"How is it possible…" Cassandra whispered, her voice barely audible as the impossible unfolded before her. "A memory world—this illusory space woven from fractured thoughts and emotion—shouldn't be capable of producing a living being with consciousness beyond the subject's own recollection."
Her entire understanding of memory constructs shattered in that moment.
To her, a memory world was a static painting—a voiceless replay of history. Every frame, every figure, should have been inert and soulless.
And yet, there he was. A black-haired man descended the staircase of the memory-restaurant with a gentle smile.
Calm. Aware. Real.
She extended her perception—her telepathy able to pierce any illusion—and scanned for his presence. But the man's aura was as light as mist at dawn. No power signature. No turbulence. Nothing but the presence of an ordinary human.
But she knew better. Ordinary people couldn't exist in a memory realm.
This was the first time Cassandra Nova had ever encountered a memory-entity with sentience.
She wasn't afraid. She was fascinated.
After all, she was invincible.
"Who are you? Are you the Alex Ray Deadpool mentioned?"
The air in the restaurant stilled.
The black-haired man kept smiling, his eyes bottomless and calm, like he could see right through her.
"Yes. I am Alex Ray." He walked to the tea table and casually began preparing tea, as if Cassandra's presence had been expected all along.
Cassandra was seized by curiosity. She had to know: How had this man maintained his awareness in a realm completely dominated by her? How could he face a cosmic telepath like her with such tranquility?
"Interesting," she murmured. A sly smile spread across her crimson lips. "Let me see how you demonstrate your brilliance in this dreamscape."
She lifted her right hand. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly—an omen of the devastation to come.
The memory realm trembled in anticipation of her will.
And then—nothing.
No power surged.
Her telekinesis, her psychic domination… all gone, like pebbles swallowed by an ocean.
"What…?" Her voice faltered, the first tinge of panic creeping in. "Impossible! This world was constructed by me! I control every inch of it!"
She closed her eyes, focused harder, tried to reignite the abilities that had once danced at her command.
But her powers felt imprisoned. Muffled. Chained within some invisible cell.
She didn't understand.
She had never failed like this before—not in her own mind, and certainly not inside someone else's.
This memory realm—Deadpool's memory realm—was an anomaly.
And the man before her was the biggest anomaly of all.
Gone was the playful amusement. Now she felt the stirrings of madness. The instability of this space was beyond her comprehension.
She gritted her teeth, rage bubbling in her throat.
Enough observation. It was time to erase the threat—him—and restore her dominion.
"What's impossible?" Alex said softly.
He stood, holding a steaming teapot in one hand. The aroma of fresh tea wafted through the air, calming and rich. The memory world responded—not with violence, but stillness.
"This is Hell's Kitchen," he said, pouring the tea. "Our territory."
He set down two porcelain cups, pushing one across the table toward Cassandra. His every move was unhurried, assured. As if he had foreseen this moment long ago.
What Cassandra didn't know was that Alex Ray hadn't come here by choice.
He had been pulled into Deadpool's memory. The moment he arrived, he recognized it for what it was. And more importantly, he understood the risks.
This was Deadpool's mind.
If Alex disturbed the system too violently, the consequences could be catastrophic—anything from total memory loss to a vegetative state.
So action was not an option.
But Cassandra's actions were dangerous. She had already overstepped.
What she hadn't anticipated was that the home system—the defensive architecture Alex had designed to protect Hell's Kitchen—extended even into the realm of memories.
The home system didn't just protect the physical neighborhood. It safeguarded the very idea of it.
That was why Alex had remained aware in this memory.
Cassandra's psychic probing could only affect beings below the Omega level—those limited to a single universe, like Doctor Strange.
Alex Ray was not one of those beings.
Multiversal entities, like himself, required no physical form to observe. They existed wherever they chose to look.
In fact, Alex wasn't the only one whose awareness had awakened.
Just as Cassandra simmered in impotent rage, a voice behind her sent a chill down her spine.
"Cassandra Nova Xavier?"
She turned—and froze.
There sat Professor X, in his iconic wheelchair.
"No… this isn't possible," she stammered. "Why do you have self-awareness? This is a memory world! You shouldn't—no one should—"
Her voice broke into a furious scream.
"This is an illusion! A trick!"
She reached deep for her power again—but it was still gone. Locked. Mute.
She had seen Professor X many times before. In fact, she'd even modeled her Void-throne after his chair.
But never had she expected to confront him like this—alive, lucid, and judging her.
Charles Xavier gazed at her, conflicted. He had no doubt. This was his sister. Her features. Her aura. Her power.
But the moment was interrupted by a voice sharper than steel.
"This is your sister? She doesn't look particularly clever."
Cassandra's eyes darted toward the sound.
It was Magneto.
Another man she had killed.
Alive. Cognizant. Smirking.
She didn't understand. How were they waking up—one by one—in her domain?
It made no sense.
She wanted to leave. Flee Deadpool's memory and return to the Void where she ruled supreme.
But she couldn't.
The exit was gone.
She was trapped.
"No… NO!"
And then came Alex's voice again, gentle and mocking.
"Miss Cassandra, have you ever heard the saying…"
He smiled, eyes gleaming with cosmic knowledge.
"'If you refuse the road to heaven, you'll walk the path to hell regardless.'"
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Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
2nd Bonus Chapter - 300 Power Stones
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