In reality, the Dark Phoenix staggered mid-air.
Her clash with Esdeath faltered—not because of force, but because something far worse was happening.
Control was slipping.
"No—no!" she screamed, clutching her head as waves of crimson fire flickered violently around her. "I just came out! I won't disappear!"
The Phoenix flames roared once… then sputtered.
Cracks spread through her form, not physical, but conceptual—like a shadow losing the light that cast it.
She wasn't the true owner.
She never was.
She was born from grief. From rage. From pain that had nowhere to go.
And now, the one who owned that power was waking up.
"No!" the Dark Phoenix shrieked, her voice warping. "You need me! You can't face the world without me!"
The flames recoiled inward.
Her form began to unravel, pulled back toward its source like smoke being dragged into a vacuum.
Inside, Jean opened her eyes.
The fire didn't reject her.
It answered her.
The raging crimson blaze softened—its color shifting, stabilizing, reshaping itself. The chaotic destruction vanished, replaced by controlled, radiant Phoenix fire that wrapped around Jean like wings instead of chains.
The Dark Phoenix let out one final, furious cry before dissolving completely.
Gone.
Erased.
Jean hovered there, breathing hard, her eyes glowing briefly with golden fire—then fading back to normal.
The Phoenix Force flared once behind her in the shape of blazing wings… then folded inward and disappeared, retreating deep within her, quiet and restrained.
The sky calmed.
The violent pressure vanished.
"Good thing you managed to control the Phoenix Force," Luke said, exhaling quietly.
It really was a blessing in disguise. Jean learning to restrain that power—own it instead of being consumed by it—meant the island had narrowly avoided complete annihilation.
Not long after, Professor Xavier arrived, his expression tight with concern. He asked what had happened, and Luke explained everything—from the Shadow King's interference to the Dark Phoenix nearly breaking free.
When Charles finally spoke, his voice was heavy.
"I'm sorry," he said to Jean. "I should have told you sooner. I hid it… because I wanted to protect you."
Jean shook her head gently. "You don't need to apologize, Professor. You did what you thought was right. I understand that now."
The matter was laid to rest.
Days passed.
Luke didn't waste them.
He learned from the incident.
The first thing he did was reinforce the island itself. A psychic barrier—vast, layered, and adaptive—was woven around the entire island. Not just to block physical intrusion, but to prevent mental infiltration.
He wasn't about to let the Shadow King pull something like that again.
As for hunting him down—Luke changed his approach.
Every time he extended his spiritual or psychic senses and felt corruption trying to latch on, he cut that section off immediately. No hesitation. Like severing an infected nerve.
Instead of tracing the Shadow King directly, Luke began triangulating the aftereffects—tiny echoes left behind when his senses were forcefully rejected or contaminated.
It turned into a slow, frustrating game.
Like cat and mouse.
Or more accurately—Tom and Jerry.
The Shadow King hid. Luke adapted. Neither could fully corner the other.
For now.
That was why Luke stood with Clarice.
She looked at him uncertainly. "Umm… what exactly can you learn from me?" she asked. "I'm not psychic."
Luke smiled faintly.
"Your portals," Luke replied. "Your spatial control. I have some ideas that require that kind of control. For that, I need to understand how teleportation actually works."
Clarice hesitated. "But… it's my mutant ability. Can you even learn something like that?"
She didn't sound defensive—more uncertain. If anything, she trusted Luke. After everything he'd done for mutants, he was already high on her list of favorite people.
"At least it's worth a try," Luke said simply.
Clarice exhaled, then nodded. She raised her hand and opened a portal beside them—a familiar violet-edged oval tearing open space itself.
The moment it formed, Luke stepped closer. Too close.
Clarice stiffened as he leaned in, her face heating up—but then she realized his eyes weren't on her at all.
He was staring straight through the portal, brows furrowed in concentration, studying the way space bent at its edges.
"…Umm," Clarice said awkwardly.
Luke blinked. "Oh. Can you close it and open it again?"
He still hadn't noticed her reaction.
Clarice stared at him for a second… then sighed.
"Yeah," she muttered, waving her hand. "Again."
And again turned into many times.
Luke kept asking questions—precise, technical ones—but answering them meant Clarice had to keep opening portals, adjusting angles, holding them steady while he observed far too closely. Somewhere along the way, close stopped meaning accidental.
He took her hand more than once, fingers wrapping around her wrist to correct the motion. Once, his palm rested briefly against her forearm. Another time, he leaned in so near that his cheek almost brushed hers as he watched the space fold.
At one point, he lightly touched her face, trying to understand how her brain functioned during portal activation.
Clarice nearly short-circuited.
To anyone else, it probably looked like flirting. Intentional. Slow. Intimate.
To Luke?
Pure research.
By the end of the hour, Clarice was completely done—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. She shut the last portal a little harder than necessary and stepped back, arms crossed, breathing carefully.
She had held back the urge to smack him at least five times.
Luke, meanwhile, nodded to himself like a man who had just solved a difficult equation.
"…Yeah," he said, satisfied. "That clears it up."
He turned and walked away without another word, already lost in thought, like he'd just found the final piece he needed.
Clarice stared at his back, heart racing, face warm.
"This guy…" she muttered under her breath, pressing a hand to her chest. "Can't he see what he's doing to my heart?"
She exhaled slowly.
I need to calm down. Now.
With that, she turned in the opposite direction.
She should go talk to Jean.
*****
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