The Golden Destroyer

The still-warm ashes of the devastated mountain drifted gently in the wind, forming a grayish veil that covered the scene of desolation. The charred trees surrounded the area like silent spectators of a battle whose intensity seemed unimaginable. The echoes of this confrontation, though so recent, were already swallowed in an oppressive silence.

Cyclops lay on the ground, his costume in tatters, his breath short. A deep burn crossed his torso, a mark left by a fragment of cosmic energy that had struck him squarely. His hoarse groans testified to his pain, but also to his determination to remain conscious. The other X-Men, Jean, Ororo, and Hank, though still standing, were hardly in better condition. Jean trembled, her hands stained with blood, her gaze haunted by the temporary awakening of the Phoenix Force. She struggled to maintain a stoic facade, but her mind wavered.

Not far away, the remaining members of the Brotherhood tried to regroup. Mystique, leaning against a rock, observed with rare vulnerability the void left by Avalanche. His absence was a loss she had never anticipated, and her gaze lingered on the spot where his body had been reduced to dust.

At the center of this chaos was Jonathan, kneeling in a huge crater, his body trembling under the titanic effort he had exerted. His human form seemed fragile after briefly tasting cosmic power, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of mixed fury and euphoria. He had touched something inconceivable, an energy that only asked to consume him, but also to transcend him. Yet, he had stopped in time, leaving behind a trail of destruction that no one could deny.

Two silhouettes advanced through the smoke. Xavier and Magneto, despite their differences, projected an aura of determined calm. Charles, in his floating chair, and Erik, clad in his armor, stopped a few meters from the scattered group. Their gazes scanned the scene, registering every detail, every wound, every death.

"What a mess…" Magneto murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of anger and respect.

"We were imprudent to let this happen."

Xavier nodded slowly, his face grim. "Jean is in danger, as is the rest of the world, if this power manifests again. As for him…" He turned his clear eyes towards Jonathan. "He represents a threat we cannot ignore."

Magneto crossed his arms, a glint of defiance in his eyes.

"You mean *you* cannot ignore. I see things differently. A power like his could serve much greater purposes than mere sterile confrontations."

Charles closed his eyes for a moment, probing the minds around him. He felt the fear, the pain, and the confusion. "What you propose, Erik, would lead to our downfall. If the public were to know what happened here, or even understand what they are truly capable of… We would all be doomed."

A silence weighed between the two men. Then, finally, Magneto sighed. "Very well. But know that this will not remain so forever."

"I know," replied Xavier, "for everyone's sake." It's better the truth stays buried here. Otherwise, all mutants will have a target on their backs.

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The room was dark, lit only by a faint flickering light emanating from a hanging lamp. Mystique stood facing Magneto, arms crossed, her features drawn with barely contained anger. Her eyes pierced the shadow, fixed on him with an intensity that betrayed her exasperation.

"You used me, Erik," she hissed. "Once again, you manipulated me like a piece on your chessboard."

Magneto, sitting on a metal chair he had bent to his liking, did not look away. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a glimmer of exhaustion. He interlaced his fingers, as if searching for the right words.

"Yes, Raven, I manipulated you," he admitted calmly. "But don't tell me you hadn't guessed."

Mystique recoiled, struck by the coldness of his response. She clenched her fists, struggling not to give in to the urge to attack him on the spot.

"So, you admit it!" You knew exactly what this mission would entail. These horrors in this base, this laboratory… all for what? To prove a point? To play strategist? Lives were shattered today, Erik. Avalanche…" Her voice broke as she spoke his name.

Magneto rose slowly, his tall stature imposing despite the tense atmosphere. He approached Mystique, his tone still even. "Avalanche knew what he was getting into. Just like you." He paused, probing her gaze. "As for Jonathan… I never intended to force him into anything. You know as well as I do, that's impossible. But I knew what this base represented: a nest of atrocities. And I knew that, if he saw these horrors, he would take our cause to heart."

"You wanted to manipulate him emotionally," Mystique spat.

Magneto nodded, imperturbable. "Yes. Because without leverage, he would have remained neutral. Jonathan is raw power, Raven. A force no one can ignore. If Shaw got complete control of him, he would have annihilated any hope of our movement having such striking force. And despite the fact that he is a walking disaster, he is empathetic enough for it to serve us."

Mystique shook her head, incredulous. "So all this was a matter of pride?" Of scoring points against Shaw? "Of shocking him so that he would invest himself body and soul?"

A bitter smile stretched Magneto's lips. "Not only. But yes, depriving him of such a powerful ally was a priority." He moved closer, his tone becoming almost paternal. "Raven, understand me. I never wanted it to degenerate this way. I couldn't predict that Jonathan would develop other abilities… by tasting such destructive energy."

Mystique took a step back, her anger still vibrant. "He's not just 'raw power,' Erik. He's a time bomb, and you know it." She pointed a finger at him, her voice trembling. "I don't like him, he's unpredictable. Sneaky, and too powerful."

Magneto did not respond immediately. His silence seemed to weigh heavily in the air, but when he finally spoke, his voice was grave.

"You're right. I don't like this random aspect he showed in his powers. But it's a matter of survival. As long as he's on our side, we have a chance to win. But if he turned against us…"

He left his sentence hanging, the weight of his words enough to paint the extent of his worries. Mystique stared at him, her emotions oscillating between anger, disappointment, and resignation.

