Chapter 1: The Confusion of the Coma and the Rescue of the Past
Location: Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters - Infirmary
When I open my eyes, the first thing I register is the clean white ceiling, decorated with wood moldings in an old architectural style. Immediately after, the rhythmic, monotonous beep of the medical equipment beside me invades my ears with uncomfortable clarity. I see needles, IV tubes, and electrodes stuck to my chest, connecting my body to state-of-the-art vital sign monitors.
"Damn ROB..." I curse in my mind, feeling a surge of anger rush through me as I remember the twisted way that top-hatted entity handled my request to skip adolescence.
I try to get up, but my body, having been completely still for who knows how many years, responds with frustrating slowness. My muscles feel heavy, as if coated in tons of lead. I even struggle to move my arms and pull off the electrodes stuck to my skin, feeling the adhesive tug at my body hair. My mind is completely confused, spinning in a whirlwind of dizziness as I try to figure out where the hell I am and how much time has passed.
I sit on the edge of the bed with extreme difficulty, breathing deeply, and that is the exact moment everything hits me all at once.
The memories of my life in this world before falling into a coma hit me with the violence of a runaway truck. Along with them, as if to add even more to my mental confusion, ROB's voice echoes in the back of my mind, downloading the detailed mechanics of my mutation directly and crudely into my brain.
What I fail to realize in the chaos of having two sets of memories and a flood of system data colliding inside my head is that I am not being quiet at all. I am groaning in pain, clutching my head, and making the metal frame of the bed creak loudly as I drop to my knees on the cold wooden floor. All this commotion echoes down the hallway of the medical wing and quickly draws the attention of anyone nearby.
The sound of bending metal and heavy, erratic breathing catches the attention of Logan, who is walking down the hallway near the infirmary. Opening the door to room three, the adamantium-clawed mutant comes across an unexpected scene: the young man who had been lying motionless in a vegetative coma for five years is kneeling on the wooden floor, clutching his face and moving around completely disoriented.
Logan presses the communicator at his ear, calling Professor Xavier in his mind. Charles's response comes instantly, informing him that help is already on the way.
Approaching slowly to calm the boy down, Logan observes the figure before him attentively and notices something striking. The boy's body, which logic suggested would be frail, is in an exceptionally strong physical build. This was not because he was seeing him for the first time in years, but because the manifestation and integration of his mutation had actively forged his physiology into a powerful build.
As he reaches out to touch the boy's shoulder and try to settle him, Logan realizes his mistake too late.
As if driven by pure instinct and biological defense, the young man reacts. The movement does not carry the sluggishness of someone who just woke up from a five-year coma; it is a blind, swift, and devastating blow. The punch squarely hits the guard Logan raises at the last second. The absurd force behind it launches the experienced mutant through the air, sending his body crashing through the heavy double wooden doors of the infirmary, shattering the structure into dozens of pieces and throwing him into the main hallway.
Hank McCoy comes running down the corridor, adjusting his glasses as he takes in the smoke of wood dust and destruction.
"What's the situation, Logan?" Hank asks, impressed.
Logan gets up from the floor, shaking the dust off his clothes and growling low. "He woke up from the coma. He was groaning with a headache. When I got close to help, the kid threw me like I weighed nothing."
Hank analyzes the destroyed doorway with a scientific eye. "He must be suffering from an overload of information and sensory input after being unconscious for so long."
"Yeah, his powers must involve some kind of massive physical enhancement," Logan deduces.
Colossus and Jean Grey arrive running right after, drawn by the crash.
"Colossus, immobilize him! Red, try to calm his mind!" Logan orders, adjusting his combat stance.
Jean closes her eyes and focuses her telepathy toward the infirmary, but frustration and shock quickly register on her face. "I'm trying, Logan, but I can't find his mind easily! Something is blocking it... it's like trying to grab smoke or staring into an absolute vacuum!"
Piotr Rasputin shifts into his organic steel form, his skin gleaming with a polished metallic sheen. He steps slowly into the room, holding his hands open and speaking in his deep, calm voice, heavy with his signature Russian accent. "Easy, comrade. We are friends. No one is going to hurt you."
The young man on the floor attacks again in a surge of panic. Colossus lunges forward and manages to catch the boy's fist in midair. However, to everyone's utter surprise, something completely outside the logic of traditional mutant powers occurs.
A thick, glowing magenta mist erupts from the young man's body. From the center of the smoke, a colossal fist of titanic proportions shoots forward. The punch strikes Colossus's steel chest with monumental force, sending the heavy Russian mutant flying backward through the concrete wall of the hallway, creating a cloud of dust and debris.
