The silence that followed the phone call was thick enough to choke on.
In Charles Xavier's office, the X-Men stood frozen, each grappling with the weight of what they'd just heard. The young girl's voice—Magina's—had been calm, measured, and utterly terrifying in its conviction. It wasn't just a threat; it was a promise. And coming from the daughter of The Wraith, that distinction mattered.
Charles steepled his fingers, his wheelchair creaking softly as he leaned forward. "That sounded like an ominous threat from a young lady," he remarked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
The Ancient One, standing serenely by the window, didn't turn. "It was," she agreed. "But coming from her, it was not a threat. It was a promise…The little girl mirrors her father, quite a lot,"
A shiver ran through the room. Despite, Ancient One smiling as she said this. For the X-men they saw this situation differently, the fact that a child being able to say something like that was worrying enough.
Scott Summers—Cyclops—crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Alright, if The Wraith needs help, we gear up. Full team." Scott tried to take control of the situation, ready to jumped into action.
"No." The Ancient One's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Only three of us are going: Michelle, Logan, and myself."
Charles frowned. "Ancient One—"
"The Wraith is... particular," she interrupted, her golden robes shimmering as she turned. "He interacts kindly only with those he chooses. And right now?" Her gaze flicked to Charles. "He does not appreciate your rather intrusive nature."
Cyclops stiffened. "That's offensive."
"But it is, true, correct? no offense, but not everyone is privy to your…. inquisitive approach, Charles," Ancient One said in a confrontive manner. At times, Scott rumbunctious attitude is not acceptable, then again, the man thought everything should just follow what he wanted, without factoring who he was talking to.
Charles raised a hand before Scott could say more. Unlike the others, he knew exactly who stood before them—the Sorcerer Supreme, a being whose power dwarfed even his own. Offending her was not an option.
"It's fine, Scott," Charles said gently. Then, to the Ancient One: "No offense taken. But why the restriction?"
The Ancient One's expression darkened. "Because the man we're dealing with is volatile and unstable at the moment… He knows you, Charles. Knows your capabilities….and what you do… And in his current state?" She paused. "Your head would roll before anyone could blink."
The room went deathly still.
The Ancient One had spoken to the Shadow Overlord—had seen the depths of his rage and grief. She understood the precarious line they walked. One misstep, and the consequences would be catastrophic. She had already grasped the man nature. So, she tried not to overstepped her boundary with him at the moment. Knowing that, that man was anything but normal nor merciful at all, when his button was pushed way too much.
Charles exhaled slowly. "Very well. We'll do as you say."
The Ancient One nodded. With a graceful sweep of her hands, she conjured a shimmering portal. On the other side stood a heavy bunker door, its steel surface scarred and bloodstained. Two corpses lay slumped against the frame, their vacant eyes staring into nothing.
Michelle's breath hitched.
"Michelle, Logan," Charles said quietly. "Be careful. And please... come back alive."
Logan flashed a grin around his cigar, the ember glowing in the dim light. "Don't worry, bub. We'll be back before you even know we're gone."
With that, he stepped through the portal—into the lion's den.
The moment the portal sealed behind them, Michelle Amanda froze. The bunker door loomed before them, its steel surface pockmarked with bullet holes and smeared with dried blood. Two corpses slumped against the frame; their faces twisted in final agony.
"Where is this?" Michelle whispered, her voice thin.
Logan crouched beside one of the bodies, pressing two fingers against its neck out of habit before recoiling. "Dead. Roughly a week ago, give or take." The flesh had begun to rot, the stench of decay clinging to the air like a shroud.
The Ancient One nodded grimly. "Logan, if you would."
"Yeah, yeah…I'll do it," With a snikt, Logan's adamantium claws slid free. He drove them into the door's seams, muscles straining as he wrenched the metal apart.
"ZING!! BOOMM!" The screech of tearing steel echoed through the hallway—
—and then the stench hit them.
Rot.
Death.
Hell itself.
"URGH! What the hell?!" Logan staggered back, his nose wrinkling. Michelle barely had time to clamp a hand over her mouth before she doubled over, retching. Even the Ancient One's composure cracked, her lips pressing into a tight line.
"Just how many people died in here?" Logan rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Nearly all of them," the Ancient One replied.
They stepped inside. The hallway was a slaughterhouse frozen in time. Blood—old and blackened—crusted the floors, walls, even the ceiling. Entrails hung like macabre garlands, so decomposed they resembled melted wax. Footsteps stuck slightly to the tacky residue underfoot.
"This is horrendous," Michelle breathed, her face pale.
Logan's jaw tightened. The claw marks on the walls, the scorch patterns of energy weapons—this hadn't been a battle. It had been a systematic extermination. "Guy didn't hold back at all," he muttered.
The Ancient One suddenly raised a hand, halting them. Golden energy crackled around her fingers as she traced a sigil in the air. A nearby door glowed briefly before sealing shut with a thud.
"Hold on—" Logan peered through the door's small window—and recoiled. "Oh my god, that guy is nuts!"
Michelle followed his gaze—and immediately wished she hadn't.
The room was a charnel pit. Dozens of corpses—maybe hundreds—had been piled like firewood, limbs tangled in rigor mortis. Flies buzzed in thick clouds over bloated faces.
"Is that...?" Michelle gagged.
"The previous occupants," the Ancient One said coolly. "A fitting end for their kind."
Neither Logan nor Michelle asked what kind. The answer was in the way the Ancient One's eyes hardened—a rare flicker of approval for the carnage.
"[Stop right there.]"
The voice—young, feminine, and utterly devoid of warmth—echoed through the hallway. The trio froze as every light in the base abruptly died... except for a single path ahead, illuminating their way like a ghastly runway.
"[Please follow the lights.]"
They obeyed. The trail led to an operating theater, its doors hissing open as they approached. Inside, the walls were lined with monitors—all blank until, with a synchronized *click*, they flickered to life.
A girl appeared on every screen. White hair. Red eyes. A face that should have been cherubic but was instead eerily serene.
The Ancient One dipped her head. "Nice to meet you, Princess Magina."
Logan and Michelle exchanged glances. Kid had a damn title? Princess? And why is she inside of a monitor? And why is the girl in question inside the computer looked very much alive. Both Michelle and Logan have so many questions at the moment.