Charles Xavier's office was unusually quiet.
Sunlight poured in through the wide windows, spilling across polished wood and shelves lined with books he'd read a hundred times. Outside, on the basketball court below, laughter echoed as students ran back and forth with shouts and sneakers squeaking and
Charles watched them with a small smile.
"Moments like this," he said softly, "are easy to forget."
Jean Grey leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching a group of younger students argue over a missed shot. "You mean when the world isn't on fire?"
Logan snorted from his chair. "Give it five minutes."
Jean smirked, but Charles chuckled. "Logan, try just once to enjoy the quiet."
"I am," Logan replied. "I'm enjoyin' it while it lasts."
For a few seconds, it really did last.
Then Jean stiffened and her breath caught sharply, fingers digging into the window frame. "Charles!"
The world lurched.
A pressure slammed into Charles's mind like a tidal wave, raw and violent, tearing past every psychic defense he had. His vision blurred. Pain flared white-hot behind his eyes.
Jean screamed and the sound of it ripped through the mansion.
Charles gasped, clutching the arms of his wheelchair as agony tore through him. It was power but it was massive and uncontrolled and it was screaming across the psychic plane. It wasn't just loud but blinding.
"Jean!" Logan was on his feet instantly.
She collapsed to her knees, hands over her head, teeth clenched as if holding back another scream. "It's..it's too much!"
The doors burst open.
"Jean!" Scott Summers rushed in, visor already glowing faintly. Beast followed close behind, eyes wide as he took in the scene.
"Professor?" Hank asked.
Charles forced himself to breathe, sweat beading on his brow. The pressure faded as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving behind a ringing silence and dread.
Jean looked up, shaken, eyes wide with fear. "That wasn't just an omega," she whispered. "That was… something stronger."
Charles straightened slowly. "Cerebro," he said. "Now."
Minutes later, the machine hummed to life, its familiar glow filling the chamber. Charles closed his eyes, reaching out again but more carefully this time.
There it was a blazing presence thag was burning like a star in the psychic void.
Hank's fingers flew over the controls. "Location confirmed," he said. "Chicago."
Logan cracked his knuckles. "Kid?"
Charles opened his eyes, expression grim.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Logan, Scott and Jean go to Chicago and check this kid out and bring him in because if what I am sensing his power if uncontrolled can cause a lot of damage."
Chicago, a hour ago
The streets of Chicago weren't kind, and neither was Dante Jackson.
He moved through the alleys like a shadow, dreadlocks bouncing with every step, golden eyes scanning the small crowd gathered around the corner of a cracked brick building. The smell of cheap cologne mixed with fear and sweat, and Dante smirked. Some things never changed. Some things needed to change.
Three jocks had cornered a kid by the dumpsters, snickering as they shoved him against the wall. A backpack spilled open, books and loose papers scattering across the concrete. The kid's glasses were crooked, his hands trembling. Dante's jaw tightened.
"Leave him alone," Dante said, stepping into the alley with that grin that could either charm or scare the life out of someone.
The tallest jock looked him over. "Or what, little man? You gonna make us?"
Dante didn't answer. He just moved by the time the first punch landed, Dante was already inside their space, a blur of motion. A swift kick sent one jock sprawling into a dumpster; a hard jab to the ribs left another groaning on the pavement. The third barely had time to raise a fist before Dante ducked under it, spun, and slammed him face-first into the brick wall.
This was Dante's justice. Not cruelty for fun but justice.
The alley fell silent. The kid huddled against the wall, wide-eyed, trembling, but Dante crouched in front of him, brushing off his knuckles.
"Hey," Dante said, tossing the kid a handful of crumpled bills from his pocket. "Don't look so scared. They're idiots. Always were, always will be."
The kid blinked at the money, then at Dante, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"But… thank you," the kid stammered.
Dante shook his head. "No, don't thank me yet. You listen? You gotta stand up for yourself next time. And if you can't… make sure you're fast. Make sure you're smart. And if they're bigger than you, make sure they regret it when they mess with you again."
He smirked, stepping back. "Consider this a lesson in… self-respect. And a reminder that the world's unfair, kid. But you? You gotta be worse than unfair if you want to survive."
The kid swallowed hard. "I… I'll try."
"Good," Dante said, brushing a strand of dreadlocks out of his face. "Now go before someone else gets stupid ideas."
