Three Years Later – Combat Simulation Room, Xavier's School
"Afterimage Strike!"
In the blink of an eye, Mark vanished, leaving behind a shimmering blur that shimmered like heat on asphalt. A deafening whomp followed as a tank-sized shell tore through the space he'd just occupied, obliterating a section of the reinforced training arena wall.
He reappeared behind one of the combat droids, a towering machine of brutal design, plated in matte-black alloy and bristling with weapons. It had only just begun to turn when Mark's hands ignited with energy.
"Ki Barrage!"
He thrust both palms forward. Dozens of blazing energy blasts erupted in rapid succession, streaking like comet tails through the air. Each one smashed into the droid's neck and upper spine with pinpoint force, the final shot bursting like a dying star against its cranial joint.
BOOM!
The machine's head rocketed from its body in a spray of molten steel, wires snapping like whips as the decapitated frame toppled sideways with a hollow clang.
But there was no time to savor the moment.
The ground shook.
A second mech, bigger, more heavily armored, lunged forward, its giant fist arcing down toward Mark like a meteor. Hydraulic limbs screamed from the sudden movement. The arm alone was the size of a compact car.
Mark didn't move.
His eyes narrowed, jaw set. At the last possible instant, he raised both arms and caught the incoming blow, halting the mech's punch with a concussive shockwave that cracked the concrete beneath his boots. His muscles bunched, veins like cables pulsing along his forearms as raw power surged through him.
"Rrgh!"
With a grunt of effort, he twisted his hips and flipped the entire machine over his shoulder. The mech's bulk, easily ten tons of armor and artillery, soared through the air in a slow, catastrophic arc before slamming into the arena floor like a dropped skyscraper. A plume of shattered concrete and steel erupted on impact, sending debris skittering across the battlefield.
Then came the hiss of pressure valves.
The final droid sleeker and more advanced than the rest, disengaged its right arm with a mechanical shriek. The limb transformed mid-air, separating into four sleek homing missiles. They ignited instantly, their tips glowing orange with heat as they locked onto Mark's position.
They closed in.
"Destructo Disc!"
Mark snapped his hand outward. A luminous disc of golden energy flared into existence, razor-thin and spinning so fast it hummed. He launched it in a tight arc, guiding it with lethal precision.
The disc carved through the first missile, then the second, its path shifting mid-air as Mark adjusted with a flick of his fingers. Sparks and shrapnel exploded in fiery blossoms. The third and fourth missiles barely had time to swerve before they, too, were cleaved apart in mid-flight.
The disc didn't stop.
It sliced straight through the oncoming robot, bisecting it from head to groin in a clean, precise cut. For a moment, the mech stood frozen, then its left half slid off the bottom, crashing apart with a metallic groan as smoke and internal flame belched from the wreckage.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of burning oil and the faint hum of Mark's dissipating aura.
"Simulation complete."
The room's automated voice echoed through the now motionless space, cutting through the fading tension. All traces of the destruction faded as the simulation reset, explosions erased, smoke drawn away, debris pulled into digital nothingness. The combat floor gleamed once again, spotless and sterile.
Mark stood alone in the center of the room, his breathing steady but not strained. He slowly lowered his hands, his gaze sweeping across the empty space. A faint sigh escaped his lips.
"Too easy."
He was only fifteen, but his appearance told another story. Years of rigorous training had pushed his physical development far beyond his age. He now stood a full six feet tall, lean and forged like a weapon. His bare torso gleamed with sweat, the contours of his muscles tight with tension biceps, shoulders, and core woven with strength earned through endless repetition and discipline.
Every morning for the past three years had begun at sunrise, with brutal strength and endurance sessions rooted in ancient martial traditions. His afternoons were spent inside this room, grinding through combat sequences at increasing levels of difficulty. And each evening, long after others had gone to bed, he immersed himself in the arcane arts consuming the knowledge left behind in the memories of the wizard who now lived within him like a phantom echo.
His base power level, measured without external boosts, had climbed steadily to 140. But the moment he activated the Goku template that number doubled to 280. And when the moon rose full and round, drawing out the primal beast within him, it exploded to 2,800.
At that level, he could go toe-to-toe with Captain Marvel.
And he wasn't done yet.
His arcane training had advanced, too. Spells came to him now like instinct. He no longer needed to switch into the Harrytemplate to cast them, though doing so amplified their force exponentially. Blending magic and martial power had opened doors no one else at the school could even perceive. He was becoming something singular. Something dangerous.
But even power has limits.
He had reached a plateau. The simulation room, once a crucible that nearly killed him on his first day, no longer offered resistance. Even the highest settings couldn't draw blood, couldn't challenge him anymore.
"I hope Professor Hank finishes the gravity chamber soon," he muttered, dragging a towel across his shoulders and wiping the sweat from his face.
It was supposed to be his next trial. A chamber where gravity could be dialed to crushing extremes, forcing muscle and mind to adapt or collapse. But Hank had too many responsibilities. As one of the school's senior staff, he was stretched thin managing mutant politics, security, and teaching.
And besides, the chamber would cost more than the school could afford for a single student. Even one like Mark.
"If I want to break through this wall, I'll have to start earning justice points again," he said, walking toward the bench and tugging on his shirt.
"And maybe make some cash while I'm at it."
For the last three years, he had kept his head down. He trained, studied, ate, and slept. Occasionally, during holiday breaks, he Wanda and Petro roamed the city, but he never went out as a hero. Not yet. The stakes had been too high. He'd been too weak.
But now? Now he had the strength. He had the control.
He was still thinking through his next steps when the chamber door slid open with a quiet hiss.
"Mark. You finished in here?" came a familiar voice.
He turned.
Storm stood in the doorway, cool and poised as always in her fitted bodysuit. Her presence carried quiet command. Behind her, several students trailed in Domino, Colossus, Iceman, Shadowcat, and Rogue.
"Just wrapped up," Mark said, slinging the towel over his shoulder.
"What's the occasion?"
Storm gestured to the younger trio behind her. "It's time for their first full battle simulation. Graduation's coming up. I want them prepared."
He nodded. That made sense.
At the school, students were offered a choice around this age either graduate and return to normal life, or stay and join the ranks of the X-Men. These three had chosen the latter.
He looked at Shadowcat. The first time they met, he thought she was his age. But she had simply matured slower. She was seventeen now. All three of them were. Ready for the next stage.
"Room's all yours," he said, stepping aside. "I don't think I'll be using it much anymore."
Storm tilted her head. "That's rare, coming from you."
He offered a dry smile. "Top level's not enough anymore."
And with that, he walked past them, the door sliding shut behind him.
For a moment, no one moved.
All four girls turned slightly, watching his retreat. His frame, the way his shirt clung to the sculpted muscle beneath it was hard to ignore. There was admiration in their eyes. But also something deeper.
Respect. Curiosity. A quiet sense of awe.
Mark wasn't just strong. He was a legend in the making.
They had seen what he could do. Stories about him circulated the school, the boy who took down armed invaders on his first day, who trained under conditions no one else dared attempt. They had seen him running laps with weights most adults couldn't lift, swimming with boulders chained to his waist, and eating more than three athletes combined.
"Professor," Iceman finally asked, still staring at the spot Mark had just vacated, "was that really the hardest setting?"
Storm glanced at the control panel, then at the pristine simulation floor.
"Well," she said with a faint smile, "maybe not the hardest ever. But if we had Logan, Scott, Jean, and Colossus helping out, we might survive it."
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Chapter 57 on patreon
Last two tiers have undergone a price chang, to be more accommodating on those on there, as they where a bit expensive
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