A week had passed. The initial shock of Jack's crash landing had faded, replaced by the familiar, low-grade chaos that now defined his presence at the Xavier Mansion. He walked the halls, fully recovered, wearing one of John Proudstar's sturdy combat boots and one of Logan's worn-out leather loafers. He was casually eating a powdered donut, leaving a faint, sugary trail in his wake.
He peeked into a classroom that, curiously, had no teacher. Inside, the first generation of X-Men were scattered around, some studying, some just talking. He pushed the door open and strolled in.
"What are you guys doing?" he asked, taking a large bite of his donut.
Alex looked up from his textbook. "What are you doing?"
"Yeah, man," Bobby chimed in from the back. "I think we're the ones who are supposed to ask you that."
Jack walked to the front of the classroom and hopped onto the teacher's desk, sitting cross-legged. "You guys are in your college years. You," he pointed at Darwin with his half-eaten donut, "how old are you now?"
"Me? I'm twenty," Darwin answered.
"See!" Jack exclaimed, as if this proved a profound point. "You're supposed to be out there! Humping another classmate you just met that day, drinking cheap beer while doing terrible karaoke, having fun, man!"
Remy LeBeau leaned back in his chair, a smooth, knowing smile on his face. "Mon ami, we do have fun. We just do it in secret."
In a flash, Jack was off the desk and leaning over Remy's, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated interest. "Oh, really?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Do tell your uncle what you guys do to have fun. I assure you, I can multiply that fun scale by a factor of ten."
Petra, who had been watching with a wary expression, finally spoke up. "Why are you so sketchy? It's as if you're trying to sell us drugs."
"Drugs are bad, kids," Jack said, his tone suddenly that of a cheesy after-school special. "Don't do 'em." He then leaned in again, his grin returning. "But selling them, on the other hand… kekekekeke."
The door to the classroom opened with the soft, silent whir of a rolling wheel.
Jack turned his head. "Oh, it's your class, Professor. No wonder you're late. Was the wheelchair traffic bad?"
Xavier just chuckled, a warm, patient sound. "Alright, Jack, that's enough. Hank called for you in the medbay. He says he's ready."
Jack stood and walked toward the door. "Okayy," he said, looking back at the class. "Kids, study wheel. Kekeke, get it?" He then looked at Xavier, and with a completely straight face, began to sing as he closed the door behind him. "They see me rollin'..."
The door clicked shut, but his voice could still be heard, fading down the hallway.
"They hatin'... Patrollin' and tryna catch me ridin' dirty… Tryna catch me ridin' dirty…"
…
Jack strolled into the medbay, his mismatched shoes making a strange, syncopated rhythm on the polished floor. He saw Moira and Hank standing beside a small, rolling table, a new device resting upon it.
"So," Hank said, his tone a mixture of scientific pride and nervous energy. "We have created this."
Jack looked at the sleek, new device. It was a syringe, but its needle gleamed with a faint, silvery-black luster. "Didn't we already do this?" he asked, a bored look on his face. "Again? My skin can't be penetrated by some needle."
"Ah, but this one is different," Moira said, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "We scoured our connections, and we got our hands on a bit of a rare metal. Thankfully, it was just enough to make a syringe out of it."
"Vibranium," Hank added, the word spoken with a scientist's reverence.
"Ahh, one of those Captain America shield materials," Jack said with a nod. "Sure, why not. But I have to dip fast after you draw my blood."
Hank readied the process while Moira prepared the equipment. "Hold still," Hank said.
He pressed the needle against Jack's arm. This time, there was no resistance. It pierced through Jack's skin with an unnerving ease. As Hank began to draw the blood, the vial began to fill. And then, they saw it.
Half of the blood was a deep, familiar crimson. But the other half was a swirling, shimmering substance that looked like pure, liquid gold. The two liquids flowed together in the test tube but did not mix, swirling around each other in a slow, hypnotic dance.
"What the…?" Hank breathed, his voice a quiet whisper of pure, unadulterated shock.
"I told you," Jack said, looking down at his arm. "I'm not a mutant."
Moira stared at the vial, her mind racing. "So… you saying you're a god… that wasn't a joke?"
"When do I joke around?" Jack asked with a completely straight face.
"All the time," Hank and Moira said in perfect, weary unison.
"Kekeke, well, fair," Jack conceded.
Hank placed the test tube in a rack, his eyes mesmerized by the impossible sight of the swirling gold and red.
"So, are we really holding a god's blood in our test tube?" Moira whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
"Well, you better hurry with it, or else it'll evaporate quick," Jack said cheerfully.
"What?" Hank and Moira said at the same time.
They didn't say another word. They grabbed the test tube and sprinted out of the medbay, their voices a frantic, panicked echo down the hallway as they ran toward the lab to observe and check the impossible sample.
Jack was left alone in the medbay. "Rude," he muttered to the empty room. "Didn't even say thanks."
He hopped off the bed and walked outside. As he was about to whistle for Zephyr, a furious roar echoed from the mansion.
"JACKK!! WHERE IS MY BOOT?!"
