In the quiet of the X-Mansion's laboratory, Sebastian pondered the nature of magical authority. Beyond rare paths like seizing or inheriting power, the surest way to gain authority was to create and spread a new magical system. As its teachings took root, the essence of magic would flow back to the system's creator. When this essence reached a critical threshold, it would crystallize into true authority.
Sustaining that authority demanded ongoing teaching and expansion. Each practitioner contributed essence, though their impact varied. An ordinary wizard might offer only a faint trickle, but a master—soone who reached extraordinary heights—could channel essence many tis greater. At Kamar-Taj, for instance, each Sorcerer Supre generated essence rivaling the combined efforts of all other mages.
The Vishanti Trinity, as the wellspring of white magic, didn't rely solely on Kamar-Taj. Every wizard wielding white magic, across countless realms, fed their power, making them the dominant force in magical realms. Black magic, by contrast, suffered from fractured sources, its practitioners scattered and disunited, weakening its collective authority.
Wanda's potential was undeniable. If she mastered Sebastian's new magical system, becoming its torchbearer, the essence she'd return could be imnse—perhaps rivaling a Sorcerer Supre. Such a disciple could elevate Sebastian's authority to unprecedented heights.
He glanced at Wanda, who sat across from him, her hands gripping a borrowed wand. The laboratory glowed softly under Lumos, its shelves lined with arcane tools and notes on the Space Gem. Sebastian had begun her training, guiding her through the basics of his world's magic.
"Focus, Wanda," he said, his voice steady but encouraging. "The Wingardium Leviosa spell requires precision. Flick your wand upward, like this, and say the incantation clearly."
Wanda mirrored his motion, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Wingardium Leviosa," she intoned. A feather on the table quivered, then rose a few inches before wobbling back down.
She sighed, frustration flickering across her face. "It's harder than it looks."
Sebastian smiled faintly, a rare softness in his expression. "Magic always is, at first. You're tapping into sothing deeper than your chaos magic—it's a discipline, not just power. Try again."
Wanda nodded, her determination reigniting.
"Good. Keep practicing. I'll work on the Space Gem artifact while you train."
Sebastian turned to a workbench, where diagrams and enchanted materials lay scattered. Crafting a conduit for the Space Gem was no small task, but his studies at Kamar-Taj had prepared him. The sling ring's magic artifact will act as a base for his new artifact to wield the space gem.
He envisioned an artifact that could channel the gem's spatial dominion without destabilizing reality.
As he sketched runes, Wanda's voice broke his concentration. "Sebastian… why did you agree to teach ? You could've said no."
He paused, setting down his quill. The wand's tremor from their earlier talk, that prophetic pulse, still lingered in his mory. "I almost did," he admitted, turning to face her. "But sothing told not to do so."
"You know we wizards as we develop our powers our spiritual sense give warnings to us, it is our choice when to follow and when to ignore it and I decided to honour it this ti."
He stepped back, breaking the mont. "Let's keep going. You've got a spell to master, and I've got an artifact to build."
Wanda smiled, a mix of gratitude and sothing deeper, and returned to her practice. As Sebastian resud his work, he resud his focus.
While Sebastian guided Wanda through the intricacies of Wingardium Leviosa in the X-Mansion's laboratory, crafting a conduit for the Space Gem between lessons, a darker plot unfolded far away.
On a remote dam in the United States, Colonel William Stryker stood in a hidden safe house, his face pale with fury. The surveillance feeds before him were blank—his mutant captives gone. A formidable mutant had stord his secret facility, reducing soldiers and reinforced cages to dust with a single gesture. His prized mutant weapons, painstakingly developed, were either dead or liberated, now loyal to this new threat.
Had Stryker not been transferred in this covert bunker, known only to a select few, he'd likely be among the casualties littering the base.
Sebastian's arrival, and the Space Gem's influence, had rippled through the world. The gem's power had awakened Apocalypse earlier than fate intended, granting him access to the Destiny's mories—a trove of knowledge that included Stryker's secret mutant research. Recognizing Sebastian's strength, Apocalypse avoided direct confrontation. Instead, he sought to transfer his essence into a stronger host and bolster his forces, gathering his Four Horsen to challenge Sebastian's might.
"Colonel, what's our next move?" a subordinate asked, his voice tense. "Our experints are ruined. Weapon X is all we have left in captivity—no other mutants."
Stryker's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. After a mont, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "No mutants here, true. But I know where others are hiding. Acquiring them will require… the right mont."
He paced, his boots echoing in the sterile room. "As for that mutant who attacked us—so in the military have been itching to revive the Sentinel Project but lacked justification. We'll hand them the surveillance footage. It's the perfect excuse. Our goals align: eradicate mutants, whatever it takes."
The subordinate nodded, though unease flickered in his eyes. Stryker's gaze returned to the blank screens, his resolve hardening. The ga had changed, but he'd play it to the end.
Deep within a pyramid forged by Apocalypse's will, the ancient mutant stood before his chosen warriors. "Storm, Scarlet Light, Steel Claw, Rakshasa—you are my new knights. You will stand guard here while I undergo transference and slumber. When I awaken, mutants will rise to rule this world as its rightful lords. You will stand unrivaled, exalted by humanity!"
Storm, summoned from the streets of Cairo, joined three others Apocalypse had gathered from distant lands. Scarlet Light, a woman in her twenties with blazing red hair, appeared unremarkable save for her latent power. Steel Claw, a man near thirty, bore long canine teeth and sturdy limbs, his raw strength concealed by a plain exterior. Rakshasa, hailing from India, had transford upon awakening, blending male and female traits and sprouting three pairs of arms, his abilities yet to fully erge.
Each had been imbued with Apocalypse's enhancents, their powers sharpened and elevated to stand among the mightiest mutants. They were his Four Horsen, forged to oppose a formidable foe.
Three lesser mutants, brought to the pyramid after Apocalypse leveled a city to erect it, were marked for a different fate. They would be absorbed, their essence fueling his transcendence. The remaining mutants, freed from Colonel Stryker's research base but deed unworthy, were scattered across the United States, abandoned to survive or perish.
Apocalypse viewed mutants as his kin, yet his heart was that of a tyrant. Only those who bolstered his strength—through knighthood or sacrifice—held value. The discarded, left to fend for themselves, were granted what he called rcy.
Turning from his Horsen, their abilities honed to counter his enemy, Apocalypse strode into the pyramid's inner sanctum. The stone door sealed behind him, leaving Storm, Scarlet Light, Steel Claw, and Rakshasa to keep vigil.
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