1990 – One Month Later
December 14th 1990 arrived with a quiet cold that wrapped itself around Xavier's School like a warning. Snow dusted the edges of the mansion's roofs, melting slowly under the morning sun, and the bare trees outside trembled with the wind. But inside the school, something else had changed—something far more significant than winter's arrival.
Mark had grown.
Not physically, not in height or muscle. But in power.
For an entire month, he had pushed himself in a way none of the other students could even comprehend. With Xavier's guided meditations, Beast's scientific tests, Storm's stability exercises, and sometimes even Wolverine's rough attempts at "discipline," Mark sharpened his terrifying gift.
Reality warping: Level 2.
Progress: 1000/947.
No one really understood what those numbers meant—not even Xavier. Only Mark felt the difference in his bones, like the universe subtly bowed a little deeper when he walked.
Level 1 had been simple, almost childish in comparison.
He could affect small objects—bend the metal of a spoon, erase a stain, change the color of a book, manipulate temperature in a single room, or slightly alter physical laws within arm's reach. It was powerful, but contained—like a match that could light a candle but not start a wildfire.
Level 2 was different.
Where Level 1 worked on "things," Level 2 worked on "conditions."
He could now:
Affect spaces instead of objects.
Change biological states rather than just appearances.
Heal living beings, not just mend material.
Erase small bodily structures entirely.
Disrupt one law of physics within a confined area.
Bypass locks, barriers, and technological systems with a thought.
Range was still limited—maybe ten meters. And he couldn't rewrite large structures or create matter out of nowhere.
But the difference between Level 1 and Level 2 was the difference between a spark and the beginnings of a star.
And Mark knew it.
Every morning he woke knowing the world was easier to bend.
Every night, the universe seemed less intimidating than the day before.
Only one being still stood next to him in his own mind.
A red-haired woman he had not yet met.
Wanda.
The Scarlet Witch.
The only one who could rival him someday.
The thought made him smirk. Everyone else? Beneath him.
The intercom in his room crackled.
"Mark, Professor Xavier requests you in his office immediately."
He exhaled slowly, sliding off the bed. He didn't bother to put on his boots properly; he simply willed the laces to tie themselves. They obeyed instantly as if relieved to serve him. Level 2 was convenient.
The mansion halls were bright and warm as he walked, students greeting him with mixed expressions—respect, fear, awe. Mark didn't react. He had grown used to it.
He reached Xavier's door and knocked once.
"Enter," came the calm voice.
The Professor sat behind his polished wooden desk, hands folded. Cyclops stood beside him, arms crossed, visor gleaming red. Wolverine leaned against the bookshelf, chewing on a toothpick. Storm sat gracefully to the side, white hair shimmering like silver snow.
"Mark," Xavier began, "we have a situation."
Scott stepped forward. "A mutant-trafficking lab. Underground. Remote facility. We'll be going in as a team."
Xavier nodded. "We believe children are being experimented on."
Wolverine's jaw tightened. "Real scum. You'll see."
Mark didn't blink.
It didn't surprise him. Humans always feared what they didn't understand. But hurting children—mutant children—was something else.
Xavier continued, "This will be your first mission. I know how powerful you are but, you must listen to Scott's commands. We operate as a team."
Mark's golden eyes narrowed slightly—not in defiance, simply in acknowledgment.
"All right," he said. "When do we leave?"
Scott pressed a control on his visor. "Now."
The jet cut through the sky at incredible speed. The team strapped in, preparing, checking gear. Storm meditated quietly. Beast reviewed tactical scans. Scott rehearsed the plan out loud.
But Mark?
Mark sat with his arms crossed, bored. Unbothered. Almost amused.
He didn't fear the mission.
He didn't fear anything.
To him, this was nothing. A warm-up exercise. A chance to test the new depth of his ability.
Scott noticed Mark's expression and frowned.
"You're awfully calm for someone on their first op."
Mark didn't turn his head.
Instead, he stared out the jet window at the passing clouds.
"Because none of them can hurt me," he said simply. "Why would I be concerned?"
Wolverine raised an eyebrow.
"Cocky, kid."
"No," Mark replied, finally looking at him. "Just honest."
Storm hid a small smile. She admired confidence—real confidence, not arrogance.
Scott didn't appreciate it.
"Well," Cyclops said stiffly, "just remember the goal is to get in and out without injury. We follow the plan. We stick together. No improvisation."
Mark's gaze sharpened.
"I'll do what needs to be done," he said. "But if I see children suffering…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Even Wolverine felt the air shift around Mark for a moment—as if reality held its breath.
The X-Jet hovered behind a snowy ridge, cloaked.
"Storm, cover us," Scott ordered.
Clouds darkened instantly, lightning flashing silently within them. The guards above the facility ran for shelter. Perfect.
They descended a ventilation shaft and dropped down into a dark corridor lit by flickering fluorescents.
"Split formation," Scott whispered. "Wolverine with me. Storm, check the upper levels. Beast, secure the data room. Mark—stay with me until we find the holding area."
Mark nodded.
But he already knew where the holding area was. He felt it. Level 2 allowed him to sense distortions—human suffering left a mark on the fabric of reality itself.
