Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters — Charles Xavier's Office
On the massive circular screen, satellite imagery displayed a scorched wasteland in silence. What had once been a მშვიდ Polish town was now a smoking ruin—like an ugly scar carved into the surface of the Earth.
Charles stared at the screen, veins bulging across his smooth forehead, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
"It's Erik." His voice trembled uncontrollably, filled with pain. "I can feel it… he's being controlled. His anger and grief have been amplified countless times."
Hang stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, not turning to look at the devastation. His perception had already crossed continents, locking onto the four surging energy signatures in the distance. Each one had been enhanced to an absurd degree—Apocalypse's amplification of the X-gene was even more overbearing and absolute than he had anticipated.
"He's begun," Charles suddenly straightened, as if struck by an invisible current. The Cerebro beside his wheelchair activated, its silver headgear unfolding and locking precisely over his temples.
"All global television, radio, the internet… they've been forcibly taken over by a single signal source."
Before he finished speaking, every screen in the office—TVs, computers, even the tablet Hank had left behind—flickered and switched. Every channel displayed the same image:
A towering, gray-blue ancient being stood atop a pyramid, overlooking the chaotic city of Cairo. Behind him stood Storm, Angel, Psylocke, and a hollow-eyed Magneto—like four divine statues.
"This world… is terminally ill."
Apocalypse's voice was deep and commanding, broadcast simultaneously through every speaker and headset on Earth. This wasn't mere technological hijacking—it was a global psychic broadcast. His will was directly projected into the minds of seven billion people.
"The weak hold power while the strong are imprisoned. Order has long since collapsed. Five thousand years ago, I built civilization. Under my guidance, humanity prospered. Now I return—and all I see is decay and corruption."
Hang finally turned, his gaze settling on the so-called god on the screen. He could clearly feel how that vast psychic force blanketed the entire planet with precision and tyranny.
"I give you seven days," Apocalypse continued, emotionless. "Surrender your false authority, and let the true strong—the mutants—take control of this world. Any who refuse will be deemed remnants of the old order and erased. This is not a threat. It is a prophecy. In seven days, the old world will be destroyed—and a new order will rise from its ashes."
The image froze on his emotionless eyes, then faded to black.
For a moment, the office fell into silence. The screens switched back to chaotic live news feeds—panicked crowds in New York, people kneeling in prayer in London, total gridlock in Shibuya, Tokyo… In the distance, sirens wailed endlessly from the nearby town.
Charles removed the Cerebro helmet, his face pale as paper. He could hear it—the fear, anger, confusion, and despair of billions, merging into an unprecedented psychic storm.
"I have to try… to communicate with him." Charles's voice was hoarse. "Maybe… maybe I can reach Erik."
"Don't." Hang spoke immediately, his tone firm. "His psychic power has been amplified. He's no weaker than you now. Connecting in Apocalypse's domain will seriously injure you."
"But I have to!" Charles insisted, putting the helmet back on, determination blazing in his eyes. "Erik is my friend. I can't just watch him become a weapon drenched in blood!"
Hang fell silent for two seconds.
He knew Erik was Charles's deepest and most unshakable bond—words wouldn't stop him.
He stepped behind Charles, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Then I'll guard you."
A vast, gentle force flowed into Charles. The Law of Mind formed an invisible barrier around him.
"The moment something goes wrong, I'll pull you back."
Charles nodded heavily and closed his eyes. His immense psychic power surged through Cerebro, forming an invisible torrent that crossed continents and oceans, locking onto the pyramid in Cairo.
At the edge of the pyramid, Erik stood coldly watching the fleeing masses below. Then—a familiar, warm psychic touch reached him.
His body stiffened ever so slightly. Deep within his rage-filled eyes, a flicker of struggle appeared. After less than a second, he opened a sliver of his mental defenses.
"Erik, this isn't you," Charles's voice echoed in his mind, filled with sorrow.
"You wouldn't slaughter innocents like this."
"Innocents?" Erik's response carried a cold sneer—but beneath it lay bone-deep pain.
A memory flashed—
A cabin in the woods. A gentle woman. A little girl holding a stuffed deer…
Then fire. Arrows. Destruction.
"Tell me, Charles… was my Nina innocent?"
"That was the crime of a few—not all humanity!" Charles strained to maintain the connection. "What you're doing now—how is it any different from the Nazis you hate?!"
The words struck like a needle into Erik's deepest wound.
He fell silent.
For the first time, the amplified hatred wavered. But before his buried conscience could surface, another will crushed it completely.
"Spare me your ideals, Charles." Erik's mind turned cold again. "The world owes mutants too much. It's time they paid—with interest."
"You're being controlled! Apocalypse's power is distorting your mind—"
Before Charles could finish, a third psychic force crashed in like a collapsing mountain.
Apocalypse.
"AAARGH—!"
Charles screamed as his body convulsed violently. Blood poured from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
Hang's eyes sharpened. The prepared Law of Mind instantly formed a crystalline barrier around Charles's consciousness.
Boom!
Apocalypse's attack slammed into it, sending visible ripples through the air. The barrier held—for three seconds—before cracks spread like a spiderweb.
Apocalypse's psychic level exceeded expectations. It wasn't just peak early Skyfather—it carried an ancient, godlike essence brushing against the origin of laws.
"Interesting."
A vast voice bypassed the barrier and spoke directly in Hang's mind.
"So it was you… the one who delayed my awakening. To think such a being hides on Earth. No wonder I couldn't sense you—you are not a mutant, nor a god. Yet your psychic purity rivals mine from five thousand years ago."
Hang didn't respond. He simply reinforced the barrier. Charles was already unconscious—his mind a flickering candle.
"To protect the weak… how foolish," Apocalypse said with faint disdain. "The duty of the strong is to rule, not to protect. In seven days, I will come to you personally. Then you will understand—defying me is defying the fundamental law of the universe."
The pressure vanished like a receding tide.
Hang removed his hand. Charles slumped in his wheelchair, blood still at his lips, completely unconscious.
The office door burst open. Jean Grey, Scott Summers, and Hank McCoy rushed in, panic on their faces.
"Professor!" Scott ran to him.
"He's fine," Hang said calmly. "Just psychic exhaustion. Take him to the medical room. He must not use Cerebro for at least three days."
Jean supported Charles gently, then looked at Hang's back. She could faintly sense the lingering psychic fluctuation around him—it made something inside her stir uneasily, as if both warning and calling to her.
"How strong… is Apocalypse?" Hank asked, adjusting his glasses.
"Stronger than I expected," Hang replied. "His amplification doesn't just increase power—it rewrites the X-gene at a fundamental level. His four Horsemen now each possess pseudo-Skyfather-level strength. Together, they can rival a true early Skyfather. Add Apocalypse himself… and their total combat power approaches mid-Skyfather level."
Scott and Hank exchanged pale looks.
Against enemies like that, their abilities were meaningless.
"Do we… have any chance?" Hank asked quietly.
Hang paused.
Countless battle scenarios flashed through his mind. If he went all out, defeating Apocalypse wouldn't be difficult—but that wasn't his goal.
His objective… was to push Jean to awaken and control that destructive power.
He needed a battlefield dangerous enough—but not out of control.
"Yes," Hang said finally, calm and firm.
"But not through direct confrontation. Apocalypse gave us seven days. In that time, I'll weaken and divide his Horsemen."
He turned slightly.
"When the time comes, you just need to hold two of them. The rest…"
His gaze briefly flicked toward Jean.
"…leave Apocalypse to her."
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