Chapter 6: Seeking Answers.
(General P.O.V)
Mathew stood over the silver statue, body still glowing with slow-moving lines of red and green. Around him, debris and silence hung in the air. Then came footsteps—measured, deliberate.
He didn't have to look to know it was her.
Natasha Romanoff approached from the edge of the chaos, her movements careful. A gun was in her hand, trained on him, safety off.
He didn't flinch.
"I just reversed the polarity of the Master of Magnetism," Mathew said. "Not to mention resurrected myself after being torn apart. I can hear your surface thoughts, Natalia or Natasha whatever your name is. I can feel the rhythm of your heart rising. So, what exactly do you think that gun is going to do—besides piss me off?"
She stopped a few feet away and rolled her eyes. "You could've just said you're bulletproof."
Mathew paused.
"You're right," he said. "A lot of things would've gone differently if I'd had the patience—and the courage—to say things straight."
He turned away from her, eyes lifting toward the square.
Cameras were still rolling. News crews behind makeshift barricades. The image of himself played on massive digital billboards above—twisted earlier, now reforming. His skin was mostly healed, his posture solid. Blood still streaked his jaw, but his voice was strong.
Mathew lifted into the air, floating toward the gathered press. The National Guard opened fire.
He flicked his wrist.
The bullets turned into butterflies, fluttering away harmlessly.
"Lower your guns," he said. "I've only got a few things to get off my chest."
They didn't listen.
But Widow raised her voice. "Stand down."
That worked.
The soldiers stepped back. Cameras zoomed in.
Mathew floated a few feet above ground, scanning the crowd, knowing every eye was locked on him. He took a breath.
"I'm not a hero," he said. "Not a villain either. Just a guy who was given something he didn't ask for."
He looked around. People were listening. Waiting for the cliché. He didn't give them one.
"I'm not going to cry about it," he continued. "I've made mistakes. Big ones. Things I can't undo. Things I'll carry for the rest of my life. But I've learned something. Maybe the most important thing."
A pause.
"Things would be a hell of a lot easier if people just minded their own business."
There was no applause. Just confusion. Disbelief. This wasn't what they expected.
Mathew didn't care.
"Half the trouble I've been in happened because someone couldn't leave me alone. They poked. They pushed. They tried to control me. And when I pushed back—when I snapped—people got hurt. That's the truth."
He floated down now, feet touching the concrete.
"I don't care about mutants. I don't care about humans. I'm not trying to save the world. I can't even save my wife. All I've ever wanted was to be left alone.
A few people looked at each other. Some were recording. Others just listened, uncertain.
"But I know that won't happen," Mathew said. "People don't listen. So no more hiding. No more running."
His voice dropped into a low, steady growl.
"I am Mathew Malloy. And if anyone out there has a problem with that…"
He looked directly into the camera.
"…then come."
A pause.
"If you've got the courage to face God."
(General P.O.V)
The world responded in different ways.
In New York, Doctor Strange stood at the top of the Sanctum Sanctorum, watching Mathew's speech play on an ethereal projection, his hands folded behind his back.
"He's not lying," Strange muttered to himself. "But that doesn't make it safe."
In a lab buried beneath Stark Tower, Tony Stark replayed the moment Mathew turned bullets into butterflies. He didn't blink. The display paused, scanning the energy signature.
"Powerful mutant with God Complex? Great," he said. "That's just what we needed. A walking paradox with loner issues."
In Westchester, the X-Men gathered in silence.
Cyclops sat alone. A photo of Xavier rested in his hand.
No one spoke.
Jean stood by the window, eyes closed, trying to feel something in the psychic web that still echoed with Mathew's presence. It was there, just beyond reach—quiet and massive. Like a dormant sun.
Logan lit a cigar and walked out without a word.
The grief was still fresh. Mathew had said what he wanted. But for them, Xavier was still dead.
Elsewhere, in a realm outside time and space, a storm was building.
Loki was pacing.
Then throwing.
A crystal table shattered against the wall of his throne room. Threads of glowing narrative unraveled around him, twisting into knots.
"Unacceptable," he hissed. "He's supposed to be done. Powerless. Crushed."
