Ash's POV
From his perch high on the interior scaffolding—half-shadowed in the upper frame of Lady Liberty's head—Ash crouched silently, eyes narrowed, cloak drawn close. Gardevoir floated behind him, her presence a quiet weight in the air, her psychic field masking them from detection.
At the center of the torch chamber, Magneto stood with his arms raised, palms trembling with strain. Rogue lay strapped to a metallic gurney beneath the twisted machinery — wires snaking into her arms, her breath short and uneven.
Ash said nothing.
He didn't move.
He only watched.
A spherical array of metallic coils floated in the center of the torch, connected to the base by a thin lattice of warped steel and repurposed scaffolding. It whirred and sparked erratically as Magneto reached deeper into his magnetic reserves to power it.
Then—
CRACK!
A sudden metallic groan echoed like thunder as the torch's crown split straight down the middle. The machine bucked violently as power surged through it, and the torch wall burst outward in a shower of sparks and glass.
Ash narrowed his eyes.
It was unstable.
Just like in the movies, he thought grimly.
Then—like a sudden storm—the X-Men arrived.
A bolt of lightning cracked through the upper skylight, and Storm descended in a swirl of wind and raw power. Cyclops was already blasting, his ruby-red beam slamming into the scaffolding just beside the device. Jean Grey floated down, her telekinetic aura flaring, and Wolverine hit the floor with a snarl, claws out, charging.
They hit hard—and fast.
Magneto staggered. His concentration wavered as Storm's gusts tore into the makeshift platform, and Cyclops' blasts rained down with calculated precision.
Ash tensed.
But Magneto wasn't the kind of man to falter twice.
With a grunt and a heave of raw willpower, the master of magnetism lashed out.
In a wave of metal and fury, the X-Men were flung backward.
Bars and coils unraveled like snakes, wrapping around their limbs. Pipes twisted mid-air and snapped into place—binding Jean, pinning Storm's arms, wrapping around Wolverine's midsection like a vice. Even Cyclops found himself locked to a pillar by his arms and chest.
Magneto didn't even look at them anymore.
He was focused.
The machine—despite its shuddering frame—continued to glow ominously as he poured everything into it. The air warped. The light buzzed brighter.
Ash's eyes scanned the X-Men, seeing them struggle against their restraints. Storm was growling something under her breath, trying to summon lightning. Wolverine was snarling like a cornered animal. Jean's eyes flared as she tried to push out with her mind.
Ash could see it all.
And he could see Magneto straining—veins visible, sweat beading, chest heaving.
Rogue's head dipped.
Her breathing—shallow and fading—barely stirred the air. The light around the machine intensified, a cruel, pulsing glow that bathed the torch chamber in flickers of white-blue heat. Magneto stood hunched beside it, one hand on the generator's base, the other held up like a conductor controlling a dying symphony.
Ash narrowed his eyes from his perch above. The old man was shaking now—drained, leaking strength faster than he could control. The machine took more than energy. It devoured life.
And yet… Magneto still stood.
Still forcing it forward.
Ash grit his teeth. So stubborn... even at the edge of death.
He gave Gardevoir a nod.
A faint shimmer passed through the room like a whisper in a graveyard.
Below, the twisted metal bindings around Wolverine shifted—just slightly. A bolt came undone. One clawed hand twitched.
Wolverine's eyes flared with understanding.
Schinkt.
Three claws burst out from his wrist, carving clean through the warped metal that held him down. He let out a breathless snarl and ripped the rest of the bindings off. In a fluid motion, he slashed the restraints on Jean, then Cyclops, and finally Storm.
The team snapped into action.
Above them, the machine began to pulse more violently. A glowing sphere of energy built up at its core—a wave of mutation ready to surge outward.
Ash's heart stilled.
It's starting.
Storm's voice boomed over the wind. "Logan—go! We'll get you there!"
Jean's eyes glowed violet as she focused her mind. Together, the two lifted Wolverine—carrying him like a living missile toward the pulsing death-engine above.
The wind roared. Lightning crackled across the copper dome.
But just as Wolverine reached Rogue—Magneto raised his hand.
A soft gesture, almost lazy.
But Logan froze mid-air with a sudden, visceral snap.
