The dream always started the same way.
A bridge stretched before him—impossible, magnificent, defying every law of physics Alex knew. It wasn't made of metal or stone but of pure, crystallized light that refracted into impossible colors. Rainbow hues danced along its surface, each section pulsing with a different shade: crimson bleeding into gold, sapphire merging with emerald, violet flowing into amber. The structure arced across an endless void, a pathway between worlds that hummed with cosmic energy.
The bridge was breaking.
Massive sections crumbled away like glass struck by a sledgehammer, each fragment dissolving into stardust before it could fall into the black abyss below. The destruction moved with terrible purpose, racing toward a single figure desperately clinging to the edge.
A man.
Even from this distance, Alex could see the desperation in his stance, the way his fingers dug into the fracturing surface. Something dark and metallic was clutched in his other hand—a scepter, maybe? A weapon? The details blurred and shifted like oil on water, refusing to solidify.
Then the man's grip failed.
He fell backward, suspended for one crystalline moment against the starfield, and Alex saw it—the crimson cape billowing around him like wings, the golden armor catching light that had no source, the expression of absolute betrayal etched across features Alex couldn't quite make out.
"BROTHERRRRR!"
The scream tore through the void, raw and anguished, a sound of such profound loss that it resonated in Alex's bones. The falling figure reached upward with desperate fingers, grasping at nothing, at everything, at someone who wasn't there to catch him.
The scene shattered like a mirror struck by a hammer.
Reality reformed into something new, something worse.
A kingdom burned.
Not just burned—consumed. Obsidian spires that had touched the sky crumbled into ash. Golden halls that had stood for millennia collapsed inward, their foundations torn away by forces beyond comprehension. The very stone screamed as it died.
And in the center of the devastation, she rose.
A woman wreathed in shadow and green flame, her silhouette sharp as a blade against the burning horizon. Her arms spread wide like some dark angel of annihilation, and as she lifted higher, the ground beneath her erupted.
Black spikes.
Thousands of them.
They tore through the earth like organic spears, each one sharp as surgical steel and darker than the void between stars. They grew with impossible speed, multiplying, spreading, creating a forest of deadly thorns that impaled everything in their path. Structures. Monuments. People.
The woman's laughter echoed across the dying kingdom, a sound of pure, triumphant malice.
Crack—
The scene fractured again, reforming with nauseating speed.
This time, Alex saw a face he knew.
Tony.
But not the confident, smirking Tony who'd welcomed him into his workshop and called him "kid" while simultaneously treating him as an equal. This Tony was different. Wrong.
He was suspended in darkness, arms and legs spread wide like a man crucified on empty air. Restraints Alex couldn't see held him immobile. And inside his chest—visible through the arc reactor, through his very skin—something red writhed and pulsed.
Not the clean blue glow of the new element.
Something else. Something alive.
It moved beneath Tony's skin like magma through volcanic channels, racing along his veins, spreading through his body with viral intensity. Tony's face contorted in agony, teeth bared, tendons standing out like cables in his neck as he struggled against whatever was consuming him from within.
His mouth opened in a scream Alex couldn't hear—
Reality shattered once more.
The final vision hit like a physical blow.
Green.
That was all Alex registered at first—an overwhelming, impossible shade of green that filled his entire field of vision. Then the green moved, and he realized it was skin. Skin stretched over muscles the size of truck engines, veins visible beneath the surface like power cables.
A giant.
The creature stood amid ruins Alex couldn't identify, fists raised toward a sky choked with smoke and fire. Its face was contorted in pure, primal fury—not the calculating rage Alex sometimes felt, but something more fundamental. More honest.
The giant's mouth opened, releasing a roar that should have shattered worlds—
BOOM.
Alex's eyes snapped open.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal trying to break free, each beat so violent he could feel his pulse in his fingertips, his temples, the base of his throat. His lungs dragged in air in ragged gasps, chest heaving as if he'd just sprinted a mile at full speed.
Sweat soaked the sheets beneath him, turning the expensive Egyptian cotton dark and clingy. More perspiration beaded across his forehead, trickling down his temples, following the line of his jaw before dripping onto his bare shoulders.
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of his Aethelgard quarters, painting golden bars across his torso. The light caught on the sheen of sweat covering his skin, highlighting the defined ridges of his abdominal muscles, the sharp cut of his obliques, the way his chest rose and fell with each steadying breath.
He'd kicked off the blankets at some point during the nightmare, leaving him sprawled across the mattress in nothing but a pair of dark sleep pants that hung low on his hips. His skin was flushed from the dream's intensity, a slight pink tinge visible across his chest and neck.
"Fuck," Alex muttered, running both hands through his sweat-dampened hair and pushing it back from his forehead.
Not fear.
He recognized the emotion immediately because it wasn't fear—hadn't been fear since that tank, since Bellicus and Serena had torn open his mind and showed him what he truly was. Fear was a human response to the unknown, and Alex had transcended unknown the moment he'd gained the ability to become a literal god.
No, this was something else. Frustration. Confusion.
And a growing sense that these weren't just dreams.
Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the cool tile floor of his quarters. His muscles protested slightly—not from soreness, but from the phantom tension of whatever he'd been doing in his sleep. He rolled his shoulders, feeling vertebrae pop back into alignment with small, satisfying clicks.
The room spun slightly as he stood, equilibrium taking a moment to reassert itself. He padded across the floor to the small kitchenette, bare feet silent on imported Italian marble that probably cost more per square foot than most people's monthly rent.
The faucet responded to his touch with smooth precision, filling a crystal glass with filtered water. Alex drained half of it in one long pull, the cold liquid cutting through the lingering haze of the dream. His free hand braced against the granite countertop, fingers spreading wide as he stared at the remaining water in the glass.