Jack, with a wide, unconcerned grin, whistled. Zephyr swooped down, and he leaped onto its misty form, leaving the mansion behind with a loud, triumphant, and utterly unapologetic cackle.
"KEKEKEKEKE!"
…
The sun beat down on the rocky, windswept shores of Cape Matapan. The two clones, still in their ridiculous beach outfits, had been waiting patiently. Then, a streak of black and gold shot from the sky.
Jack Hou landed with a perfect, three-point superhero pose, one fist slammed into the ground, his head held high. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks through the ancient stone.
The first clone, who had been trying to build a sandcastle, clapped his hands like an excited child. "Marvelous! Ten out of ten!"
The other clone, who had been nonchalantly finishing his coconut, pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "We found the possible entrance," he said, his tone flat and straight-to-the-point. "Though, I suggest you be ready."
Jack stood, dusting off his hands. "Okay, baby. Let's go."
The second clone stopped him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't make any more clones until you get the fragment. Please."
Jack's grin faltered. "Why not?"
The two clones looked at each other, a shared, weary expression on their faces.
"I guess you can't feel it, huh?" the first one said.
"Feel what?"
The second clone explained, his voice a low, serious thing. "It's been happening for a while now. All of the clones, all over the world, we all have the same feeling, 24/7. It's as if there's someone… or something… standing directly behind us. All the time."
The first clone chimed in, his usual goofy demeanor gone. "It doesn't matter if we turn our heads to look. The feeling is still there, right at our backs. Two of us even tried standing back-to-back to see. But even though we couldn't see anything behind each other, we could both still feel it."
A flicker of genuine concern crossed Jack's face. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?"
"We were trying to hasten the fragment search," the first clone said with a shrug. "We couldn't be distracted by all this. And it didn't seem too dangerous. None of us have had any other symptoms."
Jack's expression hardened, his focus returning to the task at hand. "Okay," he said, his voice a final, decisive thing. "We'll see what's wrong after I get this fragment."
He walked to the sheer cliff face the clones had indicated. He began to drill his hand into the solid rock, not with a tool, but with his own, raw, divine energy. The stone groaned and began to crack. He then threw his head back and roared, his voice not a physical sound, but a psychic one that echoed into the depths of the earth itself.
"HADES! I'VE COME FOR WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!"
The crack in the cliff face widened, the edges glowing with a faint, purple light, opening like a jagged, stone maw. A gate.
Jack turned to his clones. "Bye, chumps," he said with a casual salute.
He then leaped inside. The gate slammed shut, the cliff wall sealing itself, becoming solid rock once more, as if nothing had ever happened.
The first clone turned to the other. "Wait," he said, a dawning horror on his face. "One clone did have one other symptom, though."
The other clone's face fell into his hands. "Ahhh," he groaned. "The mind-lost polar desert clone of Russia."
"Shit," the first one whispered. "Could this be more serious than we thought?"
The other clone just sighed. "Well, for now, it just throws us off balance when we're trying to sense something from our back."
They stood there in silence for a long, quiet moment, staring at the blank cliff face.
Then, the first clone spoke.
"Do you want a cup noodle?"
…
The air in the Underworld was cold, still, and smelled of damp earth and forgotten memories. Jack Hou landed at the front gate, a grand, imposing archway of black stone lit by flickering, ethereal green flames. He looked around. There was nothing but a silent, misty river and an endless, grey shore.
"Hello…?" he called out, his voice a strange, living thing in the dead silence. "Hades…? Anyone…? Room service?"
A chilling fog began to creep in, swirling around his feet. Then, a sound. The soft, rhythmic splash of an oar hitting a body of water. A moment later, a long, dark boat emerged from the mist, a single, silent figure rowing it. He wore a wide-brimmed hat with a veil that obscured his face, and a dark, tattered robe that seemed to be woven from shadow itself. The only visible parts of him were his hands, long and skeletal, with a black metal ring on each finger.
A low, raspy voice, like the sound of gravestones grinding together, emerged from under the veil. "You are not dead." With each word, a small puff of grey, soul-like smoke escaped his unseen mouth.
"Whoa," Jack said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Do you guys not have mouthwash in the Underworld? Kekekeke."
He waited for a response, but the ferryman just stood there, motionless, his oar resting in the still, black water.
"Charon, right?" Jack continued, undeterred. "Can I call you buddy? So, I'm here to take what's mine. Have you seen any strange items or shiny fragments floating around here? I know Hades knows about it."
Charon's voice was a monotone, dead thing. "The living have no business here."
"Okay, this is not going anywhere," Jack said with a sigh. "How about you give me a boat ride, and I'll just look around?"
But Charon just began to row again, his movements slow and deliberate, completely ignoring Jack.
"Hey, wait!" Jack shouted.
He wasn't going to be ignored. He took a running start and leaped, a powerful, graceful arc aimed directly for the ferryman's boat.
But then, Charon raised his oar. An invisible, shimmering barrier erupted from the water, stopping Jack mid-air. He slammed into it with the force of a cannonball and was thrown backward, his body tumbling through the air before he crashed, with a loud, final splash, into the dark, swirling waters of the River Styx.
**A/N**
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**A/N**