Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 584

Not long after Mystique and Nightcrawler vanished, space rippled again inside the room.

Two unfamiliar mutants stepped out of the distortion as if they had always been there.

Caliban barely reacted. Mutants with spatial abilities were nothing new in his line of work. He leaned back against the counter and sniffed the air.

"Don’t recognize either of you," he said casually. "So what are you buying?"

"We’re looking for the strongest mutant alive," one of them replied. "We’ve been told you can help us find him."

The speaker pulled back his hood.

Blue skin. Hairless scalp. Eyes that carried the weight of centuries.

Apocalypse.

Freshly awakened from the pyramid that had been his tomb, he had discovered a world that no longer bowed. The slaves had inherited the earth. Worse, they had built weapons powerful enough to make even him cautious.

If he was going to rule again, he needed champions. Mutants worthy of becoming his new Horsemen.

He already had one who commanded storms.

Three more remained.

Caliban studied him, then chuckled. "I can find anyone you want. Assuming your pockets are deep enough."

That evening, Rowan Mercer felt a familiar spatial tremor at the edge of his awareness.

Finally.

"If you’d waited any longer," he muttered, "I’d have come looking for you myself."

The door creaked open.

Four figures entered.

Rowan didn’t need introductions. The blue-skinned man radiating ancient power was Apocalypse. Behind him stood three others: a white-haired woman whose presence bent the air around her, a purple-clad psychic warrior, and a man with metallic wings that caught the light like blades.

Rowan recognized them all.

He rose slowly, fury etched across his face.

"You slaughtered my family," he snarled, letting Magneto’s rage pour through the performance. "I hadn’t even come for you yet, and you bring yourselves to my door. Fine. Die here."

The metal in the room screamed.

Every screw, beam, and shard tore free, converging on the intruders in a lethal storm.

The three behind Apocalypse stiffened. Even enhanced, they couldn’t stop something like this.

Magneto was Magneto.

Apocalypse didn’t move.

His eyes rolled white.

The metal disintegrated into sand midair and collapsed harmlessly to the floor.

"We didn’t kill your family," Apocalypse said calmly. "We’re not those insects."

Rowan hesitated, playing the part. "Then why are you here?"

Apocalypse stepped closer, voice low and persuasive.

"I have been called many things," he said. "God. Sun King. Destroyer. I was born from death to cleanse the world. Civilization has rotted. Humanity has failed. I will tear it down and build something worthy in its place."

He extended a hand. "You’re in pain. You’re angry. Join us. Help me remake the world."

Rowan looked at him, eyes burning.

Then he laughed bitterly. "You’re right. This world deserves to burn."

He seized Apocalypse’s hand. "I’m in."

Apocalypse’s expression sharpened with satisfaction. He had expected resistance. This had been far easier than anticipated.

"Your power is immense," Apocalypse said. "Focus. I’ll take it further."

His eyes went completely white.

Rowan felt it immediately.

Something deep inside him stirred. The dormant potential in his genetic makeup surged, tearing past old limits. His control over magnetic fields sharpened with terrifying speed. His psychic presence expanded, spreading outward like a rising tide.

The growth was violent. Exponential.

What had once allowed him to lift bridges and warships was now pushing toward something far greater.

Planetary.

Apocalypse frowned.

Minutes passed.

Ten.

Twenty.

"This... is unusual," Apocalypse muttered. "Your potential just keeps unfolding."

He had never needed more than moments to unlock a mutant’s limits. The others had taken less than a minute.

Rowan was still climbing.

"This one’s a monster," Apocalypse thought grimly.

Sensing Apocalypse’s hesitation, Rowan tightened his grip.

"Don’t stop," he said sharply. "I’m not finished yet."

Apocalypse tried to pull away.

Rowan didn’t let him.

The strain finally caught up.

After half an hour, Apocalypse tore his hand free and staggered back, breathing hard.

"No more," he snapped. "I’m at my limit."

For the first time in centuries, Apocalypse felt it.

Exhaustion.

The kind that sank into the bones.

Rowan stood there, steady, eyes gleaming with restrained satisfaction.

The bait had worked.

And the harvest was far better than he’d hoped.