INSIDE ALEX'S MINDSCAPE
General POV
Charles found himself standing in an unfamiliar realm — one that shattered every known rule of psychic traversal. Normally, when he entered another's mind, he held dominion. He could open memories, close emotions, command thoughts, and shape the landscape to his will. But this… this was different.
Here, he wasn't the master. He wasn't even the intruder. He was a guest — and worse, one being guided.
He tried to seize control, to stabilize his psychic projection, but the realm pushed back. It wasn't resistance born of willpower — it was reality itself denying him dominance. His consciousness was being led down a singular path, one that had been carved long before he arrived.
His footsteps echoed faintly against marble, each sound rippling through the heavy, shimmering air. The corridor stretched endlessly toward a distant, blinding light. Walls of obsidian and gold rose high on both sides, lined with pillars that seemed alive, pulsing faintly as if they were breathing. Between them hung ancient murals, bathed in the glow of silver-blue flames flickering from ethereal torches.
Charles paused before the first mural, compelled by a faint hum vibrating in his mind. The painting was colossal, every detail carved with divine precision. It depicted a group of figures — scientists, perhaps — working on something that resembled a vast, luminous brain suspended in midair.
Behind them stood a being — towering, radiant, and sorrowful. Though his presence exuded the grandeur of a god, his expression was heavy with melancholy.
His right hand bore a glowing '+', his left '–', and on his forehead gleamed the mark of '='.
Charles frowned, his mind racing.
A trinity… creation, destruction, equilibrium?
He couldn't be sure, but the mural pulsed with power far older than any psychic energy he had ever encountered — older, perhaps, than existence itself.
He moved on.
The second mural was deceptively simple — a white expanse upon which rested three black boxes. Yet the longer Charles gazed at them, the heavier the air became, pressing against his psyche. Each box bore one of the same symbols: '+(left)', '=(middle)', and '–(right)'.
A low hum filled the air — steady, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of reality.
As he approached the third mural, his breath hitched. This one depicted a throne room, immense and regal, lined with seventeen thrones. On each seat rested a figure — beings representing elements and forces that transcended comprehension: fire, water, wind, light, darkness, metal, time, void, and more.
Each throne exuded an aura — ancient, eternal. The painting felt alive. Charles could swear he heard faint whispers from the figures, as if they were watching him.
He swallowed hard, taking another step toward the fourth mural.
This final depiction portrayed three beings with dragon-like appearances: the left one was red, the middle one was white, and the right one was blue, each looking ferocious.
IMAGE..
Charles stared in wordless awe.
What are these? A myth? A memory? Or… a truth he's not meant to know?
But one thing was clear — Alex was no ordinary man or being. The aura Charles had sensed around his butler, the impenetrable barriers, the way this mindscape bent his psychic will…were of a similar kind.
The corridor ended, the light ahead growing brighter until it consumed everything.
When his vision cleared, Charles stood inside a colossal throne chamber. The air itself vibrated, humming with energy so pure it made his psychic form flicker like static. Seventeen vast thrones encircled the chamber, their presence alone radiating power — but only one was occupied. It was similar to what was depicted in the second mural on the walls he had just seen.
At the very center, upon the largest of the seven main thrones, sat a being that dwarfed him.
Twenty feet tall, cloaked in deep violet, aetheric mist swirling around his frame. His eyes were half-lidded, glowing faintly, as if he'd been waiting.
The throne pulsed with streams of energy, veins of light spreading from its base and branching toward the other seats like the roots of a cosmic tree.
Charles' breath hitched. His psychic energy dispersed instantly, collapsing like air escaping a balloon. The sheer pressure emanating from the being was unbearable — not malicious, but absolute.
Then the being opened his eyes.
A faint, violet radiance filled the hall, bending the very light.
"Charles Xavier," the voice spoke — deep, ancient, echoing across the fabric of thought itself. "You've stepped into a domain you shouldn't have touched."
Charles dropped to one knee instinctively, every fiber of his mind screaming to retreat. The very space pressed down upon him like the weight of a dying star.
"Because of your interference," the being continued, voice calm yet omnipotent, "something extraordinary was about to happen. But Jean, recognizing Alex, stopped it. Don't mistake this for mercy. I speak not for your sake… but for the sake of everything else."
Charles gasped, blood trickling from his nose, ears, and eyes as the pressure increased.
"And if you are so curious then let HIM saw you there are thing you shouldnt do"
Then — the hall shattered like glass.
The surrounding lights blurred, melting into streaks of color that twisted and rippled like liquid glass. Charles felt weightless — as if every atom of his being was scattered across infinity. The next moment, he was standing in the middle of space, surrounded by forty-seven radiant stars.
But as his eyes adjusted, terror replaced awe.
Those weren't stars.
