Apocalypse and Psylocke
Eric struggled to rise from the floor as the portal shimmered. Unlike Raven or Emma Frost, whose mutant gifts slowed their aging, Erik Lehnsherr aged like any ordinary man. His hair was white now, his face lined with years. He still carried himself with dignity, but every movement was heavy, deliberate.
If Raven hadn't pulled back moments earlier, he likely wouldn't have been able to stand at all. Even so, it took him ten long seconds to straighten up.
The tall, purple-skinned figure who had stepped through the portal regarded him with faint disappointment.
"It seems you're weaker than I expected," the man said flatly.
At that moment, Emma Frost entered the hall. Her telepathy had alerted her the instant the strangers appeared on the island.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her tone icy. She felt the man's overwhelming energy immediately—and recognized that he was no ordinary mutant. But try as she might, her mind held no record of him.
The woman at his side, however, she knew. Psylocke—Elizabeth Braddock. Another psychic mutant, though her powers were different. Psylocke could weaponize psionic energy, forging blades and weapons of thought.
The man's gaze lingered on Emma, his eyes glinting.
"I can feel your strength," he said with almost reverence. "Magnificent."
Emma's lip curled. "Save the theatrics."
Silver light flashed in her eyes as her telepathy surged outward. Psylocke reacted instantly, manifesting her own psychic weapon to shield her mind from Emma's assault. Normally, that would have been enough. But Emma was no ordinary telepath anymore—Xu Mo's secret methods had elevated her powers beyond what any mutant telepath had achieved.
Within moments, Psylocke faltered. Her defenses shattered, her expression dulled, and she slumped under Emma's control.
Apocalypse—the oldest mutant, En Sabah Nur himself—watched, startled. For the first time in centuries, he felt genuine pressure pressing against his mind. His vast consciousness, honed across millennia, met resistance he had not expected.
Inside the psychic plane, Emma stood before him, a storm of silver threads coiling around his being.
"We are not enemies," Apocalypse declared, his voice resonating like thunder. "I have come to lead you—to take back the world stolen from us by lesser humans!"
Emma stared at him as though he were raving. "You can tell that to my boss."
Her psychic threads lashed out, binding him. For the first time in an age, Apocalypse's pride was pierced.
"You dare? You forget who I am!" he roared. His body swelled with ancient power, forcing the silver bindings to strain and snap.
Emma's eyes narrowed. She had bested countless telepaths, even Charles Xavier in simulated battles. Yet this relic, this so-called first mutant, was resisting her grip through sheer raw mental strength.
Her face hardened, but Apocalypse was more shaken than she was. He had seen countless mutants across history, and though his own telepathy specialized in mind-reading and consciousness transfer, few could rival his strength. Until now.
For the first time, he felt the urge to retreat. If he remained locked in Emma's psychic web, his body—unguarded outside—would be vulnerable.
With a ruthless decision, he detonated a portion of his own mental power, tearing himself free at the cost of psychic damage. He returned abruptly to his body, eyes blazing, and without hesitation summoned a portal.
Before Emma could react, he vanished.
Emma exhaled sharply, her expression clouded. Even with Xu Mo's techniques, her mastery was still short of absolute. Against such overwhelming ancient power, she couldn't yet crush him completely.
She turned her gaze toward Psylocke, who remained frozen under partial control.
"Collar her," Emma ordered curtly.
Two staffers stepped forward, fastening a suppression collar around Psylocke's neck and binding her limbs.
"Be careful," Emma added as she turned to leave. "She's stronger than she looks."
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Xu Mo's Training
The next day, Xu Mo emerged from the Star Tower. More than ten days of seclusion had sharpened his mastery over the Thousand Machine Disk. He had unlocked its first form fully, and could already wield the second.
In a flash, he appeared above the sea, far from Death Island. Before him lay a small island barely a kilometer wide. The Thousand Machine Disk floated at his side.
With a surge of mental power, the disk split into 10,081 miniature swords before reassembling into a three-meter-long giant blade. Its surface patterns blazed as Xu Mo poured his will into it.
The blade vanished.
Two seconds later, a thunderous explosion split the air. Xu Mo watched as the island disintegrated under the strike, debris raining down into the sea within a five-kilometer radius before slowly sinking beneath the waves.
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