"One day, Erik, your obsession with control will destroy you. And you'll take everyone down with you."

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Magneto alone in the darkness. He remained motionless, thoughtful, before sitting down heavily again. For the first time in a long time, he wondered if he had pushed his game a little too far.

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A week later.

Hellfire Club.

I watched the wall clock, its hands seeming to stretch out as if to mock me. The heavy silence in the room was only interrupted by the slight creaking of my chair as I leaned back in it.

Shaw had not yet arrived, but I knew he would come, with his carnivorous smile and his calculating air.

He had played a crucial role in suppressing this affair. Without him and his networks of influence, the smoking ruins stretching for miles around and the furious madness that struck several areas would have made headlines. Xavier was powerful, but preventing such an event from reaching certain high-placed people was not within his reach. But, like everything with Shaw, this kind of "service" never came free.

The door finally opened, and he entered, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, his piercing gaze fixed on me. He had that annoying assurance, an aura of total control that seemed embedded in his every movement.

"Jonathan, my dear," he began, taking a seat opposite me. "I hope you appreciated my intervention."

I did not respond immediately. To be honest, I didn't know what to say. Of course, I was grateful that the incident had been hushed up, but I hated the idea of being indebted to this man.

"I suppose I should thank you," I finally said, in an even voice.

His smile widened. "You suppose correctly. But gratitude, Jonathan, is a very fragile currency. What I want is something more tangible."

Obviously. I should have expected it. I straightened my back slightly, ready to take what he was going to ask.

"Go ahead, say what you want."

He crossed his fingers, his eyes twinkling with malice. "I don't need you for anything huge. Not yet, at least. But there is a small… situation I would like you to take care of for me."

"What situation?"

He leaned forward slightly, as if to give more weight to his words. "A man, named James Riker, a former collaborator of my company, has stolen sensitive information. He's hiding somewhere, thinking he can escape me. I want you to find him and retrieve what he took from me."

I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to play bounty hunter for you?"

Killing of my own accord was one thing. But killing for another, even if it was a bastard of the same caliber as Shaw, didn't enchant me much.

"Oh, it's not just a matter of hunting. This man has knowledge about me, about my operations… information I can't let fall into the wrong hands. I want you to make him disappear, Jonathan. Permanently.

"And if I refuse?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Shaw offered an almost paternal smile. "Then I'm certain the incident at the base will become of great interest to certain government agencies. Perhaps even to entities more hostile to your… peculiarity. I sacrificed a little alien trinket to explain away a mountain and its surrounding area vanishing."

I clenched my fists in frustration. Even if he couldn't beat me, he could seriously mess with me. This man had calculated everything. I hated him, but he was right: I had no other choice. And anyway, I plan to use him in the future as well.

"Fine," I finally murmured. "Give me the details. But when it's done, we're even."

Shaw stood up, satisfied. "Oh, we'll see about that, my dear. We'll see."

As he left the room, I slumped back into the chair. A part of me knew this was just the beginning, that Shaw would always look for a way to pull the strings. And another, darker part took a certain pleasure in these games. I imagined myself losing ground and being in a bad position on the chessboard. Then, at a crucial moment, burning everything and telling everyone that I don't play fucking chess.

"Get a grip, buddy," I thought with a sigh. These thoughts were becoming really recurring, much to my dismay.

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Unknown location.

The room was plunged in a scarlet light, filtered by tubes of luminescent liquid that lined the walls. Sinister stood before an immense glass tank, where an indistinct silhouette floated. Subject 17, his most ambitious work, was almost ready. But it wasn't time to reveal it yet. No, first it was necessary to lay the foundations, to attract the attention of Jonathan and the others.

Sinister turned slowly, his cruel smile stretching his pale features. Beside him, a console projected a hologram of New York. He touched a specific point on the map: a crowded square in the heart of Manhattan. A wider smile formed on his lips.

"The art of persuasion requires a dramatic touch," he murmured.

A few hours later, chaos erupted.

An entire district of Manhattan transformed into a living hell. Passersby screamed and fled as the ground became covered in a strange black substance, thick and viscous, which seemed to swallow everything it touched. Buildings collapsed like card castles, engulfed by this teeming mass.

And at the center of it all, a grotesque structure rose: an organic and frail tower, similar to a giant spine covered in flesh. At the top, a humanoid silhouette was impaled, a mutant known for his pacifist speeches. His limbs were spread out in an almost Christ-like position, and his mouth, frozen in a rictus of horror, broadcast a single phrase on loop via a telepathic message projected globally:

"It is time to evolve, or perish."

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Elsewhere.

While he was en route for Shaw's mission, a drone crashed near where Jonathan resided. When he opened the compartment, a simple handwritten note was attached to a sample of the black substance.

"You want to protect this world, Dragon? Come prove you can. But be quick. I don't like to waste my time. I hope you're as intelligent as you are powerful." — S.

Jonathan clenched his fist, feeling a dull rage rising within him. But at the same time, something was off. It wasn't just a trap; it was a demonstration of power and a warning. Sinister was playing a multi-dimensional game, and he had just placed the first piece on the board.