"This is it."
Renzo slowly brought the plane down from the sky and stepped out alongside Charles and Eric.
"There used to be a mutant here," Charles said with a frown, staring at the tavern that had been reduced to ruins. CIA personnel were handling the scene, announcing to the public that the explosion had been caused by poor management and safety hazards.
A crowd had gathered nearby, chattering endlessly.
"I saw it! It was an alien who blew up the tavern and took away an old man with a beard!" a young Black boy insisted, his voice full of conviction.
"Hahaha, aliens? Since when are there aliens in this world? The police said it was an explosion. You think you know better than them?" A fat man smacked the boy on the head, drawing laughter from those around him.
"I'm telling the truth!" the boy protested, his eyes filling with tears as he sniffed.
"Hello." Renzo stepped forward and greeted them casually.
"Excuse me, what happened here?" he asked, feigning curiosity.
"They were aliens—" the boy began, only to be cut off by the fat man.
"Go on, kid. Stop talking nonsense and go play somewhere else."
He turned back to Renzo. "You from above?"
Renzo didn't respond, and the man took it as confirmation. After all, no one but officials flew planes.
"Don't listen to him," the man said. "Just someone careless with a cigarette—set off the alcohol, caused an explosion. That's all. Aliens? In a place like this? Ridiculous."
"No! It was aliens! I saw it with my own eyes!" the boy shouted desperately from the side.
Renzo crouched down and looked at him. "Can you tell me what that alien looked like?"
"A blue face, like it was painted, wearing a black robe," the boy said quickly. "He just appeared in the tavern. And there were three people behind him."
"One had white hair—white like my grandma's. Another had long hair, like a bear. And the last one looked really rich…"
Renzo's eyes narrowed. From the description alone, it was obvious—Apocalypse and his group. The three behind him were likely Shaw, Pietro, and Cain.
The news eased him slightly. At least Pietro was still alive. Otherwise, he wouldn't know how to explain it to Wanda.
"How do you know everyone in the tavern died in the explosion?" Renzo asked.
The boy hesitated. "I… I…"
"He's been sneaking in here to steal alcohol for ages. Knows all the spots around here… Hahaha!" the fat man laughed, and the others joined in. The boy flushed with embarrassment and anger, arguing back.
Taking the opportunity, Renzo slipped away and returned to the plane. Charles and Eric had also finished gathering information, both frowning as they thought things through.
"It looks like the mutant here was defeated and taken away by Apocalypse," Renzo said. "Pietro is still alive."
"He betrayed us," Eric said darkly, his expression grim. The thought that someone he had acknowledged had turned against them clearly infuriated him.
"I believe he has his reasons," Charles said gently. "If not, he might not have survived."
"The urgent matter is finding Apocalypse," Renzo continued. "He's appeared in Cairo, Florida, Texas… different locations."
"He's searching for mutants."
The three of them fell silent, their expressions growing heavy.
Was Apocalypse trying to gather a mutant army to confront humanity's weapons? The idea alone was terrifying.
"Do we know the identities of the mutants he took?" Eric asked, rubbing his temple. Just when he thought they had assembled a team and could finally strike back, a new force had appeared out of nowhere, widening the gap once again.
"No," Charles said apologetically. "Nothing concrete."
The trail had gone cold again. Without exposure from Apocalypse's side, Renzo had no reliable way to locate him.
"Maybe we should ask Moira for help," Charles suggested, considering turning to the CIA.
Eric said nothing. He couldn't understand Charles's persistent optimism toward humanity, nor did he have a better solution. All he could do was remain silent and focus on strengthening himself.
The atmosphere turned tense again.
Renzo finally suggested they return and wait for their enemies to come to them.
Both Charles and Eric agreed. At this point, they had little choice.
...
Apocalypse stood at the front, tall and imposing.
Behind him stood eight mutant figures, black runic markings etched across their faces. Together, they resembled participants in some dark ritual.
Behind Apocalypse were Sebastian Shaw, Quicksilver Pietro, Juggernaut Cain, Wolverine Logan, Sabretooth Victor, White Queen Emma, Ghost John, and Toad Mortimer.
They stood in formation, all marked by Apocalypse's curse. Betrayal meant certain death.
Shaw stared at the king-like figure ahead, his expression dark, fear barely concealed in his eyes. During the process of "recruiting" these mutants, he had already witnessed Apocalypse's terrifying power—breaking into the CIA headquarters alone and rescuing Emma with ease.
Pietro looked much the same, though his anxiety ran deeper. He had never truly considered himself a mutant, and hearing Apocalypse's plan to rule the world only made things worse. As a registered Avenger, how could he possibly help a villain?
The moment such thoughts crossed his mind, a sharp pain gripped his chest, forcing him to bend over as he struggled to endure it.
"Where did this guy even come from?" Victor muttered, eyeing Apocalypse with unease.
"No idea," Logan replied irritably. "I was drinking in a bar when he showed up, knocked me out, and dragged me here."
"But there are some perks." Three metallic claws slid out from the back of Logan's hand, gleaming in the sunlight, razor-sharp.
"Yeah," Victor said with a grin, extending his own metal claws. "Definitely an upgrade."
After witnessing Renzo's power, Apocalypse had developed a fixation on vibranium-like strength, replicating its properties and enhancing the Logan brothers. Their bodies had become nearly indestructible, rivaling adamantium in hardness.
It wasn't just them. Toad and Ghost had also been enhanced, though their improvements were more modest—bringing them roughly up to Logan's previous level.
"Children," Apocalypse declared, his voice filled with fervor, "our home… lies here."
He gazed ahead at the towering pyramid, his expression almost reverent.
Five thousand years ago, this had been his domain.
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