Wolverine let out a strangled growl, suspended in the air like a broken marionette, body twitching, limbs shaking.
Magneto's palm trembled from exhaustion, but his grip—was absolute.
He was bending Wolverine.
Rogue lay just beyond, strapped into the machine, unconscious. So close.
Wolverine snarled as his body contorted, muscles straining against Magneto's invisible grip.
The wave at the machine's core expanded again. It shimmered like water in the air—a mutation surge expanding toward the ocean.
Ash's eyes widened.
"No."
He turned to Pikachu on his shoulder.
"Now."
"Pika!"
A crackling jolt of golden lightning leapt from Pikachu's cheeks, arcing clean across the room.
BOOM.
The bolt slammed directly into Magneto's chest, lifting him off the platform and sending him crashing to the floor, unconscious—his body skidding across the steel as the metal that had held Wolverine dropped away.
The old man didn't move.
Ash stared.
Wolverine didn't hesitate.
With Magneto down, he surged forward, slashing the harness that held Rogue. Sparks flew. Steel gave way. The machine groaned as its heart began to overheat and spin out of control.
Wolverine caught Rogue in his arms—and plunged his claws into the generator.
BOOM.
A deafening pulse.
The wave of mutation energy trembled, flickered—
—and collapsed mid-air, vanishing just before it reached the coast of Liberty Island.
Silence.
Then: the creak of cooling metal. The quiet hiss of dying circuits. The low whistle of wind past the torch's broken frame.
Ash exhaled, finally, a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
It was over.
Liberty Island was quiet in that broken, echoing way—like a battlefield catching its breath after a war.
I stood atop a ledge in the statue's crown, shrouded in shadow with Gardevoir at my side, as the final pieces fell into place just like I remembered.
Logan was the first to stagger to his feet after the machine's destruction, ignoring his injuries. He stumbled toward Rogue—pale, unconscious, the energy drained from her like color from fading paper.
The others called out, but no one could move fast enough.
Not with the damage they'd taken.
So Logan did what I remembered him doing in the movies.
He pressed his hand to hers.
There was no hesitation. No grand speech. Just a quiet choice.
And then—Rogue's powers flared to life.
Soft white light flooded between their palms. Her body jerked as the healing began—cellular energy being restored through touch. Her wounds knitting together. Color returning to her cheeks.
Logan was on his knees beside Rogue, his face pale, eyes already starting to glaze. The last of his strength — his very life force — was gone, pulled into her by her own unconscious power. His hand dropped from hers with a dull thud.
He collapsed.
I stepped closer to the edge of the broken steel beam where I watched unseen, breath held.
And then… she moved.
Rogue's eyes fluttered open, her whole body trembling as if shocked awake. She looked down—and saw him.
"Logan?" she whispered, voice cracking.
The moment her gaze fell on his unmoving form, everything changed. Her panic surged—guilt, horror, pain—and her hands flew to his chest.
"No—no, no, no—don't you dare," she cried, pressing her palms to him again.
And then something clicked.
Her power flickered back to life.
But this time, it wasn't wild. It wasn't ripping.
It was focused.
Controlled.
The air shimmered faintly as Rogue's skin lit with pale green light, just for a moment—and then Logan's wounds began to mend.
Slower than his own healing.
But healing.
I watched, frozen in place. This—this was it. The beginning of her growth. The first time she chose to use her gift, not fear it. To save someone with it.
The others gathered around them, silent.
Rogue's eyes were clenched shut, her hands trembling as she focused everything she had into keeping him alive.
But…
My eyes narrowed.
It wasn't enough.
Not fast enough.
Logan's heartbeat was faint. Slowing. Too much of his energy had gone into her. Her body might have stabilized, but his?
His was slipping away.
Rogue's grip tightened. She was trying.
She wouldn't let go.
But she wasn't going to make it in time.
"…Tch."
I turned slightly, just enough to look at the shadowed corner behind me. I didn't have to say a word.
Gardevoir was already there.
Cloaked in illusion, hidden to every eye in the chamber. Silent, graceful, watching with the same quiet tension as me.
I spoke gently—telepathically.
"Do it now. Healing Wish. Controlled. Give her the push. But don't lose yourself."