As Dante walked away, he glanced back at the jocks. They were groaning, rubbing bruised ribs, glancing at each other in disbelief. "That's right," he muttered under his breath, "learn the hard way."
The streets of Chicago were rough, but for Dante, they were home. He walked past the faded neon signs, the crowded stoops, and the corner stores that smelled of fried food and desperation. He passed the orphanage where he had grown up, the place where he had been left on the doorstep as a baby. The smell of the brick walls and faint soap reminded him of simpler times, though he never truly felt like he belonged there.
Belonged. That was a funny word for him.
Then he heard it. A shout that froze him mid-step.
"Help! Somebody! Please!"
Dante's head snapped up. Down the street, a man with glowing green skin was running, frantic, pursued by a group of men in military uniforms. Their movements were efficient, disciplined because they weren't just hunters but trained killers.
The man's eyes were wide, terrified, arms flailing as he ducked into alleys and over parked cars. Dante didn't hesitate.
He ran with his sneakers slapped the asphalt as he closed the distance in seconds. Adrenaline pumped through him, heart hammering, the thrill of chaos igniting every muscle.
"Hey!" Dante shouted at the first soldier to notice him. "You picked the wrong street!"
The men turned, guns raised. Dante didn't care. He didn't need guns. He needed hands, feet, motion, and fury.
He launched himself at the nearest one, ducking a swing from a rifle and driving a knee into the man's chest. A spinning elbow caught another across the jaw. The man crumpled, but the others came fast. Dante ducked and weaved, his martial arts training blending seamlessly with the street-fighting instincts he had honed surviving Chicago's alleys.
But there were too many of them.
A gun butt cracked across his shoulder. Another punch slammed into his ribs. Pain radiated, but something strange started happening. He felt energy flowing into him, not just adrenaline but something else. A raw, unrefined power he didn't recognize.
He gritted his teeth. "What the….!?"
Another hit. Another punch. The pain intensified but it didn't cripple him. Instead, it was like fuel. Every strike, every shove from the men, seemed to pour energy into him, filling something deep inside. He felt it building, a storm, coiling in his chest, twisting down his arms and then his eyes changed.
Golden orbs shifted to a sharp, glowing light blue. A hiss of air escaped Dante's lips as he realized what was happening.
"Enough!" he screamed.
The world responded with a wave of energy erupted from him, black and blue, crackling and searing through the street. The men were hurled into walls and cars, limbs flailing, groaning in shock as they slid across asphalt. Trash cans tipped over. Sparks ignited from streetlights. Dante stood at the center, chest heaving, arms raised slightly as tendrils of black-and-blue energy licked his skin, crawling up his forearms.
He stared at his hands, disbelief etched into his face. His palms glowed, the energy coiling around his fingers like living ink, pulsing with raw power.
"Okay… okay," he muttered under his breath. "This… this is insane."
Then he heard it. A crackle over a radio device strapped to one of the fallen men.
"Send it in," the soldier muttered, voice flat and resigned.
Dante looked up. The dull roar of a plane filled the sky above the street, its shadow racing across the asphalt. Something detached from its belly and fell like a meteor. Another. Then a third.
The objects hit the ground with a thunderous crash, sending up clouds of dust and debris. Dante's stomach sank, and his pulse spiked. He ran closer as the dust cleared, heart hammering.
They were Sentinels.
Three towering machines, gleaming steel and blackened joints, their red sensors sweeping across the street like hungry eyes. Their weapons primed, their mechanical limbs grinding with terrifying precision. They were huge and far bigger than any human, and faster than Dante had anticipated.
One of them raised an arm and fired a pulse that slammed into a parked car. Metal twisted and melted like paper. Dante's jaw clenched. He could feel the energy inside him responding, reacting almost instinctively, almost as if it had a mind.
"Alright, then," he muttered, voice low. "Let's see what you've got."
Dante's palms flared, and the blue-black energy surged, crackling and coiling around him like a living storm. He jumped, twisting midair, and slammed his fist into the chest of the nearest Sentinel. Sparks exploded, the machine staggering back. A wave of kinetic force pulsed outward, knocking a second Sentinel off balance.
"Holy… shit," Dante breathed, eyes wide as the energy continued to hum. "I… I can actually control this?"
The first Sentinel regained its footing, charging at him with mechanical precision. Dante ducked under its arm, rolling across the pavement, and lashed out with a kick infused with energy. The blue-black storm leapt from his foot, colliding with the machine and sending it spinning like a top. The metal screeched and groaned under the assault.
