The moment the emerald-green flame, a construct of psychic finesse and raw thermal power, surged forward to engulf the self-righteous mutant named John, time appeared to warp and seize. The fire beast, mid-roar, became a static sculpture of light and heat.
John's contorted face, frozen between terror and desperate defiance, hung suspended in the air. Even Sharice, who had been mid-giggle on Zhou Yi's shoulder, was locked into a state of perfect stillness, her eyes wide with amusement.
This was not, however, a true cessation of reality. Zhou Yi, despite his vast knowledge and power, harbored a philosophical skepticism toward the absolute, universe-altering power attributed to artifacts like the legendary Time Stone.
He believed in relativity, in warping perception, not in breaking the fundamental laws of spacetime. The true power was far more subtle: it was the ability to elevate one's consciousness into a realm where the processing speed of thought vastly exceeded the flow of conventional reality.
Zhou Yi was instantaneously drawn out of the physical world and into the immense, limitless ocean of the psychic plane, a dimension where the physical limitations of the universe were rendered moot, and time was merely an irrelevant variable.
Everything that existed in the physical world was momentarily frozen—a magnificent, silent tableau. Yet, within this domain, their minds were free. The shackles of corporeal existence had dissolved, allowing their thoughts to flow boundlessly.
He sighed, the sound echoing only within his own mental landscape. He reflexively reached into his pocket for a cigarette—an old habit—but even in this state of pure consciousness, the concept failed. The physical object simply did not exist within this frozen moment.
"Professor," Zhou Yi's mental voice projected across the shimmering plane, an echo of casual annoyance.
"I was merely attempting to administer a highly necessary, non-lethal, psychological lesson to a rather persistent fool. It really wasn't necessary for you to initiate a full temporal suspension just for this trivial matter."
The bald man standing before him, Professor Charles Xavier, smiled—a serene, powerful expression utterly unlike the perpetually pained look he wore in his physical body. Here, his spirit was free, robust, and radiating power.
"Of course, my friend, I am keenly aware that you exercise surgical control over your considerable abilities," the Professor's mind replied, his voice resonating with deep wisdom.
"I did not draw you into this space purely for the sake of young John's fragile ego, though preventing unnecessary collateral damage is always a priority. No, this intervention is required for a matter of far greater, potentially global, consequence. John's melodrama is merely an opportune side benefit."
Zhou Yi felt a prickle of unease. Over the years, the relationship between his circle (Sharice, Ororo, Jean) and the Academy had deepened into one of mutual respect and genuine friendship. Yet, Charles had never once asked for financial aid, political leverage, or even mundane protection.
They maintained their independence, protecting their students and their secrecy fiercely. Their reluctance to use him demonstrated a rare integrity—they valued him as a friend, not a weapon.
Therefore, for Charles to break his own protocol and ask for his help now, the threat had to be existential, and the reward for Zhou Yi, whether in security or stability, had to be significant.
"What crisis is so profound that you couldn't trust your most precious, capable students, Ororo or Jean, to handle it?" Zhou Yi asked, his mental state shifting to one of cold, strategic analysis.
"There are certain dangers, Zhou Yi, that are too close to the heart, too intertwined with ancient history, to expose my students to," Charles admitted, a shadow passing over his serene mental form.
"But for you, there is no such emotional or ethical boundary. Your strength lies not just in your power, but in your necessary detachment. I need your dispassionate judgment and your capacity for overwhelming force."
The Professor's spectral form grew firmer, taking on the aspect of a statesman delivering a solemn verdict.
"The trouble comes from an old colleague. A brilliant, powerful genius with a vision for mutant survival that has, tragically, veered into catastrophic nihilism. And I require your protection for a young, naive mutant I must send into harm's way to stop him."
"An old colleague? That's a vague term," Zhou Yi pressed. "Do I know the name of this malicious architect?"
"Eric Lansher," the Professor stated, the name echoing like a hammer blow across the psychic landscape. "Though the world knows him by his more fearsome, more commanding title: Magneto."
Zhou Yi suppressed a flicker of exasperation. He had suspected it might be a foe of this caliber. Magneto. A name synonymous with both mutant liberation and global terrorism.
The man who had, through sheer force of will and mastery of the planet's magnetic fields, built a colossal, sentient metal city in the chaotic depths of the Pacific Ocean—a living fortress powered by the Earth itself.
He was undoubtedly a leader among mutants, but where Charles represented pacifism and integration, Eric was the unwavering, militant prophet of separation and supremacy.
"Professor, you cannot seriously be suggesting I confront the infamous Magneto," Zhou Yi countered. He was not prone to fear, but he was ruthlessly pragmatic. Magneto's abilities, while elemental, countered his own in dangerous ways.
Zhou Yi's technology, his armor, even the very metal in his recent purchase of Adamantium, were all vulnerable to Eric's complete control over magnetism.
"My estimation of a full, unconstrained engagement places my chances at a highly precarious fifty-fifty proposition," Zhou Yi stated bluntly, referencing the probability of survival.
"To ask me to deal with Eric crosses a line, Charles. Our relationship is one of friendly terms, not a suicide pact for the greater good of your kind. If this were merely about a student's safety, you would have approached me years ago. The fact that you are asking now means the benefits of this request outweigh the risk to our friendship."
Charles did not flinch from the cold logic. "You understand the calculus perfectly, Zhou Yi. But I assure you, the stakes are not merely about petty gain, but the absolute survival of the mutant race and the prevention of a war that will leave the planet scarred and broken."
"I know Eric intimately," Charles continued, his mental presence softening slightly, revealing the pain of their shared past.
