“Paralysis Ring, done.”
Looking at the Ender Ring in his hand, Fang Mo wore a bright, satisfied smile.
After sealing Apocalypse, the Ender Ring underwent so obvious changes: the dark-green on the ring’s tal faded and was replaced by a deep cyan-blue color, exactly matching Apocalypse’s skin. Also, the ring’s originally ugly tal band began to wriggle, morphing from a rough scrap of tal into an equilateral triangle carved with intricate markings. At its center lay a symbol resembling an eye, reminiscent of a legendary “all-seeing eye.”
“Hmm…”
Examining the strange new ring, Fang Mo grew curious. After thinking a mont, he slowly slipped it onto his middle finger.
The instant Fang Mo donned the ring, he felt an invisible force affecting him. A rush of ability-related information flickered through his mind: regeneration, barriers, teleportation, telekinesis, enhancent powers, matter reformation—plus Charles’s telepathy and advanced-level paralysis…
Yes, those Oga-level mutant abilities were quite sothing. Fang Mo actually felt as though he, too, was about to go limp. But before long, his own body overrode that bizarre force.
Of course, that made sense. Even if Fang Mo wasn’t using his dinsional authority at the mont, he still regularly ate foods like “Star-Encrusted Toast” and “Universal atballs” for breakfast, flooding his body with near-absolute godlike power.
Even setting aside dinsional authority or Stand powers, the sheer “level” of Fang Mo’s physical body was beyond what an Oga-level mutant could challenge.
“Matter Reformation…”
Fang Mo glanced at the ring on his hand, then turned and pointed at a nearby patch of empty desert. He felt a strange sensation in his mind, as if his consciousness stretched outward. The sand at his feet disintegrated, then reassembled. In the blink of an eye, it ford a huge, imposing statue of so kind of “Benzi” motif, rising from the endless desert.
Studying the statue, Fang Mo noticed it was still made of solid sand-rock.
“I see,”
Fang Mo murmured. “So I can’t manipulate things at the atomic-nuclear level, huh?”
Yes—after so experintation, Fang Mo discovered the drawback of this ability. “Matter Reformation” sounded incredibly strong in theory, but apparently Apocalypse’s version couldn’t affect atomic nuclei. That ant he couldn’t turn sand into gold, or air into oil—he could rely alter so things at a molecular scale, such as turning sand into stone, or graphite into diamond.
Which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. Otherwise, if Apocalypse could conjure nuclear bombs from sand on the spot, he’d already have been unbeatable.
One lingering question was how, in the film, Apocalypse had molded a helt from apparently nothing, giving it to Erik—sothing that seed beyond the scope of just re-forming sand. Fang Mo tested it and found he couldn’t replicate it. Possibly the movie added details or he was missing so knowledge. He didn’t bother thinking too deeply about it.
He moved on to Apocalypse’s other abilities, like how he could enhance a mutant’s powers. Testing revealed that this was likewise a mutant ability: with powerful psychic strength, Apocalypse could act like a walking “power-up engine,” giving other mutants a massive boost.
While Fang Mo was studying these powers, there was a ripple in the distance: Quicksilver returned with the others.
“Is… it over?”
Seeing no sign of Apocalypse, Mystique (Raven) asked.
“What is that?”
Erik scanned the area and noticed the giant “Benzi” statue near Fang Mo, looking dumbfounded. The shape was so uncanny—like a bull, perhaps—its base covered in black tallic threads. “Isn’t this supposed to be a battlefield? Why is sothing like that here?”
“Oh, that’s the Jet-Powered Armstrong Cannon.”
Fang Mo gave a casual explanation.
“Hold on.”
Finally, Logan asked the key question: “Where’s Charles? You promised us Charles would be fine.”
“Relax, he’s fine,”
Fang Mo said, imdiately pulling off the new Apocalypse Ring and tossing it to Logan. “Try it on.”
“What’s thi—”
Logan didn’t even finish speaking before sliding the ring onto his finger. At that mont, he collapsed to the ground with a thud, his face red, glaring at Fang Mo: evidently, he was paralyzed.
“Logan?”
Everyone stared, dumbfounded. “Fang Mo, what did you do to him?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Fang Mo didn’t elaborate, simply gesturing. He recalled the ring, and with its power gone, Logan stood back up.
“Thanks. I guess I know how Charles feels now…”
Logan’s expression was grim.
“All right, enough jokes.”
Instead of bantering, Fang Mo walked forward a few steps. Summoning Steve, he set up a ritual altar. After quickly arranging it, he pulled out the Abyssal To and began casting. Simultaneously, he willed Apocalypse out of the ring again.
With a reversing swirl of the vortex, the limp figure of Apocalypse erged. Before he could react, Fang Mo shoved a huge sword into his chest. It was a weapon forged from blunt gold. Although its damage wasn’t high, it boasted potent suppression. Even Apocalypse couldn’t budge, let alone speak. He could only watch in wide-eyed silence as Fang Mo perford so unholy ceremony.
