Whether it was Fadili Trask standing at the podium, the blonde reporter who had just challenged him, or Emma and Clarice watching from Silver Manor, everyone reacted the same way when Magneto invoked Richard's name.
Shock.
Even Richard himself hadn't expected this.
He knew Magneto would appear. That much was predictable. Public spectacle was part of the man's identity. But arriving alone, seizing total control of the scene, and then openly rallying the mutant population in Richard's name—that went further than anticipated.
For a fleeting second, Richard was reminded of a certain legendary pirate king speech from an old anime. If he didn't know that series didn't exist in this world, he would have suspected Magneto was deliberately channeling it.
"The future masters of the Earth.""The era of mutants.""The era of Richard Wesley."
He really dared to say it.
Richard leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
Magneto wasn't framing him. That much was obvious. He was leveraging influence. Using Richard's reputation to energize a restless mutant population.
But he hadn't warned him.
And the effect was subtle but significant. To the public, it would now appear as though Magneto endorsed Richard as the future standard-bearer of mutantkind.
As though he were the chosen successor.
That was unnecessary.
Richard had never wanted leadership. Not before. Not now. Not ever.
If Magneto weren't Wanda's father, Richard might have paid him a visit to clarify boundaries.
Instead, he exhaled slowly.
Fine. One pass.
Clarice glanced at him. "Didn't you tell him to resist?"
"I did," Richard replied evenly. "But my advice was for him to spend more time with his family instead of wasting his life saving people who won't fight for themselves."
"Are you going to clarify publicly?" she asked.
"No," Richard said calmly. "If I deny it, it looks like I'm afraid. That only complicates things."
On-screen, Magneto finished speaking.
When mutant agents attempted to move, he reacted instantly. The healing dart rifles suspended around him shifted slightly, reminding everyone of the risk.
Realizing he couldn't eliminate all opposition quickly, Magneto changed tactics.
The floating conventional firearms snapped toward Fadili Trask.
Gunfire erupted.
Within seconds, Trask collapsed, riddled with bullets.
Chaos spread through the crowd.
Then Magneto raised both hands.
The reinforced concrete headquarters building behind the stage began to tremble violently. Steel beams screamed under invisible pressure. Windows shattered.
In less than ten seconds, the entire skyscraper collapsed inward as if detonated from within.
The live broadcast cut out mid-collapse.
Dust swallowed the screen.
Silence followed.
Richard's phone rang almost immediately.
Tony.
"Is it true?" Tony demanded without greeting. "Did you really tell mutants to rise up?"
"You called just for that?" Richard asked dryly.
"What else?"
Richard paused deliberately.
"Yes," he said. "I said it."
It wasn't precisely true—but it wasn't entirely false either.
Tony let out a slow breath. "Didn't think you cared about the broader mutant situation."
"Don't overinterpret it."
"Fine. That's all."
Tony hung up.
Seconds later, Professor X called.
The same question.
The same answer.
When both calls ended, Richard stood.
"I'm going to train."
Emma and Clarice both nodded.
He vanished.
—
Silver Manor Training Hall.
The massive indoor arena behind the manor's main structure had been built specifically for him. No equipment. No distractions. Just reinforced surfaces and space.
Richard drew Masamune.
Even without magic, the blade could cleave reinforced concrete effortlessly now.
He flicked his wrist, testing weight and balance. Then magic surged.
In an instant, his casual clothing transformed into Sephiroth's black long coat and silver pauldrons. Boots, gloves, belt—perfect replication.
He didn't need the aesthetic.
He wanted it.
Power was part function, part presence.
"Earthshaker."
Four overlapping slashes split the air.
Shockwaves carved deep scars across the reinforced training walls.
He continued without pause.
Time passed.
—
Two weeks later.
The world outside changed rapidly.
The government and Trask Industries opened cure centers across major cities, offering free injections. Mutant numbers began quietly decreasing.
Magneto's Brotherhood launched coordinated attacks against those centers.
Mutants inspired by Magneto's speech staged protests, sabotage, even riots.
Richard remained at the manor.
He avoided galas, avoided cameras, avoided the spotlight.
He trained.
All remaining abilities reached Level 4.
Template fusion climbed from 60% to 65%.
And with that increase came something new.
Heartless Angel.
System description:
[Heartless Angel Lv1: Upon successful strike, ignores defense and physique. Immediately inflicts near-death severe injury. Effect may fail if power gap is extreme.]
Richard tested it personally.
Human criminals.
Mutant criminals.
Results were consistent.
The target never died instantly—but every victim collapsed into catastrophic systemic failure, as if their vitality had been forcibly reduced to a single thread.
It resembled causality manipulation more than simple damage.
He didn't need to understand it.
He only needed to know it worked.
—
Night.
After finishing training, Richard teleported back to the bedroom.
Emma lay on the bed in a white silk nightgown, reading.
She set the book aside and walked toward him, pressing close.
"Shower first," she murmured, "or something more enjoyable?"
He lifted her effortlessly.
"Both."
Water ran. Steam filled the room. Debate followed.
An hour later, he carried her back to bed.
She wasn't done.
A rematch was initiated.
Richard never refused a challenge.
—
Meanwhile.
Mutant School.
Underground lab.
Jean and Scott stood before analytical displays, examining molecular breakdowns of the cure.
Reverse engineering had revealed very little.
The original stock solution did not originate at Trask Industries.
Trask received it.
Diluted it.
Packaged it.
Banner and multiple SHIELD researchers had participated in "technical collaboration," but even they did not know the true origin. They believed they were solving isolated biochemical puzzles.
The source remained concealed.
Telepathic shielding had improved dramatically. Secure facilities were now lined with psychic dampening materials. Rooms existed that Charles could not penetrate.
Decades of fear had driven human innovation.
Professor X had not located the core production site.
Jean stared at the molecular readout silently.
Something about the compound unsettled her.
Deep within her mind, behind the invisible cage Charles had constructed years ago, something stirred.
Not violently.
Not yet.
But the first crack had formed.
.....
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