Each "light" pulsed like a living reality — colossal, self-contained universes that shimmered with cosmic breath. Their glow wasn't from fusion or flame but from existence itself. Each one pulsed with life, story, and divinity.
A vast expanse stretched before him — infinite and merciless. At its center sat a being upon a throne so immense that galaxies clung to his fingertips like particles of dust. A single movement of his hand could erase epochs. Even a infinite universes could not measure up to the size of his one cell. He wasnt the law of reincarnation but someone else.
Charles trembled. His mind — his very soul — screamed. He could see it all.
Endless universes fractaling into multiverses, each spawning fictions that became realities of their own. Even those realities gave birth to others, a cycle so vast that his consciousness nearly collapsed under the weight of comprehension.
All of it converged into one grand structure: the Marvel Reality. Even these Marvel Realities have an infinite number that accumulates to all realities of Marvel.
Yet above all of them reigned one supreme entity — The One Above All — appearing differently in each reality but always the same divine essence.
Then his sight expanded further. Beyond all Marvel realities stretched other complete all realities of — DC, Tensura, Dragon Ball, and countless others, each a perfect omniverse of its own.
And all these different complete realities led to one omega verse.
Forty-seven vast Omegaverses shimmered in eternal silence which charles thought were SUN — each one a supreme plane of existence
All forty-seven were encircled by a flowing, endless River of Time, a divine current looping infinitely, guarding and linking every omegaverse — a structure completely known as Material Existence.
And this… was only one-eighth of "Box 1".
{AUTHOR NOTE-EXPLAINATION WHAT IS THE SIZE COMPLETELY SEE THE COMENT IN THIS SENTENCE)
Charles's consciousness dulled. He no longer knew how long he'd been standing there — seconds or centuries. His identity eroded. Who was he? Why was he here? Only one truth remained, carved into his fading awareness: beg for forgiveness.
The being had punished him for his curiosity — for daring to glimpse what no mortal mind was meant to see.
At the edge of everything, the being's eyes opened — burning with divine white starlight fire, gazing down upon the trespasser who had looked too far.
IMAGE-
Then the voice came — not through sound, but as an eternal decree etched into all of creation itself.
"IDΛṀ TΛVΛ ΛПTIMΛM SΛCΣTΛПΛM — SVΛSTΉΛ̄ПΛṀ JП̃Λ̄TΛVΫΛM. ΫΛT TVΛΫΛ̄ ПΛ ŚΛΚΫΛTΣ TΛTЯΛ ПΛ PЯΛVIŚΛ."
(This is your last warning. Know your place. Do not meddle in what you cannot comprehend.)
Charles's body convulsed violently. His mouth opened, words breaking apart into trembling gasps.
"I… I'm s-sorry—"
The words never finished.
Reality folded in upon itself like paper, and Charles was hurled out of the mindscape — flung back into his body like a trespasser cast from the throne of gods.
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CHARLES XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED CHILDREN
THIRD PERSON POV
The X-Men wanted answers — why was Jean protecting the man who had attacked their school and almost killed the professor? Their fury simmered beneath the surface, unspoken yet heavy in the air. Shattered windows reflected the confusion in their eyes — anger, betrayal, disbelief. But when they saw Professor Xavier alive, barely breathing yet conscious, their blind rage dulled to a cautious storm. The grief didn't vanish — it merely waited, trembling behind clenched fists.
Before anyone could speak, the low rumble of engines shattered the tension. Four black Humvees rolled through the courtyard, their headlights cutting through smoke and debris. The sound of screeching tires and slamming doors echoed through the ruins of Xavier's mansion.
Agents poured out — weapons drawn, movements sharp, efficient. At the front walked Nick Fury, flanked by Agent Hill and Agent Barton, each scanning the damage with military precision. Fury's lone eye darted across the wreckage, narrowing when it landed on the centerpiece of chaos — the frozen figure standing like a marble statue amid ruin.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The ice sculpture — Aethereon, locked in Bobby's crystalline prison — radiated dormant power even in stillness. Fury's jaw tightened. This is the same man who crushed the Fantastic Four with a single hand… and now he's like this? His mind buzzed, but he said nothing yet. Around him, the mutants bore scorched uniforms and exhausted faces — survivors of a storm they barely survived.
Jean stood guard by Aethereon's side, her expression unreadable, her orange-glowing eyes burning like molten gold. The power radiating off her made the air shimmer. Fury's expression twisted; irritation flickered across his features before restraint kicked in. He raised one hand in a calm, deliberate gesture.
"Hey, girl," Fury said, his voice low but edged with caution. "I don't know who he is to you, but we're with him."
Storm's head snapped toward him, her hair whipping in the residual wind. Her white eyes gleamed, thunder rumbling faintly above.