As pure dinsional energy was channeled in, the ritual activated. Unholy whisperings, transcending reality, softly resonated, as if so unimaginable presence reached into the tiline, gently plucking a chord. The altar zone distorted, ti reversed. Apocalypse’s form convulsed grotesquely in that reversal. Minutes later, his skin dulled from blue to a bald, normal flesh tone. Next to him lay another “Apocalypse” body.
“Enough—pause,”
Fang Mo snapped his fingers, halting the rewinding of ti.
“Charles!”
Seeing Charles again, the group cried out in excitent. Raven rushed over, trying to rouse him. Logan and Erik, on the other hand, kept their eyes warily on the “newly appeared” Apocalypse. They wouldn’t let down their guard near such a threat.
“…I’m back to normal?”
The newly erged “Apocalypse” looked at his body in astonishnt. Having lost telepathy left him a bit regretful, but regaining control of his own flesh was truly moving. So being healthy felt marvelous after all?
But he had little ti to enjoy that relief. Noticing Fang Mo suddenly pulling out a golden Holy Grail, Apocalypse felt a surge of dread without quite knowing why. Every pore on his body scread warnings.
“…”
Apocalypse wasted no ti. Instantly he tried to teleport, forming a faint purple barrier around himself. But Fang Mo’s hand casually pierced it, dragging him out like a puppet.
“Did I say you could leave?”
Fang Mo asked with a grin that sent chills down Apocalypse’s spine.
“You’ve won,”
Apocalypse spoke after a long silence. “I acknowledge you as the true god. As the loser, I’m willing to serve…”
“Sorry. I don’t need you serving .”
Before Apocalypse finished, Fang Mo waved a rejection. “Or rather, you should serve soone else…”
“What do you an?”
Apocalypse was puzzled. “You want to serve soone else?”
“Yes.”
Fang Mo nodded.
“I see,”
Apocalypse mulled it over. With no chance of defeating Fang Mo, surrender was best. “So who is it?”
“The President of the United States,”
Fang Mo answered coolly.
“…Who?”
Apocalypse was dumbfounded.
Likewise, the X-n were flabbergasted. Logan couldn’t help asking, “What are you talking about—handing him over to the U.S. President? You serious?”
“Yes, obviously.”
Fang Mo nodded, then raised the golden Grail. Without any incantation, a white light shimred, and Apocalypse let out a wretched scream. An awful stench rose from his body. Before he could utter a word, Fang Mo again stabbed the Ender Ring into him.
With a last gasp of disbelief, Apocalypse was swallowed by the swirling vortex, fusing back into the ring.
Once that was done, Fang Mo toyed with the ring, speaking leisurely:
“Of course I’m not sending him bodily. I just need him to power the ring from inside.”
“So that ring now holds all of Apocalypse’s abilities?”
As a scientist, Hank grasped the idea fast. “And you plan to give it to the U.S. President? Why?”
“You don’t find it amusing?”
Fang Mo asked, fiddling with the ring. “Everyone worshipping Captain Arica is so cliché—just a shield-slinging grunt. Let’s have them worship the U.S. President instead! Make this ring the token passed down to each successive president. Isn’t that neat?”
“…That’s insane,”
the group said, confounded.
“Think about it: the U.S. President would be the strongest mutant on Earth—able to conjure a Pentagon-level structure on a whim, break down trash at will, be immune to weapons, teleport, even achieve immortality. A single man against the entire planet—who wouldn’t love that in a president?”
“Aren’t you effectively pushing him to start a war?”
Logan couldn’t help but object.
“Right,
Raven nodded. “If the president gains Apocalypse’s powers, that’s an existential threat to mutants—he could body-hop them and wipe them out.”
“Plus,” Quicksilver chid in, “he’d never leave office, right? He’d cling to the presidency forever.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken,”
Fang Mo said, shaking his head with a grin. “I’ve already considered that.”
“First, the body-hopping skill is gone,”
Fang Mo shaped his hand into a ring. “I replaced it with…‘relaxed sphincter’.”
“Dude, can you not be so gross!?
Logan cursed.
“It’s an old curse from the Native Aricans, not my doing.
Fang Mo shrugged. “Wear this ring for more than four years, all your other powers fade, and that ‘sphincter’ skill grows. The ancients lost their scalps, so the invaders pay with their an—”
“Just…be human,”
Hank couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I don’t like shadowy politicians hiding behind the scenes; they’re disgusting.”
Fang Mo continued. “Look at other big leaders who personally join the battle. Isn’t that more fun?”
“I don’t even want to imagine what the world becos after this…”
Erik sighed, holding his forehead.
“It’ll get better,”
Fang Mo gave them a thumbs-up. “No leader can resist the allure of immortality. Once they chase that power, they beco mutants themselves. Just think… eventually mutants can stand even higher than African-Aricans once did. Are you not excited by that?”
“So four years later, the president is personally ‘taking a dump at the top’?”
Logan quipped bitterly. “I knew letting you handle it would end in nonsense! Even forcibly mind-controlling the whole world would be better than this.”
“Sorry, I’m a ‘Pure Love Faction’; I don’t do mind control.”
Fang Mo waved him off.
Reviews
All reviews (0)