The briefing took place at Xavier's school the next day.
All of us were there—my full team plus the X-Men's core members. Jean Grey was presenting, and what she showed us was terrifying.
"Three telepaths have vanished in the past month," she said, projecting images on the screen. "All Omega-level or close to it. Their minds were… drained. Used as fuel for some kind of ritual."
"What kind of ritual?" I asked.
"One designed to break a psychic seal," Xavier answered. "Millennia ago, a group of ancient mutants imprisoned Apocalypse in a tomb beneath Cairo. They used a psychic lock—one that requires enormous telepathic energy to open."
"And someone's trying to open it," Felicia concluded. "But why? What do they gain?"
"Power," Elektra said darkly. "Apocalypse promises power to his followers. He transforms them, enhances them, makes them into something more."
"His Horsemen," I remembered from the comics. "He creates four servants with augmented powers. Makes them into living weapons."
Everyone stared at me.
"How do you know that?" Storm asked.
"I… read a lot," I improvised. "Ancient mutant history. It's a hobby."
Xavier gave me a knowing look but didn't press. "Regardless of how Marcus knows, he's correct. Apocalypse creates Horsemen to serve him. And if he rises, he'll corrupt powerful mutants to his cause."
"So we stop whoever's trying to wake him," Jessica said. "SHIELD can help with that. Find the people behind it, shut down their operation."
"It's not that simple," Jean replied. "The people behind this are… well-funded, well-connected, and they have telepaths of their own. Possibly even one working with them willingly."
"Who?" I asked.
"We don't know yet. But whoever they are, they're powerful enough to mask their presence even from me and the Professor."
That was concerning. Very concerning.
Over the next week, we worked alongside the X-Men to track down leads.
It was strange, being in the middle of something this big. I'd spent months building my skills, fighting street-level threats, dealing with Kingpin. This was different. This was world-ending stakes.
I threw myself into the investigation, using my telepathy to scan thousands of minds across New York, looking for any trace of the conspiracy. It was exhausting work—my powers had grown, but not to the point where I could casually scan entire populations. Each session left me drained, bleeding from the nose, needing hours to recover.
But I was finding things. Fragments of conversations, hints of meetings, traces of a larger organization.
"They're called the Clan Akkaba," I reported to the team during one briefing. "Apocalypse's ancient cult. They've survived for thousands of years, waiting for his return."
"How many of them are there?" Cyclops asked.
"In New York? Maybe fifty that I've found. But I'm sensing… something else. A presence I can't quite pin down. Someone powerful hiding among them."
"The telepath working with them," Jean concluded. "Can you locate them?"
"Not yet. They're too good at shielding. But I'm getting closer."
What I didn't mention was how much this was taking out of me. I was operating at the edge of my abilities, scanning hundreds of minds daily, processing information at a pace that was starting to cause problems. The headaches were constant now. My hands shook when I wasn't concentrating. And the other night, I'd had a nosebleed that took twenty minutes to stop.
I was burning out. And everyone could see it.
"You need to rest," Emma said during one of our training sessions—which had become more like therapy sessions as the investigation intensified.
"I can't. We're running out of time."
"You're running out of yourself." She touched my temple gently. "I can feel your mind fraying at the edges. You're pushing too hard, too fast. If you don't slow down, you'll burn out completely."
"If I slow down, Apocalypse wakes up and kills everyone."
"If you burn out, you'll be useless when we need you most." She pulled back. "Marcus, I know you feel responsible. You're powerful, you want to help. But you can't save the world if you destroy yourself in the process."
"What do you suggest?"
"Delegate. You have a team—use them. Let Maya and Elektra handle the physical investigations. Let Felicia process intelligence. Let Jessica coordinate with SHIELD. You focus on the telepathic work you're uniquely suited for, but in measured doses."
She was right. I'd been trying to do everything, be everywhere, solve every problem. It wasn't sustainable.
"Okay," I agreed. "I'll pull back. Focus on the important scans only."
"Good." She smiled slightly. "And Marcus? When this is over, we need to have a serious conversation about you joining my team."
"Your team?"
"The Hellfire Club. White Queen position is open, and I could use a White King with your particular talents." She stood. "Think about it. If we survive this, of course."
The breakthrough came three days later.
Maya had been doing street-level surveillance, watching known Clan Akkaba locations. She caught something the telepaths had missed—a pattern of movements, deliveries to an abandoned subway station in the Bronx.
When we investigated, we found it: a ritual chamber, covered in ancient symbols, surrounded by technological equipment that looked like it came from a sci-fi movie.
And in the center, suspended in some kind of energy field, were two telepaths. Still alive, but barely—their powers being slowly drained to fuel the ritual.
"We found it," I reported to Xavier. "The ritual site. But we're too late to stop it—the process is already underway."
"Can you disrupt it?"
"Maybe. But I'd need to interface with the machinery directly, and I don't have the technical knowledge—"
"I do," Felicia interrupted. "If you can handle the telepathic component, I can handle the tech."
"It'll be dangerous," I warned. "There are guards, probably including that telepath we've been hunting."
"Then we bring everyone," Jessica said. "Full team assault. X-Men and us, working together."
"Agreed," Xavier said. "We move tonight. Before they complete the ritual."
As we geared up for the assault, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were missing something. The pattern was too obvious, the location too easy to find.
But we were out of time. Ready or not, we were going in.