Seven days.
Seven days since the HYDRA base had fallen. Seven days since Dietrich Voss had known anything resembling mercy.
The cold metal table beneath him was stained with blood—his blood—dried in rust-colored streaks where it had pooled and crusted over. The air reeked of antiseptic and copper, a sickening blend that clung to the back of his throat. His wrists and ankles were bound with reinforced straps, the leather biting into flesh already raw from struggle.
He had stopped struggling days ago.
Peter Haggs had been lucky. He died on the first day—quick, efficient, a single bullet to the temple when he tried to intervene. Voss envied him, envied that swift death that The Wraith had gifted his underling, yet, him. His life was spared only to received something twisted.
The door creaked open.
Voss didn't flinch. Didn't whimper. His body was too broken for even that. But his heart—oh, his heart—pounded like a trapped animal's.
He was coming. His bane, the one that had barred him from the sweet release of death.
The Wraith stepped into the room, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. The dim overhead light cast his shadow across Voss's mutilated form—a monstrous silhouette that had haunted him in waking and sleeping alike.
Today, like every day, The Wraith said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The scalpel glinted in his hand, freshly cleaned but soon to be painted red again. Voss's breath hitched as the blade pressed against his chest—not again, not again, not again—
"Slice."
"AARRGGHH!!!.... Noooo!!!...". A scream tore from Voss's throat, hoarse and ragged from overuse. The pain was unbearable, yet his body refused the sweet release of unconsciousness. The Wraith had made sure of that. He made sure that Voss would feel and tasted the pain that he inflicted on him, Voss cannot sleep, cannot died, only strapped to the table and accept this pain, engraved down to his soul.
"P-Please…" Voss begged, his voice a broken whisper. "Just… kill me…".
"…. No…. Slice…"
The Wraith didn't pause. The scalpel moved with clinical precision, parting flesh like parchment. Voss's vision swam, his mind fracturing under the agony. Somewhere, in the distant recesses of his shattered psyche, he wondered when he had stopped being a man and became *meat*.
Magina watched from the shadows, her holographic form flickering with distress.
For days, she had pleaded. Begged. Screamed.
Her father—her brilliant, kind father—was gone. In his place stood a wraith of vengeance, a hollow shell fueled by hatred.
At first, it had been about justice. About making Voss pays for the lives he'd ruined. But then…
It changed.
The scalpel wasn't just a tool of punishment anymore. It was a brush, and Voss's body the canvas. The Wraith—no, Sai—had descended into something darker. Something hungry.
"Father, this is enough," Magina whispered, her voice trembling. "Please."
Silence.
The only sounds were Voss's whimpers and the wet schlick of blade through flesh.
Magina's fists clenched. She couldn't watch this anymore.
"FATHER, PLEASE JUST STOP ALREADY!"
Her voice echoed through the chamber, sharp as a gunshot. For the first time in days, The Wraith hesitated.
Then—
—he kept cutting.
Magina acted.
The base's systems obeyed her command. Heavy metal doors slammed shut between Sai and Voss, the locks engaging with a final thunk. For one blessed second, there was silence. Her father separated from Voss who locked behind a metal door,
But, then—
"BOOM."
The door *buckled*.
"BOOM."
Steel groaned.
"BOOM."
With a shriek of tearing metal, the door ripped apart, hinges flying like shrapnel.
The Wraith stood in the wreckage, his chest heaving, the scalpel still clutched in his bloodied hand. His eyes—gods, his eyes—were empty.
"Do not stop me, Magina," he said, his voice a monotone. "That man deserves no mercy. His debt must be paid."
Magina's hologram flickered, her form wavering like a candle in the wind.
"At what cost, Father?" she whispered. "What happens when his debt is paid… and you're still holding the knife?".
Magina's holographic form flickered with resolve as she watched her father's hollow eyes. The scalpel in his hand dripped crimson, his once-brilliant mind now consumed by an abyss of vengeance.
"You leave me no choice, Father," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over Voss's ragged whimpers. "I know you would not like this... but I would do anything to bring you back."
With a silent command, she reached out—not through wires or signals, but through something far older. A call for help, cast into the universe like a lifeline.
At that same moment, in the quiet halls of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, the air split open with a golden spark. A portal swirled into existence, and from it stepped the Ancient One, her yellow robes fluttering as the rift sealed behind her. The X-Men—Logan, Storm, Beast, and the others—jolted to their feet, weapons and powers at the ready. Only Charles Xavier remained seated, his fingers steepled as he studied the newcomer.
"Who the hell—?" Logan began, his claws unsheathing with a snikt.
"Peace, Wolverine," the Ancient One said, raising a hand. Her gaze swept the room, lingering on each face before settling on Charles. "I come regarding The Wraith."
Calmly, Ancient One began to explained why she was here, and for what, she appeared without any noticed, and her knowledge of their unique 'Personality' when the entire world should be oblivious to their secrets. The story slowly veered off to The Wraith the man that had been an enigma to the X-Men.
Logan's brow furrowed. "Wait, so hold on—you're saying he's losing himself?"
"Yes," the Ancient One replied. "He is... conflicted. Trapped in a cycle of his own making." She turned to Logan. "You warned him once, did you not? About the path he walked?"
Logan stiffened. "Yeah," he admitted, unnerved by how much this stranger knew. "But what's that got to do with—?"
"Everything," she interrupted gently. "Which is why I've come to ask for your help. To reach him before it's too late."
The 2 were not a child, they both knew that amongst these people Logan were the only one that might have an understanding with The Wraith, both men had a tacit understanding and acknowledgement of each other's.
Logan barked a laugh. "Lady, I don't even know how to *find* the guy."
The Ancient One's lips curved. "Oh, don't worry. His daughter will reach out to—"
A sudden buzz cut her off. Every head turned as Michelle Amanda fumbled for her ringing phone.
"Uh... hello?" Michelle answered, her voice hesitant.
"{Put it on speaker,}" Charles murmured telepathically.
Michelle obeyed.
"[Michelle Amanda,]" a young girl's voice rang through the room, crisp and urgent. "[The Wraith requires your assistance.]"
The X-Men exchanged glances. Storm's fingers crackled with barely restrained lightning. The little girl none-existence infliction of emotion sounds like an evident trap, and for the X-Men they are a bit wary of such scheme.
"Okay... who are you?" Michelle asked.
"[I am my father's daughter,]" the voice replied. "[Bring Mr. Logan with you. I will provide the location. Now.]"
A text pinged on Michelle's screen—coordinates, precise and unmistakable.
The Ancient One stepped forward. "[Princess Magina…]" she said, her tone softening into something almost grandmotherly. "[This is the Ancient One speaking.]"
Silence. The air grew heavy.
"I am here to help," the Ancient One continued, her voice firm yet kind. "Nothing more. I give you my word as the Sorcerer Supreme."
Ancient One, by all means knew of Magina, she was one of Shadow Overlord daughter, and most of all, she also inherited her father cautious and paranoia traits, and also quite petty as well.
A beat. Then—
"[...You will keep your words, Grandma.]" Magina's voice was ice, sharp enough to draw blood. "[If you do not... I will rend this world apart.]"
The line went dead. Bringing the entire room scrambling what to feel and think about the entire situation and what just happened.
Logan whistled. "Well," he said, smirking. "Now I really believe she's, his kid."
The Ancient One chuckled. "Indeed."
In the entire room, Only Ancient One, Wolverine and Michelle got the joke. For Michele and Logan, it was a shocker to learn that the man in question actually have a daughter, after all he was broody all the time.