The second Sentinel turned toward him, firing a rapid barrage of energy beams. Dante raised his hands instinctively. The pulses collided with the energy field forming around his arms, crackling as the energy absorbed, transformed, and shot back, striking the machine with a force that shattered its left arm.
"Oh holy shit!" Dante muttered again, backing away as he felt the thrill of power coursing through him. "This is insane. I… I can do this?"
The third Sentinel advanced slower, like it was calculating every possible angle. Dante's gaze flicked to the sky, noting the debris and rubble from the plane's drop. He bent his knees, energy surging, and launched himself at it, spinning in midair. He slammed both fists into its chest. The energy exploded outward in a blinding arc, smashing windows in nearby buildings, rattling cars, and sending a shockwave down the street.
The Sentinel stumbled backward, smoke pouring from vents along its body. Dante landed lightly on the ground, energy still dancing across his arms. For a brief moment, he felt weightless, untouchable, like the world had paused to watch him.
But the remaining two machines were relentless. The first turned, faster than he expected, swinging its massive arm like a battering ram. Dante barely rolled out of the way, feeling the ground shudder as it smashed into the pavement where he had just been standing.
"Okay," he muttered, voice tight with both fear and exhilaration. "Okay, stay calm… focus."
The energy inside him seemed to pulse with anticipation, almost excited. Dante clenched his fists. I'm not just strong. I'm more than strong. He could feel it the force and the thrill of being untouchable.
He darted forward, weaving between the Sentinels. Every punch, every kick, every strike of energy tore chunks of metal from their armored bodies. Sparks flew. Hydraulic systems hissed and groaned. One Sentinel had its chestplate blown clean off, exposing wires and circuits that glowed faintly red. Dante slammed into another, using the momentum to swing around and kick the third square in its sensor array. It toppled over, crashing into a telephone pole with a deafening clang.
He landed on the sidewalk, chest heaving, sweat streaming down his face, golden eyes wide as he realized what he had just done.
"I… I can do this," he whispered, almost in disbelief, voice trembling. "I can do this…"
The first Sentinel, though damaged, was still moving. It raised a massive arm, swinging toward him with terrifying speed. Dante felt the energy surge uncontrollably as his adrenaline spiked. He threw both hands forward, unleashing a blast of blue-black energy that slammed into the machine like a battering ram made of liquid metal.
The Sentinel crumpled, groaning mechanically, sparks flying in every direction. Its remaining limbs twisted, unable to function. Dante watched, eyes wide, heart racing. He had destroyed it. He had destroyed a Sentinel.
The third one, heavily damaged, tried to retreat, but Dante's energy flared. With a roar, he leapt high, spinning midair, and slammed down with a fist enveloped in black-blue energy. The final Sentinel exploded in a shower of sparks and twisted steel, metal raining down onto the street.
Dante landed hard, knees cracking under him, chest heaving. The street was silent except for the soft hiss of his dissipating energy. His hands glowed faintly, pulsing with residual power. He stared at them, jaw slack, disbelief written across his face.
"I… I did that?"
His golden eyes flickered, back to their normal color, but his heart still pounded. He felt every punch he had taken, every kick, every strike of his energy was absorbed then transformed and unleashed. The power was intoxicating overwhelming, but he can control it. For the first time Dante felt like he wasn't just surviving but he just became something else.
"Damn…" he muttered, grinning. "That… was fun."
The roar of a jet above cut through the quiet. Tires hissed against asphalt as it landed a few meters away. The doors opened, and three figures stepped out.
One man with a red visor. Another, muscular, claws sheathed but brimming menace. And a woman, fiery-eyed, radiating calm control.
Dante didn't blink. He didn't hesitate. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Wow," he said, loud enough for them to hear. "And here I thought my day couldn't get better."
The man with the visor stepped forward cautiously. "You….." he began, but Dante cut him off.
"Yeah, I know what you're thinking," Dante said, tilting his head. "'Who the hell is this kid?' Easy answer I'm whoever the hell I want to be. And right now? I'm the guy who just made three Sentinels wish they'd stayed in the factory."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You have incredible power. That kind of energy… it's omega level. Uncontrolled, it could…."
Dante laughed, sharp and self-assured. "Uncontrolled? Please. I controlled every hit, every strike. Look around, genius. Did anything get past me? No. Because I'm not just strong. I'm better. I always win."