"You're with him?" she asked, voice sharp, cold. Her tone carried betrayal — and disbelief. "Are you the one who instructed him to attack the school?"
Fury froze for half a second, realizing how his words had landed. His lips parted in frustration, then he barked back quickly, hands slightly raised.
"No!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the air. "We just worked with him once — he saved the damn Earth. I don't know what happened here, but I don't think Aethereon attacked you without a reason."
He took a step forward, glancing around the destroyed grounds. "Still… we'll take this seriously." His tone softened at the end — the promise of accountability, though the fear behind his eye betrayed him. Man, I just got promoted… this better not get me killed.
And then—
CRACK!
The sound hit like thunder, splitting the sky. Everyone turned.
The ice around Aethereon fractured — first a hairline crack, then another — until the web of fissures spread across his entire form.
In the next instant — BOOOOOM!!! — the ice exploded outward in a storm of glacial shards, scattering like diamonds under the pale light.
Jean instinctively raised a telekinetic barrier, her hands trembling as she braced herself. The wave of energy that burst forth from Aethereon's body was alive — heavy, vibrating, suffocating. The ground itself groaned under the weight of it.
Then — silence.
And out of the swirling frost and smoke, a low hum echoed — deep, resonant, vibrating in everyone's chest like the growl of a god awakening.
Aethereon stepped out.
His body emanated a violent, pulsing black aura, shifting like a living cosmos — galaxies flickering across its surface, starlight swirling within the darkness. The air warped around him, rippling under invisible pressure. The emerald light of his visor flickered irregularly, glowing like a dying sun trying to reignite.
His once-white armor now shimmered with shadows, obsidian plates streaked with faint constellations — as if the night sky itself had melted onto him. The beauty of it was haunting; no one could look away.
When he took his first step, the earth trembled. The ground cracked beneath his heel; the air bent under the crushing gravity of his presence.
Colossus gritted his teeth, knees buckling. Beast's instincts screamed run, though his mind knew nowhere was safe. Even Storm's breath caught — the very wind seemed to bow before the force radiating from him.
Behind them, Charles lay unconscious, his fingers twitching from the psychic interference rippling through the mansion. Hank wanted to move — his muscles flexed — but primal terror locked him in place. His heart hammered like prey before a predator.
Above Aethereon's head, the aura condensed — forming a crown of starlit darkness, hovering like a phantom halo. The sight alone made everyone breathe in short gasps.
No one could breathe.
It was as if the very air had been torn from their lungs — devoured by the oppressive force radiating from Aethereon. One by one, bodies crumpled to the ground. Agents gasped, hands clutching at their throats before collapsing in heaps. Even hardened SHIELD operatives — Maria Hill among them — fell unconscious under the unbearable weight of his presence.
Only Barton remained barely conscious, one knee pressed into the ground, teeth clenched, a trembling hand gripping his bow as if it could anchor him to reality. Sweat streamed down his face, his pupils dilated with raw, primal fear. Beside him, Nick Fury knelt, his single eye wide, jaw tight. For the first time in years, the unflinching director of SHIELD was afraid. Truly afraid.
Across the courtyard, mutant after mutant fell. Kitty phased halfway into the ground before passing out; Kurt clutched his chest, gasping between labored breaths; Firestar's flames sputtered and died around her hands; Bobby's ice armor cracked and shattered under the pressure, blood trickling from his nose; Pyro groaned, his lighter slipping from limp fingers.
Storm and Cyclops were the only ones struggling — barely. Both were trembling, sweat dripping from their temples, their knees threatening to give way at any moment. The wind around Storm stuttered and died; even nature seemed unwilling to move in defiance of the dark energy that filled the air.
Cyclops tried to raise his head, but his visor flickered uncontrollably, and his hands pressed against the ground to keep himself from collapsing.
Hank and Colossus, down on one knee, struggled to hold themselves upright — their powerful forms shaking like leaves in a storm. Their instincts screamed at them to submit, to hide, to run.
And through it all — amidst the chaos and suffocating terror — Jean stood.
Unmoved. Untouched.
This aura... is he HIM? No… he's stronger.
The thought made the Phoenix within Jean stir restlessly, its flames flickering in awe and fear.
Jean's orange eyes glowed brighter, reflecting the void-like brilliance that surrounded Aethereon. Inside her, the Phoenix Force — proud and eternal — looked upon Alex with a rare emotion: FEAR.
She realized the strange truth — it wasn't her power protecting Jean from his overwhelming aura. It was something deeper… something shared between them.
Jean's lips trembled. She wanted to whisper his name—Alex—but held back, remembering that the identity hidden behind that mask was a secret he didn't want to reveal. She knew that if she didn't call his name, he wouldn't listen to anyone, and she couldn't even approach him.
And then — like a spark breaking through fog — a memory returned.