The X-Men's eyes widen at the sight. From the pink mist spreading through the room, a colossal figure emerges standing up. The creature stands about 3.5 meters (11'6") tall, possesses an extremely broad frame, ginger hair with a clear bald spot on top, and wears rustic brown leather clothes. He places himself in a completely protective stance over the kneeling youth, glaring at the intruders with a stern look.
"I don't think he's an ordinary physical enhancer, Logan!" Hank exclaims, slack-jawed at the creature's manifestation.
Logan pops his adamantium claws with a double metallic snarl. "Of course he isn't!"
Before anyone can move, more magenta smoke leaks from the boy's body. Two women with vibrant pink hair wearing green tunics appear with bows in hand, already drawing their strings to maximum tension with deadly precision. Right in front of them, a man clad in a chest plate and chainmail materializes, wielding a longsword in his right hand.
Just as these summons were about to charge at Logan and Hank, an immense wave of mental pressure fills the room. The air seems to slow down for a second, and gradually, the creatures freeze their movements. The boy on the floor relaxes his shoulders, and the wild glow in his eyes begins to subside as he regains conscious control over his actions.
Logan retracts his claws, wiping sweat from his forehead. "What was that?"
Jean takes a deep breath, relieved. "The Professor used Cerebro from the basement to amplify his powers and break through his barrier just enough to soothe the mental panic he was feeling."
I blink my eyes several times, clearing my blurry vision, and find myself surrounded by my own summoned troops. Right ahead, in the destroyed doorway of the room, I see the X-Men in guard stances, surrounded by wooden splinters and concrete debris. I realize immediately that, in the chaos of my memories, I entered direct combat with them. The amount of information dumped into my mind was so overwhelming that my body simply acted on automatic to protect me.
"I apologize for this... I..." I try to speak, my voice coming out raspy from the long period of inactivity.
Hank McCoy steps forward, adjusting his glasses and offering a gentle smile to de-escalate the room. "Don't worry, son. Sometimes this happens during the awakening of great powers, especially after such a long coma. Don't blame yourself, no one was seriously injured, right?"
I look at my troops around me. The chainmail-clad Knight I summoned extends one of his gloved hands to help me up from the floor.
"Thanks," I say, accepting the help and standing up on legs that are still a bit shaky.
The Knight lets out a pompous laugh, comically fitting for a medieval warrior, using the fingers of his other hand to twirl his fine, bushy mustache. "Think nothing of it, my King! This humble knight is merely doing his duty to protect the crown!"
I give a slight smirk at the sight. "Alright... see you guys later then."
With a mental command, I dismiss the summons. The eleven-foot Giant, the two pink-haired Archers, and the Knight dissolve instantly, turning into glowing pink mist that is reabsorbed through my skin. I sit back down on the edge of the hospital bed and organize the thoughts I received, waiting for Professor Xavier to arrive.
My power operates in a remarkably simple and efficient way. I can summon any troop I have unlocked without limits on the quantity per summoning. The only real constraint is my mental Elixir Bar, which has a maximum capacity of ten drops. Each unit of Elixir takes exactly 2.8 seconds to naturally regenerate in my system. Unlocking new cards and spells will happen as I climb Arenas by accumulating trophies. And how do I get these trophies? It isn't through combat; my body naturally and passively generates 100 trophies per day simply by being alive and channeling this power.
Recalling the memories of this body's past, I can't help but curse ROB mentally once again. That entity really found a twisted way to grant my request to skip childhood and adolescence: he made me spend five whole years in a coma!
This body lived on autopilot until I was twelve years old, being an extremely quiet, shy, and reserved child in the orphanage where I grew up—nothing out of the ordinary for a typical orphan. That was until my mutation began to awaken. And unlike subtle mutations, mine had an extremely visible physical trait.
I pick up a small hand mirror sitting on the nightstand beside the bed and look at my reflection for the first time. I see a young yet matured face, with stubble coming in and shaggy, messy hair falling around the sides. But what truly catches my attention are my eyes. I don't have ordinary irises or pupils; my pupils glow in an intense, deep magenta color, the exact same shade as pure Elixir.
That physical trait instantly revealed my identity as a mutant at age twelve. That wouldn't have been such a terrible problem if the headmistress of the orphanage where I lived hadn't been a complete anti-mutant fanatic. She didn't throw me out or lock me in a room; instead, she called a local cell of the Friends of Humanity directly to come get me.