She didn't reply.
She just floated forward, invisible still, and gave.
The space shimmered faintly—only to someone who knew what to look for. A light pulse of energy like stardust filtered into Rogue's hands.
Her healing grew brighter. Stronger.
And Logan stirred.
A shuddered breath. His chest rose. His fingers twitched.
Rogue gasped.
He blinked.
"Logan!" she cried, half laughing, half sobbing.
The others rushed in around them.
Cheers. Relief. Tears.
But I just closed my eyes.
That was enough.
This was still her moment. Her growth. Her choice.
All we did… was make sure she didn't have to face the cost of it alone.
Gardevoir returned to my side without a sound.
***
Storm's POV – Liberty Island, After the Battle
The wind had calmed.
What little remained of the machine lay scattered in molten, warped pieces at the base of the Statue's torch. Rogue was safe, breathing steadily in Logan's arms. Magneto lay unconscious, his cape torn and dignity shredded. For once, silence blanketed us—a rare gift after chaos.
We were all preparing to leave.
Cyclops and Jean had begun helping Rogue down the staircase, with Logan limping close behind. I took a final glance at the damage above, scanning for any residual energy. Nothing.
That was when I noticed him.
A flicker—movement just beyond the statue's crown. A shadow slipping away.
Not a threat. But not one of us either.
"Leaving so soon?" I said aloud, letting my voice carry just enough command to draw attention.
The shape froze. Then turned.
He walked forward—no, glided with confidence beyond his years. And that's when I felt it.
Power. Controlled. Focused. Not chaotic like many young mutants—but disciplined. Trained.
I narrowed my eyes.
He shimmered for a moment grown man, early twenties maybe.
"Drop the illusion," I said, a small smirk on my lips. "I saw you before."
The illusion faded, collapsing like dust. In its place stood a boy.
Ten, perhaps. Short, black hair. Dark eyes sharper than they had any right to be.
"Well… that's unexpected," Logan muttered behind me, his wounds already closing. "That a kid?"
"That's him?" Jean whispered, her brow furrowed. "He's the one who summoned that… that tiny green creature?"
"I ain't never seen a creature like that," Bobby added. "It nearly turned the mutants into minced meat."
The boy folded his arms, scowling. "I'm not a 'that'. And Larvitar's not tiny. He's compact."
A pause.
Jean crouched slightly, the way adults did when they tried to be gentle with kids. "Sweetheart, are you lost? Where are your parents?"
His eyes twitched. His nostrils flared.
Oh no.
"I'm eleven. Not five," he snapped. "I just helped save New York. I don't need a babysitter."
Jean blinked, thrown off. Logan smirked, muttering, "Yeah, he's got claws too."
I stepped forward, offering a softer tone. "You acted decisively. That's rare in someone so young."
He eyed me. Cautious. Calculating. "You saw me before?"
"When you released the green one," I said. "And again when your… presence flickered. I don't just control weather, boy. I feel it. You disturbed it."
"Tch." He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms again. "Should've guessed you'd notice. Omega-class..."
Scott stepped in, gaze sharp. "You've been helping all this time?"
The boy nodded. "Only stepped in when necessary. You were holding your own. I was waiting for Magneto to slip up."
"And when exactly were you going to introduce yourself?" Jean asked gently.
"I wasn't," he admitted flatly. "I was going to leave quietly. Prefer it that way."
"But you're not just a bystander," I said. "You sent that creature to help us. You guided our fight without being seen."
He nodded again. "From the shadows. Like Gengar."
"Gengar?" Logan raised an eyebrow.
"Never mind." The boy sighed, then muttered under his breath. "Knew this would happen…"
"You have a name?" I asked calmly
He looked unsure, contemplating whether to reveal his name or not.
"…Ash," he said finally. "Ash Ketchum."
That was a name none of us had heard before. But it wouldn't be long before the world learned it.
Because there was power in him. Control. Intent.
And something else.
He wasn't just a mutant—or whatever category he belonged to.
He was something entirely different.
And I had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time our paths crossed.
Jean stepped forward slowly, brushing dust off her gloved hands. She looked down at the small yellow creature standing by Ash's feet, its cheeks faintly sparking with static.
