The first thing Soren realized when he arrived in this world was how powerless he was.
The system had assigned him an ability, a classification system for strength. He could see the true rankings of individuals at a glance. From the weak E-level to the godlike EX-rank, it quantified the hierarchy of power in the Marvel universe.
The problem? He was a tiny ant.
The system had dumped him in a small town near Cairo, Egypt, where the strongest individuals were barely trained mercenaries.
To survive, Soren needed an A-level. But in a place like this?
Finding an A-rank was as difficult as finding an oasis in the Sahara.
But then.
The desert winds howled through the outskirts of Cairo, carrying whispers of disasters. The world had changed. Nuclear warheads had detonated in space.
Soren Macaluso sat inside his clinic, fingers steepled under his chin. His golden-brown eyes gleamed.
For a month, he had been trapped in this place. Forced to wait. But now, his meal ticket had arrived.
A ripple in the sandy winds. A distortion of space.
Soren closed his eyes and let the system guide his vision. He saw them, even without stepping outside. Apocalypse stood at the threshold, his tall form casting a shadow over the entrance. Behind him, his Four Horsemen... Storm, Psylocke, Angel, and Magneto stood in temp silence.
"That's it." Apocalypse muttered, laced with intrigue. His ancient eyes swept over the building, his curiosity piqued by the strange, out-of-place architecture.
Storm's silver-white hair fluttered slightly as she observed. "I have lived here for years." she said. "Yet I have never seen this place before."
Angel scoffed. His wings twitched, his distrust evident. "It's probably some fraud posing as a god. We shouldn't waste our time."
"The unknown is often a source of power, Angel." Apocalypse's gaze lingered on the faded wooden sign above the door. The words "EverLife Medical Center" were etched into the aged planks in an unrecognizable script. Even his vast knowledge could not decipher it.
"It's mysterious." He nodded approvingly. "And the mysterious… is worth investigating."
Without further hesitation, Apocalypse strode forward, pushing open the heavy wooden doors. His Horsemen followed.
Despite the brightness of the Egyptian sun, the interior of the clinic felt… timeless.
Dim lanterns flickered against walls lined with ancient scrolls and delicate porcelain vials. The air was thick with the scent of unfamiliar herbs—something soothing, yet brimming with power.
The moment Apocalypse and his Horsemen stepped inside, an odd sensation washed over them. A sudden weightlessness. A release of tension they hadn't realized they carried.
Angel tensed. "What is this?"
Psylocke narrowed her violet eyes, scanning the room. "It's calming us. Whatever this place is… It's affecting us."
Magneto exhaled, his ever-tense shoulders easing slightly. "Strange," he murmured. "My body feels… lighter."
Apocalypse, however, was unmoved. His ancient mind processed everything at once, the scent, the air, the aura of the space. He knew immediately: This was not a simple place.
A figure stood waiting,
Soren Macaluso wore a simple white robe, his hands clasped casually behind his back. His black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that held a mixture of amusement and assuredness.
"Mr. Apocalypse," He greeted with an easy smile, extending a hand toward the hall. "Welcome to EverLife Medical Center. I believe you will soon find that your trip is worthwhile."
Apocalypse gave a slow, approving nod before stepping forward, his Four Horsemen following close behind.
The sound of steel scraping against stone echoed through the hall.
Soren's gaze flickered toward Angel, whose razor-sharp metal wings deliberately dragged against the bluestone floor, leaving deep scars. A smirk played at the edge of the winged warrior's lips as he "accidentally" slashed the nearby walls and a few cultivated trees.
The air grew tense.
Soren's eyes darkened. "Angel." His voice, though calm, carried a chill. "Hasn't anyone taught you that when you enter another man's domain, politeness is a necessity?"
Before Angel could scoff, an invisible weight crashed down upon him.
Boom!
His body froze mid-motion, his wings suspended in the air. Panic flashed in his eyes as he struggled, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
His muscles refused to respond. Even his voice was trapped in his throat, emerging only as a strangled, humiliating "ho… ho…"
Soren watched impassively, his fingers barely moving as his invisible grip tightened. Angel's body lifted into the air, his face turning red from the effort to break free.
"This is just a small warning." Soren said coolly. "Disrespect me again, and it won't be this easy."
With a flick of his wrist—CRASH!—Angel was hurled out the door, landing hard outside.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
A tense silence settled over the room.
Storm, Psylocke, and Magneto exchanged wary glances, their fingers twitching to use their powers, but they did not move.
Apocalypse, seated now, merely observed. His expression remained unfazed, but his mind processed everything. He knew the strength of his Horsemen.
Angel, enhanced by his awakening, was a powerful mutant. Fast, ruthless, skilled in aerial combat. And… Soren had toyed with him like a child's puppet.
Even Apocalypse himself had felt a trace of danger when Soren struck.
"A Mutant?" He thought. "Or something… else?"
Despite his curiosity, Apocalypse remained composed. Angel had been disrespectful. The punishment was deserved.
"You said you could help me improve my condition?"
Soren's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Of course."
Apocalypse's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what price do you demand?"
The ancient mutant was no fool. Power always came at a cost. And a man as strong as Soren would not work for free.
Soren leaned back. "Now, that is the right question."
He let the moment stretch before continuing, his gaze flickering between the gathered mutants.
"I wonder." He mused. "What you believe a service like mine is worth?"
Apocalypse remained silent. He knew of human transactions, a trade must be fair. But the truth was… he had nothing to offer.
Sensing the hesitation, Storm spoke up.
"We can pay you." She offered what she thought was an astronomical amount. "Five million dollars."
"..."
Even Apocalypse looked momentarily embarrassed.
Five million.
A fortune to a commoner, certainly. But to a man like Soren Macaluso? To someone of his caliber? The number felt… insultingly small.
Soren, however, only chuckled. He tapped his fingers against the polished wooden table, a rhythmic sound that made the room feel smaller.
"Five million?" He echoed, amusement dancing in his plum-colored eyes. "Well… though it is a bit low…" He exhaled softly, feigning deep thought. "I suppose I can accept it."
The tension in the room lessened. Storm sighed in relief.
Magneto, who had remained silent, studied Soren carefully. Why would someone so powerful accept such a meager sum?
Apocalypse, too, was not deceived. There was more to this man's motives than simple money.
But for now, the deal was struck.
꧁𓊈𒆜༺⚜༻𒆜𓊉꧂
Fellow Phantoms and aspiring Phantoms to be, if you seek to access advanced parts of this story procced to my shadowy realm of p@treon.
PhantomDream