tell," Logan hissed back, his claws twitching beneath his skin. "I can't read him. He's got no pulse of fear, no aggression... he's just... normal."
Yet his instincts were telling him to run, as fast as his legs could carry him. Detecting the traces of veiled King's Aura. Sadly, his pride taunted him into staying and confronting death, which he did.
Reluctantly, they wheeled Xavier into the apartment. Raizer noted with a small spark of satisfaction that the S.H.I.E.L.D. contractors had done an excellent job on the floorboards. They didn't even creak under the weight of the motorized wheelchair.
'Perhaps they would thrive in this field. They should switch jobs.'
"Set him by the window," Raizer instructed, heading to the kitchen. "The breeze is better there."
As Raizer busied himself with the lemon-infused water, the X-Men scanned the room. It was terrifyingly normal.
Ororo watched Raizer's back. "You seem remarkably calm, Mr. Raizer. Most people would be alarmed by a group of strangers in costumes appearing at their door with an unconscious leader."
Raizer returned with a tray of glasses. He placed them on the coffee table with a soft clink. "In New York? This is a Tuesday. Last week, a man in a bird suit tried to sell me a 'pre-owned' catalytic converter. You people are at least wearing coordinated colors. It's an improvement."
He leaned over Xavier, waving a hand in front of the Professor's face. "Still out? That's a deep faint. I have some smelling salts in the bathroom, or I could just splash him with the lemon water. The citric acid provides a nice sensory jolt."
"Don't touch him," Scott said, his voice tense.
[I'M GOING TO THROW UP!] The System announced, a digital bar of 'Nausea' appearing at the bottom of Raizer's vision. [Pick a fight! I'm bored of the mundane now! Look, you are letting Logan breathe your air! He has fleas, Host! I can smell them through the sensors! Fight! Fight! Fight!]
'Be quiet,' Raizer thought, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Logan. 'I'm not in the mood to fight. It's too troublesome to handle the aftermath. But-'
"You know," Raizer said, his voice dropping into a tone that was just a bit too steady to be "kind." "The mind is a private property. When you try to walk into someone's house without knocking, you shouldn't be surprised if the door slams on your nose."
The room went cold. The lemon water in the glasses vibrated. For a split second, the King's Aura leaked out—not as a roar, but as a heavy, crushing gravity that made the X-Men feel like they were standing at the bottom of the ocean.
Logan's claws slid out an inch with a metallic shink. Ororo's hair began to lift as static filled the room.
"So it was you," Logan growled.
Raizer blinked, the pressure vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He went back to his pleasant, slightly bored expression. "Was what me? The draft? I told you, the ventilation here is tricky. I really should call the landlord again."
He sat down in his armchair, crossing one leg over the other. "Now, since you've made yourselves at home, why don't you tell me why the X-Men are interested in me?"
At that moment, Charles Xavier let out a sharp, gasping breath. His eyes snapped open, darting around the room until they landed on Raizer. The Professor didn't scream, but he recoiled in his chair, his face turning a ghostly shade of white.
"Professor!" Ororo cried, reaching for him. "What did you see?"
Xavier didn't answer her. He just stared at Raizer, his lips trembling. He didn't see an accountant. He saw a cold-eyed devourer sitting on a throne made of dead gods, a presence so vast that his own telepathy felt like a candle held up to a supernova.
In a single glance, Xavier's mind was crushed. He was aware of everything happening in his surroundings, but his mind refused to answer. As if chained within the confines of his own body. Thankfully, Charles had merely intended to greet Raizer, or he would have ended up like Kilgrave.
"I... I had a bit of a spell," Xavier managed to stammer, his voice shaky. He looked at the lemon water. "Thank you for the... electrolytes, Mr. Raizer. It seems the heat was indeed... more than I anticipated."
Raizer smiled, a thin, sharp expression. "I told you. The humidity is a silent killer."
Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, clutching the armrests so hard his knuckles turned the color of parchment. For the first time in decades, the world was... quiet. There was no 'buzz' of Scott's strategic anxiety, no 'hum' of Ororo's connection to the atmosphere, and no 'grumble' of Logan's primal instincts.