And for some reason I figure was another trick by ROB to force fate, my powers weren't fully awakened at the time. I was brutally beaten by those armed bigots. I was on the verge of death when Magneto's Brotherhood of Mutants and the X-Men showed up to fight off the purist group. After dealing with the racists, I was rescued. Since the Brotherhood had no medical facilities to care for a child in a deep vegetative coma, Magneto left me in Xavier's care, where I remained asleep from age twelve to seventeen.
My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet hum of a motorized wheelchair approaching the destroyed doorway. Professor Charles Xavier enters the room, looking around at the damage before fixing his eyes on me with a warm expression.
"How are you feeling now, Kael?" Xavier asks.
Yes, Kael. That is my name in this life.
"Still a bit confused, you know?" I reply, running a hand through my messy hair. "The memories of the past all came rushing back at once, along with the complete information about my powers."
Xavier tilts his head slightly, curious. "Ah, interesting. So you already understand how your mutation works?"
"You must know too, right?" I ask, staring at him. "You entered my mind out there."
Xavier offers a calm smile, but shakes his head. "Your mind is protected by something truly extraordinary, my boy. Even using Cerebro to amplify my reach, I could only touch the outermost surface of your feelings, just enough to soothe your panic. Right now, I can't even do that much. It's as if your thoughts are inside a sealed vault."
I know this is due to the Elixir currently flowing through my veins. Since my power connects directly to that dimensional energy source, my body and mind absorbed that natural protection. That was the way ROB structured my powers so they could be explained by the logic of this world.
"Yeah," I accept the explanation. "The energy my mutation allows me to connect with is responsible for that protection and for everything I did out there."
Logan, leaning against the frame of the broken door, crosses his arms. "And that energy is what lets you summon those things?"
"Yeah," I confirm, looking at him. "The troops are materialized through Elixir."
Xavier joins his hands on his lap, keeping his tone serene. "A fascinating and monumental power you possess, my boy. But now is not the time for interrogations or long explanations. You just woke up from a five-year coma and need to undergo a general medical check-up to ensure your health is intact."
With a nod from the Professor, Logan and Colossus leave the room to clear up the debris in the hallway. Xavier also departs, leaving only Hank McCoy and Jean Grey in the room, with Jean seemingly acting as his medical assistant for the time being.
During the battery of preliminary exams, Hank gets a syringe and asks for a blood sample. I let him draw it without any fuss. After all, no matter how many tests he runs in a lab, Elixir is a blessing granted to me upon reincarnation, an energy bound to my soul that cannot be easily copied or stolen by third parties through a simple biological sample.
While Hank handles the test tubes at the counter, I notice Jean Grey staring at me in a strange, persistent way from across the table.
"Don't worry," I say playfully to break the ice. "I'm going to cut this long hair, shave, and get presentable real soon."
Jean blinks, caught off guard, and her cheeks blush slightly at the comment. "N-No, it's not that!"
"Why are you staring so much then?" I ask with a small smirk.
She hesitates for a second, crossing her arms and letting out a light sigh. "It's just that... it's really rare for me to encounter a mind where I can't hear any thoughts at all."
"You're a telepath, right?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies, giving a timid smile. "And it's surprisingly nice, every once in a while, to talk to someone without knowing exactly what they're thinking in real time."
I let out a low chuckle and look into her green eyes. "Well, if you ever want to talk to someone whose indecent thoughts you can't read, I'll be right in this bed."
Jean lets out a genuine laugh, shaking her head at my audacity. "Well, at least that way I'll only be left imagining what indecent thoughts you're having, instead of being forced to see them all."
After finishing the analysis of my vital signs and blood sample, Hank dismisses me with a friendly pat on the shoulder. To nobody's surprise, my body is in perfect condition—more than healthy, strengthened by the passive integration of the Training Camp troops.
Jean offers to guide me to an empty room on the upper floor. Fortunately, the room is a single with a spacious bed, a wardrobe, and a large window overlooking the mansion's gardens.
After she says goodbye and closes the door, I lie back on the soft bed, stare at the ceiling, and pause to reflect on the absolute madness this day has been. I died pathetically in my old world, met a ROB dressed as Caine, was reborn in this universe, was bombarded by memories of a five-year coma, fought part of the X-Men, and to top it all off, apparently flirted with Jean Grey.
Turning inward, I close my eyes and connect to my subconscious. I clearly see the layout of the first arena I am in: the Training Camp. Looking a bit farther down the horizon of my mind, I see the forms covered in thick fog of the subsequent arenas, waiting to be unlocked as my trophies accumulate.
I adjust the pillow behind my head, give a satisfied smile in the dark, and declare to myself:
"Yeah... I'm definitely going to enjoy this life."