"Is that the one who shocked Magneto, right?" she asked gently. "He's adorable. May I… pet him?"
Ash didn't answer right away. His eyes flicked from Jean to Pikachu, then back.
"You can try," he said with the kind of flat, resigned tone that made Logan chuckle behind his teeth. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Jean knelt slightly and extended her hand. "Hey there, little guy."
To my surprise—and evidently, Ash's—Pikachu gave a soft chirp and leaned into her touch. No sparks. No warning bolts. Just content purring and a lazy tail swish.
Ash blinked.
Jean smiled. "He's warm."
Ash stared at Pikachu like the world had betrayed him. "Traitor," he muttered.
Logan laughed outright.
That's when the stairwell groaned, and a small green creature came casually stomping up the side steps—Larvitar. He looked as nonchalant as a champion boxer after a light jog, despite the fact we'd all seen him single-handedly dismantle half the Brotherhood's backup.
Scott took a step back. "Okay, that thing just walks around freely?"
Larvitar glanced up at Ash with that slow, smug blink only a creature that had wrecked a dozen enemies could manage.
Ash didn't miss a beat. "You've had enough fun," he muttered, pulling a Pokéball from his belt and tapping it gently. A shimmer of red light pulled the little monster back into the ball with practiced ease.
The others watched in stunned silence.
Bobby broke it. "So, uh… that's not a mutant, right?"
Ash raised an eyebrow. "Nope."
Scott crossed his arms. "Then what are you?"
Ash shrugged. "Not a mutant."
"But you have powers," Jean said softly, standing now, brushing her hands against her pants. "Mental shielding. Teleportation. Illusions. Not to mention those… creatures. You're something."
"I never said I wasn't something," Ash replied evenly. "Just not a mutant."
There was a moment of quiet as they processed that.
Then I stepped forward. The wind shifted with me, cool and curious.
"You said your name was Ash Ketchum?" I asked, my voice softer now.
He nodded.
"You helped save people tonight. You protected us when you didn't have to. That deserves thanks. And… an invitation."
He looked up, wary.
"To Xavier's school," I continued. "You wouldn't have to join, or explain yourself. You'd be free to learn, train, even just… rest. No expectations. Just people like you."
"I'm not like you," he said without hesitation.
I didn't take it personally. He wasn't wrong.
"I work better alone," he added.
I nodded. "Fair enough."
But then I smiled and crouched down, just enough to meet his eyes. "The door's open if you ever want to walk through it. Doesn't have to be about training. You can just… hang out. Eat. Talk. Throw that Larvitar into a Danger Room for fun."
That got a twitch of his lips. Almost a smile.
Jean tilted her head. "You sure you're just eleven?"
Ash exhaled through his nose. "Very sure."
Bobby rubbed the back of his head. "Well, it's gonna be weird not knowing where the electric rodent and the rock goblin came from."
"Good," Ash said. "That's the point."
Scott looked to me, then back at Ash. "For what it's worth… thanks. I don't think we could've pulled it off without your help."
Ash looked uncomfortable with that. "I was just making sure no one died."
Then he paused.
His eyes shifted toward the horizon, where the soft morning light was beginning to spread across the water—Liberty Island glinting under the remnants of the machine's destruction.
"I won't always step in," he said, quieter now. "Sometimes the story has to unfold the way it's meant to."
I watched him for a long moment, then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That's a heavy thought for someone your age."
"I'm used to carrying things heavier than that," he said.
And with that, he turned, Pikachu hopping silently to his shoulder. The wind picked up again, brushing his cloak back slightly as he stepped away, into the morning fog that had begun to rise along the ruined platform.
I watched until he was gone.
Storm clouds may have cleared—but a different kind of storm had arrived.
And I had no doubt…
This wasn't the last we'd see of Ash Ketchum.
_____________________________________________________________________________
A.N. What did you think of the Chapter? Not gonna lie, it was a struggle to make sure to stay true to the X-Men's personalities. It's something to work on in the future.
P.S. GIVE ME SOME REVIEWS GODDAMMIT! HELP IT REACH MORE PEOPLE!!
P.S.S. If you give me 50 more power stones today, you get one more chapter! Otherwise, wait for tomorrow!!!