His tantrum spread beyond his realm.
In Earth-751, a tectonic fault split open mid-city. In Earth-982, a solar flare struck without warning. Across timelines, ripple effects surged in response to his fury.
Then silence.
Loki inhaled, steadying himself. His hands glided over the streams of reality until they hovered above one—different from the rest. Gold-tinted instead of green. A rogue timeline. It pulsed in quiet defiance.
Mathew's timeline.
Loki touched it, his finger brushing the thread.
"I'm going to take everything from you, Mathew." he whispered. "The peace you cry for. The memory of your missing love. Even her name."
He leaned in closer.
"Because I'm the one writing the story."
Then he stopped.
His gaze shifted slightly, eyes narrowing as he focused on something—no, someone.
His lips curled.
"I see you, little peeper," he said, amused.
In the nexus of reality, Uatu stumbled backward. His body shuddered as blood began dripping from his eyes. The vision was gone. The link had been severed. Loki's realm was now dark to him.
He clutched the edge of the platform, breathing hard.
"I have to warn him," Uatu whispered.
Behind him, three figures emerged from the shadows.
"You won't."
Uatu turned.
Three new Watchers stood before him, their expressions unreadable.
"You've interfered too many times," the first said.
"The Council will decide what comes next," said the second.
"You are no longer above judgment." said the third.
Uatu lowered his head as they stepped forward.
He said nothing.
But inside, he was already thinking of how to reach Mathew again. Before it was too late.
(Mathew's P.O.V)
-A Day Later-
I'd been sitting at the peak of the Himalayas for hours. Maybe longer. The cold didn't bother me, not with the kind of power I had. The thin air, the isolation—it helped me think. Helped me listen.
Reality hums, if you know how to tune into it. Across the solar system, through the atoms in the wind, it pulses. I could feel every satellite in low orbit. Every continent beneath my feet. I'd scanned every inch of Earth.
Still nothing.
Jules wasn't here.
I opened my eyes and exhaled. "She's really not on Earth."
I'd checked everything. Her family still existed. Her parents. Her sister Alana. I'd found them easily. But their minds were off. Tampered with. Deep rewrites. Any memory of Jules was gone. Scrubbed clean.
That wasn't natural.
And it didn't make sense.
Why take her? Why erase her?
If it was about me, why not demand something? Why not confront me? Unless… unless Jules had never been taken.
Unless she had been erased.
No photos. No digital records. No footprints left behind.
Just my memories.
I'd had my mind tampered with before. I knew better than to trust it completely. But the feeling she gave me? The weight of her in my chest?
You don't fake that.
She was real.
Which meant someone was making damn sure I couldn't find her.
So I had one option left. One name. One grudge.
Loki.
But finding him wasn't easy. He didn't exist in a location. He existed between them. The Watcher said he was working on it—tracking Loki's dimension, mapping its place outside the timestream.
That was yesterday.
I hadn't heard from him since.
I was about to try another round of focused power training when the air beside me split in two.
An orange portal spiraled open, slow and deliberate. Doctor Stephen Strange stepped out like he was arriving at a dinner party.
He looked around. "For a guy who basically just told the world to bring it, you were surprisingly hard to find."
I didn't move. "What do you want?"
Strange raised his hand and conjured a small kettle. Steam poured from the spout.
"Not here to fight," he said. "Just thought I'd bring tea."
"I'm good."
He poured anyway. Set a second cup down beside me and sat cross-legged like we were two monks on retreat.
"You know," he said, "has anyone ever told you that you brood too much?"
I glanced at the tea. Then at him.
"It's not brooding," I said. "I'm just antisocial."
He smirked. "Lonely way to live."
"It wasn't always like this."
He didn't ask for details.
I picked up the cup, frowned at it, then took a sip. It wasn't bad.
"You gonna tell me why you're here?" I said. "Or do I turn you into a frog?"
That made him pause. He actually looked nervous.
"I've got a message," Strange said. "From a mutual friend."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Uatu the Watcher," he said. "His words were specific. Get to the end of time. Stop Loki. He's planning on erasing this whole timeline."
I stared at him.
Then set the tea down.
"Of course he is."