Dante flexed his fingers again, the black-and-blue energy writhing like a live thing. "Strong? That's the bare minimum. I don't just beat people I obliterate them. And I make sure anyone who messes with the weak regrets it. Forever."
The man with the red-eyed visor stepped forward cautiously. "You… you're young. You could lose control. You don't know what…."
Dante's grin widened, cutting him off with a flick of his wrist that sent a residual pulse of energy humming across the ground. "Lose control? Ha! You're looking at the control. I am the storm. You think you're here to teach me? Cute. But I've already handled more than you'd survive in a week."
Jean, the woman, tilted her head, studying him. "Your abilities… it's overwhelming. You're reckless."
Dante laughed again, throwing his head back, golden eyes gleaming. "Reckless? No, sweetheart. I'm fun. I'm exactly what the world needs when things get ugly. And trust me, the world is ugly."
He stomped one foot, sending a ripple of energy through the asphalt. "See? Controlled chaos. Precise. Deadly. And I do it with style."
Wolverine grinned, shaking his head. "That kid's nuts. But he's… entertaining."
Cyclops' visor glinted as he studied Dante. "You could destroy the city if you're not careful."
Dante tilted his head. "Maybe. But then again… who else is gonna stop the guys who actually deserve it? You lot? Cute try." He flicked his fingers casually, a stray tendril of blue-black energy snaking through the air like a playful whip. "I decide who lives and who gets a lesson. And I always make the lesson memorable."
Jean's voice softened slightly. "You have potential. Incredible potential. But uncontrolled power is dangerous. You could….."
Dante's grin widened, teeth flashing. "Dangerous? Sure. But that's my point. Power isn't about being safe. Power is about being the best. And I am the best."
Cyclops' jaw tightened, Wolverine's grin never faltering, Jean's expression a mixture of awe and concern. They had never seen someone so young, so utterly confident and was a omega-level mutant but not just in raw power, but in presence.
Dante kicked a small chunk of metal aside casually. Sparks flew, and he chuckled. "So… what, you guys flew all the way here just to stare at me? Look, I don't do sideshows. If you're here to recruit me… you better bring something interesting. Otherwise, I've got other people to save, and other idiots to teach lessons to."
Jean stepped closer, calm but firm. "Dante… you can't keep doing this alone. You need guidance. You need to learn control. You could hurt someone you don't mean to."
Dante shook his head, hair swinging with the motion, smirk never leaving his face. "Control? I've been controlling myself all my life. The streets? Survival? That's control. And anyone who can't keep up? They learn. They grow. Or they get left behind. Simple."
Cyclops' visor lowered slightly, scanning him, measuring, calculating. "You're young. You don't even go by a name we know. But your power… it's extraordinary."
Dante's grin widened even further, eyes gleaming gold. "Names are for people who need permission to exist. I don't. And yeah… my power? You're welcome, world. I'll take care of the mess you can't handle."
Jean's eyes softened just slightly, a hint of admiration under her concern. "You're reckless. You're arrogant. But… you could change everything. Help people. Protect them."
Dante let the energy around his hands flare for a heartbeat, just enough to make it shimmer in the sunlight. "Protect them? Of course. But don't confuse me with a babysitter. I make people better. I make them survive. And I make the bad guys regret existing. Got it?"
Cyclops and Wolverine exchanged a look, Jean biting her lip. The three of them realized, simultaneously, that this young, golden-eyed, cocky whirlwind was something they had never encountered before.
Dante looked at the ruins of the Sentinels, then back at them, golden eyes glowing faintly.
"Alright," he said finally, smirk fixed in place. "If you're gonna tag along, teach me, whatever… I'll listen. But I call the shots. I do things my way. And the weak? Don't worry. I'm already their nightmare and their savior. They'll be fine. Maybe even stronger because of me."
Jean stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Then we'll help you. But remember, Dante…"
Dante grinned, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Relax. I've got this. Always have. Always will."
Cyclops' visor glinted in the sunlight as he surveyed the young mutant. "Then… we'll see how far this goes."
Wolverine's smirk widened. "Kid's got fire. And he knows it. I like him already."
Dante looked at his glowing hands again, blue-black tendrils of energy lingering, and laughed.
"Let's see who else thinks they can keep up."
Author Note: I have no idea for the love interest so put some people down but I have 4 people who I won't use because they are overused. Scarlet Witch, Black Widow, Rogue, Black Cat. But everyone else is fair game.