It was as if someone had unplugged the world's most powerful antenna and thrown it into a lake. His telepathy was gone, seemingly scared into hiding in the deepest corners of his psyche.
"Wh—Gulp!" Charles swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward Raizer. To his teammates, Raizer was a man pouring water. To Charles, who had glimpsed the Void before his powers short-circuited.
"Professor, what's wrong?" Scott Summers stepped forward, his hand moving to his visor. The air in the room grew hot as the ruby-quartz lens hummed. "Did he do something to you?"
"Scott, don't-" Charles squeaked, but his voice was thin.
"You look pale, Chuck," Logan growled, his claws sliding out with a menacing 'snikt'. He turned his predatory gaze toward Raizer. "I don't care how many lemons you put in that water. You scrambled the Professor's eggs. That's a declaration of war."
Raizer didn't even look up. "War? I thought we were discussing heatstroke. If you're going to use those kitchen knives in my living room, I'm going to have to ask for a security deposit."
"You think this is a joke?" Logan lunged.
"LOGAN, STOP!" Charles shrieked, his voice cracking like a teenager's. With his powers gone, he couldn't stop them mentally.
"Charles, move!" Logan barked, trying to reach over the Professor.
"No! Logan, listen to me!" Charles hissed, his eyes wide with a terror the X-Men had never seen before. "We are... we are guests! Guests do not claw the host! It's... it's bad manners!"
Scott frowned, his visor glowing brighter. "Professor, he did something to your mind. We can take him. Ororo can drop a localized lightning strike right on his head—"
"NO LIGHTNING!" Charles waved his arms frantically. "Ororo, if you bring a single spark into this lovely apartment, I will... I will personally see to it that you are on kitchen duty for the next decade! The electricity will ruin the lemon-water's pH balance!"
Ororo froze, her white hair settling as she looked at her mentor in confusion. "Professor, you're acting... strange. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I am excellent!" Charles lied, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "I've never been better! I just... I've realized that I am very, very thirsty! Mr. Raizer, may I have a second glass? Perhaps with two slices of lemon this time?"
Raizer looked at the Professor, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of course. It's important to stay hydrated."
Raizer didn't know that Charles lost his telepathy but he could sense the fear emanating from the bald head.
[HOST!] The System screamed, its text flickering in a chaotic neon yellow. [Do you think we will pay for the mental damage you caused him? I think his mind short-circuited. Tch! Tch! Tch! I wonder if they will sue you for his lack of hair too.]
'Hush! No one knows I did it~'
Everybody knew. Heck, they were already acting on it.
"He's a monster..." Charles whispered under his breath, watching Raizer casually slice a lemon with the precision of a surgeon. Without his powers, Charles felt every ounce of the King's Aura pushing against the room; a weight that felt like a mountain held up by a single thread.
Perhaps because he was designated as an opponent, he was the only one who felt the full brunt of it while others remained unaware.
"What was that, Professor?" Scott asked, still suspicious.
"I said... he's a master of... refreshments!" Charles shouted, sweating profusely. "Now, Scott, please put your hand away from your face. Logan, retract those... those 'steak knives'. We are going to drink our water, we are going to thank Mr. Raizer for his hospitality, and then we are going to leave. Slowly."
Logan narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air. He understood why the Professor was terrified, he himself was. But he was Wolverine. He looked at Raizer, then back at Charles. "Fine. But I'm keeping my eye on him."
"Please don't," Charles begged.
For Charles, his own teammates were his enemies. Why attack the sleeping lion? Let him be.
Raizer set the tray back down on the table. "Now, who wants a cookie? My mother made them. They're... divine."
Charles flinched at the word 'divine,' wondering if he was about to eat a cookie baked by a literal deity. He took one with a trembling hand. "Thank you. Truly. We... we appreciate the lack of... violence."
"I don't like violence," Raizer said, sitting back in his chair. "It's inefficient. It creates too many questions. Like 'Why kill them?', or 'How are they still alive?'"
Charles felt the dry cookie scratch his already parched throat as he heard those words.