Why impersonate Magneto?
Because soone else would co looking for him.
In this universe, that soone was Apocalypse.
One of the oldest mutants to ever exist, Apocalypse was born in ancient Egypt over five thousand years ago. Through a unique ability, he could transfer his consciousness into other mutants, inheriting and accumulating their powers along the way. Over centuries, that process had turned him into sothing close to unstoppable.
Rowan rcer’s assessnt was blunt. Apocalypse had no obvious weaknesses. In raw versatility alone, he rivaled the highest-tier cosmic beings. Killing him outright would require overwhelming force.
And while Rowan could likely subdue him, there was a problem.
Apocalypse possessed psychic abilities even stronger than Charles Xavier’s. Forcing him to enhance soone against his will would be risky, ssy, and loud. Loud enough to draw attention from organizations that monitored reality itself.
So Rowan chose the cleaner option.
Disguise.
Apocalypse’s pattern was predictable. Once awakened, he would seek out powerful mutants to serve as his lieutenants. And among them, Magneto was always his first choice.
If Rowan limited himself to Magneto’s known abilities and concealed everything else, Apocalypse would never realize the deception. He would approach willingly. Offer power willingly.
If the plan failed, Rowan could still take it by force later. There was no downside.
"Evening, Henrik. What are we doing out here?"
The local police officer blinked, staring at Rowan in Magneto’s form. He looked down at the bow in his own hands, then at the rope slung over his shoulder, confusion spreading across his face.
Rowan smiled mildly. "Didn’t you say we were hunting rabbits in the woods?"
"Oh. Right." The officer laughed and slapped his forehead. "That’s it. Hunting rabbits. We’ll bring you one if we catch anything."
Satisfied, the group turned and headed deeper into the forest.
Once they were gone, Rowan bent down and plucked a handful of grass. With a flick of his fingers, it twisted and reshaped itself into several lifeless bodies.
They were perfect replicas of the departing officers.
Two more forms appeared beside them. A woman. A child.
Erik Lehnsherr’s wife and daughter.
With the scene prepared, Rowan closed his eyes and focused inward.
Appearance and power alone weren’t enough. They fooled ordinary people, but not specialists.
There were mutants who tracked others by signature rather than sight. One of them was Caliban, currently operating within the mutant black market. Rowan had tested this before. Simple shapeshifting failed. To Caliban’s senses, the trail still led back to Rowan himself.
So Rowan altered sothing deeper.
He adjusted his presence at the level of identity. Not replacing his soul, but masking it. Layering it. Making it read as Erik Lehnsherr’s.
When he opened his eyes again, the disguise was complete.
"Done."
He lifted the conjured bodies into his arms and let his expression collapse into raw grief.
"My wife... my daughter..." he cried hoarsely. "You were murdered. I swear I’ll make the world pay. I’ll make humanity pay for this."
Ten minutes later, Rowan let the performance fade.
He had already felt it.
Caliban’s search.
Caliban could only sense mutants, not ordinary humans. What he would see was exactly what Rowan wanted him to see: Magneto standing among the bodies of his family and fallen police officers. A man pushed past the breaking point.
Everything aligned.
At the sa ti, deep within the mutant black market, Mystique slamd a thick stack of cash onto the counter.
"Sa deal as always," she said. "Get him a travel pass."
Across from her, Caliban inhaled deeply, eyes unfocused as his ability swept outward.
"Always good to see you," he said, smirking. "Even if that face isn’t yours."
He nodded toward the man beside her. "Where’s he headed?"
"No idea," Mystique replied. "Not my business. I saved him. What he does next is his choice."
Caliban inclined his head, genuine respect flashing across his expression. He waved to an assistant, who pulled Nightcrawler aside to begin processing the docunts.
"Free tip," Caliban added casually, sniffing the bills. "Just as you walked in, I sensed an old acquaintance of yours."
Mystique froze.
"Erik Lehnsherr," Caliban continued. "I see his wife and child dead beside him. Police bodies too. If the pattern holds, this will hit the news soon. I like you, so I’m telling you early."
Mystique’s pupils contracted.
She turned sharply to Nightcrawler. "How far can you teleport?"
He blinked. "Anywhere I’ve been. Anywhere I’ve seen."
She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "You wanted to work with , right? Congratulations. You’re in. Get us to New York. Now."
She needed Charles.
Imdiately.
If Magneto wasn’t stopped, the world was about to burn again.
Reviews
All reviews (0)