**Eight Years Ago – A Summer Afternoon**
The golden sun bathed the lawn in warmth. A young redheaded girl sat cross-legged on the grass, freckles bright on her cheeks, eyes full of shy curiosity.
"What's your favorite flower, Alex?" she asked, voice small but sweet.
The boy beside her — seven years old, barefoot and smiling faintly — tilted his head. "Hmm… my favorite flower is the cosmos. But why do you ask?"
Jean giggled, playing with her fingers, sunlight catching in her hair. "My father proposed to my mother with her favorite flower. Maybe I'll do that someday too."
Alex blinked, mock-serious even as a smile tugged his lips. "But don't you need to know my name first to propose?"
Jean laughed, the sound pure and carefree. "Isn't Alex your name?"
He shook his head gently. "No. My mom said my true name is Palamayukh. I don't know what it means, but she said it's powerful. I just like the last part better — Mayukh."
Jean's eyes widened, wonder softening her expression. "That's… beautiful."
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Back in the present, Jean's breath hitched.
"Mayukh…" she whispered under her breath, voice trembling like a prayer.
The name brushed through the air, carried by something unseen — and for a fleeting moment, the black aura around Aethereon wavered. The cosmic storm that had swallowed the courtyard dimmed, the stars flickering out one by one until only silence remained.
Alex's anger diminished, even though he didn't know what had happened.
Then it vanished entirely.
Aethereon's glowing visor dimmed to a calm black hue as he slowly turned. There — standing amidst the shattered marble and scattered ice — was Jean, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. Her body trembled, her breath uneven, yet her eyes — those fiery, phoenix-bright eyes — were full of something no one had seen in her before.
"Mayukh…" she whispered again, the word escaping like a sob, fragile but filled with memory.
Before anyone could react, Jean broke into a run — her feet barely touching the ground. She collided into him, arms wrapping tightly around his armored frame as if terrified he would disappear again.
The courtyard fell utterly still.
For a moment, the godlike being everyone had feared — the one who had shattered their pride and nearly crushed their world — stood unmoving. Then, slowly, his arms lifted. Hesitant. Gentle. He pulled Jean close, returning the embrace. The obsidian armor softened, the stars within his aura dimming to a quiet twilight glow.
And in the next heartbeat—
They vanished.
Scott watched this as his jaw tightened. Something inside him was being stirred'sinisterly'.
A soft hum of spatial distortion rippled through the air, followed by silence so deep it made the world itself feel paused. The oppressive weight of his power evaporated, leaving only the chill of the night and the sound of crackling debris.
No one moved. Not the X-Men. Not SHIELD. Not even the wind dared to whisper.
Then, almost as one, they all exhaled — a collective sigh of disbelief and relief.
"...He's gone," Hank murmured, his voice shaking.
Storm looked to the sky, her white eyes dimming back to normal. "Thank the heavens."
But before anyone could process what had just happened, a hoarse gasp broke the silence.
Charles Xavier — pale, trembling, and drenched in sweat — suddenly jolted upright. His eyes were wide, haunted, as if he had seen something far beyond human comprehension. Without warning, he collapsed to his knees, clutching his head, trembling violently.
"Please—!" his voice cracked, desperate and terrified. "Please stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry… I didn't mean to—!"
Tears and blood streaked down his face as he pressed his forehead to the ground, whispering frantic apologies to something unseen — something only he had faced within the depths of that impossible mindscape.
The rest of the mutants exchanged bewildered glances, fear creeping back into their eyes.
"Professor?" Ororo whispered, kneeling beside him, worried. "Who are you talking to?"
But Charles didn't answer. He kept bowing, trembling, whispering between choked breaths — over and over.
"Forgive me… forgive me… I'll never touch his mind again…"
Then a ripple of blue light tore open the air beside the courtyard, forming a swirling, unstable portal. From it stepped a man clad in red and black, twin katanas strapped to his back, a gun already drawn and aimed ahead.
"NYPD! Don't move! You're all surrounded—by… one side!" he announced with dramatic flair, his voice muffled behind the mask.
The scene he stepped into, however, wasn't the explosive showdown he expected.
Bodies lay scattered across the courtyard — agents, mutants, even SHIELD operatives — all either unconscious or gasping for air. Some were whispering prayers, others simply staring in awe. A man in his fifties — Fury — was actually sobbing, one knee on the ground, face streaked with sweat and tears.
And yet, every eye that could still move turned toward the new arrival with a strange look — not fear, not confusion, but utter disbelief.
For a few seconds, Deadpool stood there frozen, gun still raised, the barrel trembling slightly. The silence was deafening — save for the faint hum of Aethereon's aura in the background, and the occasional groan of someone trying to breathe.
"Uh…" Wade tilted his head, lowering his pistol slightly. "Why… why are you all sweating like a whore in a church?"