"We were brothers in arms, fighting for the same cause: the survival of mutants. We merely diverged on the methodology. I am certain that he would never willingly harm a fellow mutant without an overwhelming, devastating justification. And now, he has convinced himself he has that justification."
The Professor then revealed the terrifying detail of Magneto's latest, misguided crusade.
"Eric has acquired or built a colossal device—a Mutant Gene Conversion Unit—which he intends to activate during a global summit of high-ranking world leaders. He believes he can use it to psychically influence or even forcibly modify the genetic structure of every dignitary attending the summit, effectively forcing a new era of equality for mutants through chemical coercion."
Zhou Yi paused, considering the political implications. "To be brutally honest, Professor, if there were no side effects, coercing those anti-mutant, self-serving politicians into accepting a treaty of equal rights sounds like a net positive for the planet."
"If there were no side effects, you would be correct," Charles confirmed, his mental voice heavy with sorrow.
"But Eric's conversion technology is fundamentally and catastrophically flawed. This morning, a test subject—a highly vocal, anti-mutant senator, a man I despised—tragically died from an irreversible, catastrophic genetic collapse after exposure to the device's full power."
The true gravity of the situation slammed into Zhou Yi. It wasn't about political coercion; it was about weaponized genocide.
"The collapse is terminal, Zhou Yi. If Eric activates this device at its peak—and he will—it will not merely influence the attendees; it will kill them. Every single participant and innocent bystander within the field of effect will be instantly, agonizingly destroyed by their own cellular breakdown. This will not usher in an era of mutant acceptance; it will be universally seen as an act of massive, unprovoked mass murder against human leadership. It will instantly trigger the Global Human-Mutant War—the very conflict Eric claims he is trying to prevent."
"Understood," Zhou Yi replied, his expression hardening. His own mandate as the Knight of Dawn was to prevent global catastrophes that destabilized the planet and created power vacuums. This event qualified immediately. "The stakes are clear. What, precisely, do you require the Knight of Dawn to do?"
Charles smiled—a knowing, weary smile that confirmed the old man had seen through Zhou Yi's secrecy from the beginning. "I knew the true identity of the 'Dawn Knight' was no secret from a mind like yours. I wasn't trying to hide it; merely respecting your privacy until the necessity arose."
"So, do you accept the task?"
"I have no reason to refuse, do I?" Zhou Yi returned, a wry, fatalistic mental sigh accompanying his words. His public persona, the protector of the innocent and the neutralizer of existential threats, made refusal impossible.
"Excellent. Don't worry, young friend," Charles reassured him, his tone conspiratorial. "My old friend also possesses a profound weakness, and there may be a path that doesn't require a direct engagement on a fifty-fifty battlefield."
The Professor proceeded to outline his plan—a strategy that hinged entirely on exploiting Magneto's deepest, most fiercely guarded emotion: his enduring, human compassion, which he desperately tried to suppress under layers of militant ideology.
As Zhou Yi listened to the meticulous details, a profound, chilling sense of pity washed over him for the powerful mutant he had never met.
To be trapped, exposed, and utterly disarmed by the one person in the universe who knew you best—your oldest, most trusted friend—was a level of psychological warfare that bordered on the tragic. But Zhou Yi was not a sentimentalist. He was a survivor.
People always prioritize themselves, he concluded firmly, banishing the fleeting sympathy for Eric. I will prioritize the stability of the world, and my own safety, over the tragic miscalculations of a fanatic.
With the plan finalized, Professor Charles's spirit dissolved back into the shimmering psychic plane. For Zhou Yi, the mental engagement that had spanned hours of intense strategy concluded in an instant.
Time resumed.
The emerald flame, which had been perfectly suspended inches from John's face, completed its trajectory. But instead of exploding, the immense, contained energy—the very essence of John's power that Zhou Yi had captured and sculpted—did not so much hit him as violently disperse.
The huge, elephant-sized fireball instantly shattered into a harmless shower of glittering green sparks that fell like hot rain around John, causing no physical damage. The effect, however, was worse than any burn.
John felt the moment of absolute, total psychic dominion. He had thrown his entire being, his single, defining power, at this arrogant stranger, only for it to be instantly stolen, mocked, and thrown back as confetti.
The sheer, overwhelming power necessary to halt, compress, and reshape his flames demonstrated a control over his own element that he could only dream of. His self-image, his fragile arrogance, and his fantasy of being a hero were instantly incinerated.
He stood there, dripping with sweat, his lighter clattering uselessly to the floor, his entire body shaking in the silent aftermath of the trauma. He wasn't physically hurt, but his psychic core was shattered. He had been so utterly defeated that he couldn't even process the anger; only raw, debilitating fear.
Zhou Yi, holding the gently stirring Sharice, did not even glance at the crumpled figure. His mind was already miles away, calculating the vectors for intercepting Magneto's orbital metal fortress.
"Alright," Zhou Yi said, using her preferred moniker, setting her down gently. "Pack your things. We have a flight to Europe, but I need to make a quick, unscheduled detour first."
Sharice, momentarily forgetting her anger at his teasing, looked at the shaking form of her classmate and then back at her brother. "What about John? Did you… break him?"
"That boy broke himself the moment he prioritized his pride over his common sense," Zhou Yi dismissed with a finality that brooked no argument. He then turned and walked past the mute, trembling figure, already pulling up the global flight patterns on his internal display.
He did not notice, nor would he have cared, about the smoldering look of raw, impotent fury that settled into John's eyes—the quiet, desperate promise of future, inevitable revenge.
Zhou Yi was focused on the immediate future. He needed to prepare the Alpha Nanometal—the Adamantium-stabilized core—before confronting the master of all metal.
Charles's plan had given him an opening, but the execution still required the Knight of Dawn to operate at the peak of his power.