The next morning, Marcus appeared openly at the gates of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters—no disguise, no stealth, no caution. He simply stood there, relaxed and unguarded, directly within view of several X-Men who were on watch duty.
"Hey, you!" one of them barked, raising his weapon. "Didn't we spill enough blood here already?"
He wasn't exaggerating. The entrance gate was still stained with the dried blood of the ordinary humans Magneto had slaughtered the night before. The aftermath alone was enough to drive any sane person away.
But Marcus didn't slow down. He walked forward at an easy pace, offering a casual greeting.
"I'm not here to cause trouble. I heard this school offers shelter to people with… certain special talents."
The guard gave a bitter laugh.
"Kid, whatever you mean by special talent isn't what we mean. Students here are personally invited by Professor Xavier. We don't get people knocking on the front gate asking to enroll."
Marcus wagged a finger.
"No. I'm quite sure we're talking about the same thing."
SCREECH—
Before the guard could reply, the heavy metal gates groaned as they opened—despite no one touching them. The grating sound scraped across the courtyard like nails across iron.
An elderly man stepped forward from the path beyond the gate. His long silver hair flowed beneath a crimson helmet; his black suit and blood-red cloak contrasted sharply with his pale skin. Though clearly advanced in age, the man moved with a vitality and severity that exuded danger.
Magneto.
One of the most powerful mutants in existence—and one of the world's most feared villains.
Blink's words had been correct: the X-Men and Magneto had indeed formed an uneasy alliance, creating a faction powerful enough to stand against the entirety of the United States. Magneto alone possessed the power to crush continents; united, the mutants were an unstoppable force.
Magneto studied Marcus calmly.
"Child, what kind of gift do you possess?"
As he spoke, he raised a hand. A multi-ton truck parked nearby suddenly wrenched itself off the ground and hovered over Marcus's head. A threat, unspoken but unmistakable.
"My gift," Magneto added, "refers to this."
"No problem."
With a sudden leap, Marcus jumped atop the floating truck. His arm morphed into gleaming metal—then came crashing down.
Tenfold Iron Fist.
BOOM!!!
A shockwave exploded outward. The truck crumpled like paper, disintegrating into thousands of razor-sharp shards that blasted in all directions like shrapnel from a bomb. Marcus's fist didn't stop there; it punched straight through the remains and slammed into the concrete beneath, carving a crater more than a hundred meters wide.
He pulled his fist free of the fractured earth.
"Is that satisfactory?"
The air was filled with glittering debris—but none of it touched the ground. Every shard hung motionless, suspended by Magneto's will as though time itself had stopped. With a single gesture, the shards swirled together, interlocking, reshaping… until the truck stood whole once more, pristine and untouched.
Magneto lowered it gently to the side.
"Impressive," he said with a slight smile. The fierce aura vanished. His expression softened, almost grandfatherly. For all his ruthlessness toward humans, Magneto was notably merciful toward his own kind—mutants. Even when opposing the X-Men, he rarely dealt killing blows.
"We offer sanctuary to all gifted individuals like you," Magneto declared firmly. "Come in. Whoever hunts you will not take a single step through this gate."
Given everything he was capable of, it was no empty boast. Magneto would face gods and titans if it meant protecting mutantkind—even the Phoenix Force had not made him waver.
But protecting Marcus… would not end the way Magneto imagined.
"Erik, this is my school," a sharp voice interjected. "You don't get to decide who enters."
Another figure emerged from behind Magneto—a young man wearing a sleek black combat suit with a large red X insignia across the chest. A crimson beam glowed faintly behind his visor.
Cyclops, leader of the X-Men.
Though he had been beaten half to death the night before, there was no sign of injury now. Either the X-Men had advanced healing technology… or Cyclops's recovery abilities were far stronger than they appeared.
"This academy was founded by Charles and me," Cyclops said coldly. "Back when you were still a frightened child running from your own power."
Magneto snorted. "And back then you were an arrogant, naïve boy who thought the world would love you if you just smiled hard enough."
The two exchanged a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Their alliance was clearly fragile—born not of trust, but of necessity.
Cyclops stepped in front of Marcus, ignoring Magneto entirely. His visor tilted up and down, analyzing the newcomer.
"You can clearly defend yourself against normal threats," Cyclops said. "So I'm curious—what exactly frightens you enough to seek protection from us?"
Marcus didn't answer.
Magneto cut in sharply:
"That doesn't matter. Anyone hunted for their mutation is one of us. Whoever pursues him is our enemy."