What the hell was that?
The rainbow bridge. The falling man with the cape. The burning kingdom and the woman wreathed in darkness. Tony with something red and alive spreading through his veins. The green giant consumed by rage.
"Dreams from the day I got my memories in that tank," Alex said aloud, his voice rough from sleep and frustration. "Every single goddamn night since then. Why?"
His reflection stared back at him from the darkened screen of the wall-mounted television across the room—a young man barely out of his teens, lean muscle definition speaking to both his mutation and the training he'd put himself through, dark hair still messy from sleep, blue eyes sharp with intelligence and something older, something that had seen too much for someone his age.
"And why the hell does the name Marvel always come to mind when these dreams hit?"
The word felt significant. Important. Like a key that should unlock something in his mind, but the lock remained stubbornly closed. Marvel. Marvel. Marvel.
Nothing.
Just that same sense of almost recognition, like a word on the tip of his tongue that refused to solidify.
Alex sighed heavily, chest deflating as he let the frustration bleed out. Getting worked up about cosmic mysteries before breakfast was a terrible way to start the day. He raised the glass to his lips—
And froze.
The television had turned on.
Not because he'd touched the remote—that sat undisturbed on the coffee table across the room. Some kind of automated news alert, maybe? Aethelgard's systems were sophisticated enough for that.
But it was the content that made him stop mid-sip.
"—and in continued coverage of yesterday's incident in Monaco," the news anchor's polished voice filled his quarters, all professional enthusiasm and carefully modulated concern, "the mysterious mutant who intervened during Ivan Vanko's drone attack continues to dominate social media discourse."
Alex's eyes narrowed. The screen showed footage he recognized immediately—grainy cell phone video of his Lodestar transformation in action, the black horseshoe-shaped alien with two glowing green eyes manipulating the wreckage of Hammer drones with contemptuous ease, crushing them telekinetically through pure magnetic force.
"While authorities have confirmed the individual is indeed a mutant, identity remains unknown. However, speculation has reached fever pitch, with many drawing comparisons to known mutant terrorist Magneto due to the similar magnetic manipulation abilities observed."
Alex's jaw tightened. Of course they'd jump to that conclusion. Never mind that Lodestar's power worked completely differently—Magneto manipulated metal through electromagnetic fields, while Lodestar's entire species was literally living magnets. But try explaining that to people who thought mutants were all variations on the same theme.
The anchor's co-host, a woman with severely pulled-back hair and too-white teeth, leaned into frame. "That's right, Tom. In fact, several online communities have theorized this could be Magneto's son or perhaps a protégé being groomed to continue the Brotherhood's agenda—"
Water sprayed across the marble countertop.
Alex had inhaled his drink at exactly the wrong moment, the liquid going down his windpipe instead of his throat. He bent forward, coughing violently, water dribbling down his chin as his body tried to clear his airway.
"The FUCK?" he choked out between coughs, one hand bracing against the counter while the other pounded his chest. "Magneto's son?!"
His eyes watered from the coughing fit, but he still managed to glare at the television screen with the intensity of someone who could, in fact, level a city block if sufficiently motivated.
The male anchor was still talking, blissfully unaware of the minor medical emergency he'd caused in a secret Antarctic base. "The public response has been mixed but largely positive, with many calling this mysterious mutant a hero for preventing what could have been a catastrophic loss of life."
The screen split, showing a rapid-fire montage of social media posts, news headlines, and grainy screenshots from various angles of the Monaco incident.
"Several nicknames have emerged across various platforms," the female anchor continued, barely suppressing an amused smile. "Let's take a look at some of the more popular ones trending right now."
A graphic appeared on screen, all flashy animation and bold text:
PUBLIC NICKNAMES FOR MONACO MUTANT:
HORSESHOE - 37,000 mentions
Alex's eye twitched.
STEEL SHADOW - 42,000 mentions
The twitch intensified.
CHROME CRUSADER - 28,000 mentions
"No," Alex said flatly, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.
THE METALLIC MYSTERY - 33,000 mentions
"Absolutely not."
FERROUS FORCE - 19,000 mentions
His fingers tightened on the edge of the counter, knuckles going white.
MAGNETO JUNIOR - 51,000 mentions
"I'm going to find whoever started that one and demonstrate exactly how unlike Magneto I can be," Alex growled, his other eye joining the first in a synchronized twitch.
THE IRON GHOST - 45,000 mentions
METALHEAD - 62,000 mentions
CHROME CHAMPION - 31,000 mentions
Each new name made his jaw clench tighter, a vein beginning to pulse at his temple. His reflection in the darkened portions of the screen showed a young man who looked progressively more ready to commit several felonies against marketing departments and social media influencers.
STEEL SAVIOR - 88,000 mentions
"That's it."
Alex grabbed the remote with perhaps slightly more force than necessary—the plastic casing creaked ominously in his grip—and jabbed the power button with his thumb.
The screen went mercifully black.
Blessed silence filled his quarters once more, broken only by his own controlled breathing as he fought to wrestle his irritation back into its cage. His free hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.
"Metalhead," he muttered to the empty room. "They're calling me Metalhead. I can become a literal god and they've reduced me to a rejected 80s hair band name."
The glass of water still sat on the counter, the remaining liquid rippling slightly from the vibrations of his frustrated sigh.
First the cosmic nightmares.
Now public branding by internet committee.
It wasn't even seven in the morning and Alex was already reconsidering his decision to be a hero.
====================
[CHAPTER CONTINUES...]
Thanks for reading.