And this place was soaked in it.
They moved quickly through hallways until a muffled scream reached Mark's ears. His eyes snapped toward a steel door.
"In there," he said.
Scott turned to him. "We follow—"
Mark didn't wait.
He waved his hand.
The locks on the metal door vanished, erased from existence.
He kicked the door open.
What he saw inside froze his blood.
A young mutant boy—maybe seven—was strapped to a cold metal table. Electrodes pierced his skin. A mechanical drill hovered above his ribcage, inches from cutting in. Doctors in lab coats surrounded him, adjusting instruments.
The child's terrified eyes met Mark's.
Something snapped inside Mark's chest.
The doctors turned.
"Who the hell are—"
They didn't finish.
Mark lifted his hand, palm open. His voice was cold, almost empty.
"You don't get to breathe."
Reality folded.
Their lungs simply ceased to exist.
Not destroyed.
Not damaged.
Erased.
The doctors fell to the floor instantly, mouths opening silently, gasping for air that could not reach bodies that no longer had the organs to use it. They writhed for only a few seconds.
Then they were still.
Scott froze.
Even Wolverine blinked.
"Holy—" Logan whispered.
Mark walked past the corpses without looking at them.
He touched the child's forehead gently.
The wounds closed.
Bruises vanished.
Pain dissolved.
He made the metal restraints disappear, and the boy scrambled into his arms, trembling.
"Hey," Mark said softly, voice completely different now—gentle, protective. "You're safe. What's your name?"
The kid sniffed. "J-Jonah."
Mark smiled faintly. "Jonah… good. I'm Mark. I'm here to help you. Do you know where the other kids are?"
Jonah nodded, wiping tears from his cheeks.
"They're in the cages… down the hall…"
"Take me."
Mark followed him without hesitation.
Scott stared after them, stunned.
Wolverine muttered, "Kid's got steel in him."
The hallway stank of bleach, metal, and fear. Children cried behind thick bars, some barely conscious. Others clung to each other, terrified.
Mark stepped forward.
He inhaled once.
Then he whispered, "You're not staying here."
Every lock in the hall disintegrated quietly, fading like ash blown by wind.
He knelt to the kids' level.
"Listen," he said calmly. "You're safe now. I'm a mutant—just like you. I'm getting you out. All of you."
A little girl with silver eyes whispered, "Really…?"
"Really."
They began to gather around him, trembling hands reaching out to touch him, as if afraid he might vanish.
Wolverine appeared at the hallway entrance. "Mark—"
"I've got them," Mark said quietly.
Storm arrived overhead through a ventilation gap, lightning glimmering faintly in her palms. Scott followed behind her, a small drive in his hand.
"We have the data," he confirmed. Then he saw the kids—twelve in total—huddled around Mark.
Scott nodded.
"…Good work."
Mark lifted Jonah gently. "Let's get them home."
Outside the underground lab, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of ozone. Snow melted in circles where lightning had struck. Storm hovered in the sky, her eyes white, her expression fierce.
Around her… were dozens of unconscious guards.
Mark whistled softly. "You were busy."
Storm landed gracefully. "They chose cruelty. I chose justice."
He respected that.
The team guided the twelve children into the jet, securing them safely.
Scott looked around. "Everyone accounted for?"
Wolverine grunted. "All good."
Storm nodded. "Let's return."
Mark strapped in. The children clustered around him, leaning on him for comfort. He didn't mind.
As the jet lifted into the air, Mark glanced down at the burning facility, smoke curling into the sky.
Good. Let it burn.
They landed at the mansion past midnight. Staff rushed to escort the mutant children to the medical wing. Beast hurried after them with scanners (which, ironically, immediately started malfunctioning in Mark's presence again).
Xavier and jean waited in the hangar with a faint, proud smile.
"Welcome back," he said.
Scott stepped forward. "Mission accomplished. No casualties."
Wolverine added, "And the kid pulled more weight than half the team."
Mark shrugged calmly. "It wasn't difficult."
Xavier chuckled softly. "Perhaps not for you."
But before anyone could relax, the alarms in the hangar blared.
A metallic hum filled the air.
Wolverine's claws extended instantly.
Cyclops lowered into a battle stance.
Storm floated half a foot off the ground.
Jean standing behind the professor.
Xavier's eyes widened.
"Oh no…"
The large steel doors at the far end of the hangar ripped themselves open, torn apart like thin paper.
Three figures stepped through.
A man with white hair and red armor.
A blue-skinned woman with yellow eyes.
And a towering, snarling brute with fangs.
Magneto.
Mystique.
Sabretooth.
Magneto floated forward, cape flowing behind him, eyes glowing with intense interest.
Xavier whispered, "Erik…"
Magneto ignored everyone—his gaze fixed only on Mark.
"So…" Magneto said slowly, voice smooth, dangerous, intrigued. "The rumors were true. A beyond-Omega mutant. A child who bends reality itself."
He floated closer, smiling coldly.
"I came to see him for myself."
Mark didn't flinch.
He simply stood there, golden eyes bright, staring straight back at Magneto.
End of Chapter 4.