Lightning still flickered in the ruined chamber.
Fragments of the floor smoldered under the aftermath of Mirrorblade's detonated Strombreaker. The air was heavy, charged with violence, yet frozen in a strange stillness.
At the center—
Apocalypse stood.
Unmoved.
Unshaken.
The torn flesh on his chest twisted and regenerated at a visible speed. Muscles rewove. Skin sealed. As if the damage had never existed.
"…Impressive."
His voice was low.
Calm.
Almost amused.
His gaze slowly shifted—
Locking onto Mirrorblade.
"You are not from this world."
Mirrorblade didn't respond.
His Sharingan spun silently, analyzing, calculating.
Danger level—
Off the charts.
Behind him, the others remained tense.
Jean's breathing was unsteady. Cyclops clenched his fists. Havok stood ready. Wolverine struggled against Magneto's restraint.
And Magneto—
Said nothing.
Only watched.
Cold.
Detached.
Apocalypse raised his hand slightly.
The air distorted.
A pressure descended instantly.
Mirrorblade's body sank—
Just a fraction.
Gravity.
Increased.
Then—
A beam of energy shot forward.
Fast.
Blinding.
Mirrorblade twisted—
Barely evading it.
The beam tore through the chamber, leaving a molten scar that extended beyond the academy walls.
"…Troublesome opponent."
Mirrorblade muttered.
This wasn't a fight you win with technique alone.
At the same moment—
Jean stepped forward.
"Stop him!"
Telekinetic force surged outward.
Cyclops fired a concentrated blast.
Havok unleashed a spiraling wave of plasma.
Three attacks—
Converging perfectly.
The explosion swallowed Apocalypse.
Flames roared.
The chamber shook.
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
A voice echoed from within the smoke.
"You rely too much… on numbers."
The smoke dispersed.
Apocalypse walked out.
Unharmed.
Storm raised her hand—
Lightning crashed down.
Psylocke dashed forward, psychic blade cutting through the air.
Angel took flight, feathers slicing like blades.
The battlefield escalated instantly.
But—
It wasn't enough.
Not even close.
Apocalypse stepped forward—
Slowly.
Calmly.
Unstoppable.
His hand extended—
Toward Professor X.
Floating.
Helpless.
Drawn in by Magneto's control.
"Your power…"
"…will complete me."
Jean's eyes widened.
"NO—!"
She rushed forward—
But—
Too late.
At that exact moment—
Something changed.
Subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
But—
Real.
The light in the room—
Shifted.
The air—
Felt different.
Mirrorblade's Sharingan paused for a fraction of a second.
"…?"
Something was off.
Very off.
Apocalypse's hand—
Was just about to touch Professor X.
Then—
He stopped.
Not by force.
Not by resistance.
But—
By instinct.
A deep, primal instinct.
His eyes narrowed.
"…Who?"
No answer.
Only silence.
Then—
A faint reflection—
Appeared on the surface of something.
A blade.
No one noticed it being drawn.
No one noticed it appearing.
But—
It was there.
Quietly.
Calmly.
Watching.
From the side—
A figure stood.
Aizen.
Still wearing glasses.
Still composed.
Still… smiling.
He hadn't moved.
Not once.
And yet—
Everything had already changed.
"…When—?"
Mirrorblade's eyes narrowed.
He didn't see him arrive.
Didn't sense him.
Didn't detect anything.
That alone—
Was terrifying.
Aizen adjusted his glasses slightly.
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
Then—
Rested on Apocalypse.
"…So this is the one."
His tone was mild.
Almost disappointed.
Apocalypse turned fully now.
His instincts—
Screaming.
Danger.
Extreme danger.
"…You."
Aizen smiled faintly.
"Tell me…"
"Did you enjoy what you saw?"
Apocalypse frowned.
"…What are you talking about?"
Aizen didn't answer.
Instead—
He gently raised his hand.
The blade—
Reflected light.
A perfect, fleeting shimmer.
"From the moment you saw this—"
His voice was soft.
Almost gentle.
"…you were already under my control."
Silence.
Mirrorblade's pupils shrank.
Jean froze.
Even Magneto—
Felt it.
Something was deeply wrong.
Apocalypse's expression darkened.
"…Illusion?"
Aizen's smile widened slightly.
"Not illusion."
"Perfect hypnosis."
No one spoke.
Because—
Something in their perception—
Felt unstable.
Like reality itself—
Had shifted.
Aizen took a slow step forward.
Each movement—
Unhurried.
Controlled.
Absolute.
"…Now then."
His voice carried a quiet authority.
"Let's begin."
And at that moment—
Without anyone realizing—
The battlefield—
Had already ceased to exist.
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