"Candidate?"
The word lingered in Richard's mind even after the Ancient One spoke it. A candidate for what? The answer surfaced almost instantly.
The Illuminati.
The last time he had spoken with Professor X, he had already suspected that Charles intended to introduce him to someone from that secretive circle. In the comics, the Illuminati were an unofficial alliance of the world's most powerful figures—leaders who operated behind the scenes to shape global events.
The Ancient One had never been a formal member in the original timeline. But this wasn't a comic panel. In this universe, if the Illuminati existed, it would be almost absurd for the Sorcerer Supreme not to be involved.
After all, Stephen Strange hadn't yet experienced his destined car accident. The man was still a brilliant and arrogant neurosurgeon in New York, a regular fixture at high-end medical galas. Richard had seen him several times at those events.
Under the Ancient One's calm, assessing gaze, Richard dismissed his True Demon Form. The scales receded. The wings vanished. The glowing V faded. In seconds, he was human again.
"I'm Richard Wesley," he said evenly. "But I don't quite understand what you mean by 'candidate.'"
The Ancient One frowned slightly. She opened her folding fan with a soft flick of her wrist and waved it gently, as if stirring invisible currents in the air.
"Didn't Charles tell you about the candidacy?"
"No," Richard replied. "He only told me to meet someone if he ran into trouble. He said someone would send him a letter at that time. He didn't specify who."
He held her gaze steadily. "Are you the person he wanted me to meet? Or the one delivering that letter?"
"I am not here on Charles' behalf to deliver a message," she answered calmly. "As for whether I am the one he wished you to meet, I cannot give you a precise answer at this moment. Charles has already made arrangements. You need only wait."
She folded the fan closed and rotated her wrist. Golden sparks flared into existence as she began forming another portal.
Just as the circular gateway stabilized, she paused and looked back at him.
"If you would prefer not to attract certain attention," she said lightly, "you should use that demonic transformation as little as possible."
Targeted by someone?
Richard's brows knit together. A name surfaced instantly.
Ghost Rider.
He wasn't certain whether a Spirit of Vengeance existed in this world, but if demonic energy was involved, that was the most likely connection. The Ancient One offered no further explanation. She stepped through the portal, which led to 177A Bleecker Street in Manhattan—the Sanctum Sanctorum.
The portal closed, and she was gone.
Her appearance had been abrupt and her information limited, but one thing was clear: she bore him no hostility. If she had, she would not have bothered warning him.
Richard sheathed the Yamato back into system space and teleported from the training ground to his bedroom.
The White Queen was lying on the bed in a silky white nightgown, her expression languid and amused. The moment she saw him, she rose gracefully and approached.
"What happened at the mutant school?" she asked softly.
"Dr. Jean Grey lost control," Richard replied. "She killed Charles and several students. I had promised Charles I would stop her if that happened, so I went and brought her back to her senses."
He spoke without emotion, as though describing a routine negotiation.
Emma's eyes widened despite herself. Though she had little direct interaction with Professor X, she respected him. Sebastian Shaw had admired Charles as well, even attempting to recruit him into the Hellfire Club more than once. Charles had refused, of course. The fact that the X-Men had never directly attacked the Hellfire Club was already a courtesy.
Emma's expression hardened slightly.
"If Charles is truly dead," she said, "without his deterrence, the authorities and the Department of Mutant Affairs will move quickly against the X-Men and the school. They've wanted to fully absorb them for years. And if they cannot incorporate them, they won't hesitate to dismantle them."
Richard took a seat and spoke slowly. "That has nothing to do with us."
"If Jean Grey and the others cannot defend the school, then perhaps it should disband. Survival of the fittest."
Emma tilted her head. "Will you help them?"
"No," he answered without hesitation. "Stopping Jean from losing control repays Charles for guiding Clarice. Unless they offer something that interests me, I have no reason to intervene."
Emma's lips curved into a faint smile. "And if Clarice begs you?"
"Then we'll discuss it when it happens."
…
The next afternoon, Natasha Romanoff sat across from him in the manor's living room. Bruce Banner and Clint Barton flanked her, their expressions measured.
"The Department of Mutant Affairs and the White House are fully aware of what happened," Natasha began. "Jean Grey's loss of control. Charles' death. Casualties."
Richard lifted his teacup. "And?"
"They've decided to capture Jean Grey to prevent further incidents."
He sipped calmly. "That's their decision. What concerns me is why SHIELD sent the three of you here."
Natasha didn't hesitate. "The Department has requested SHIELD's assistance. Director Fury wants your position. If you oppose the capture, SHIELD will decline involvement and attempt to persuade the White House."
Richard frowned faintly.
This didn't feel like Nick Fury's style. Fury wasn't a man who asked for permission out of fear. There was calculation here.
"I am not an X-Man," Richard said evenly. "Jean Grey and I are not friends. Whether SHIELD assists is your decision."
Before Natasha could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
Magneto.
"If there's nothing else," Richard said, rising slightly, "you may go."
Natasha stood with Banner and Barton. "We won't disturb you further."
Once they left, he answered.
"Is Charles truly dead?" Magneto demanded.
"I didn't see the body," Richard replied. "But according to Logan and the others, yes."
There was silence on the line.
After nearly ten seconds, Magneto spoke again. "Charles met you several times these past months. Did he attempt to recruit you? Ask you to protect the school?"
"He tried. I declined."
"When is the funeral?"
"You should ask Jean or Logan."
A pause. "Did they not inform you?"
"I haven't received notice."
Magneto exhaled slowly. "I may come to New York."
"Very well."
Richard ended the call.
…
A week passed.
For Richard, it was uneventful. He resumed his former lifestyle—high-end dinners, private clubs, discreet encounters with socialites and actresses. Life returned to its indulgent rhythm.
For the world, however, everything had changed.
News of Professor X's death spread rapidly. Reporters uncovered details. Jean's rampage. The battle. Government plans to detain her.
And one more thing.
Richard.
Previously, he had been labeled a "human-shaped self-propelled nuclear bomb." Impressive, but still categorized as Alpha-level.
Now, that changed.
Jean Grey had defeated Professor X and the X-Men combined. She had proven Omega-tier power beyond dispute. And Richard had defeated her.
The conclusion was unavoidable.
Omega-level mutant.
Soon, another title emerged—initially among online fan forums, then amplified by major media outlets.
King of Mutants.
Richard never publicly claimed the title. But titles were not self-appointed. They were granted by perception.
…
The day of the funeral arrived.
A black Rolls-Royce glided into the square before the school's main building. Richard stepped out in a black suit, Clarice beside him in a simple black dress.
Attention shifted immediately toward them.
The school grounds were filled with guests—former students, allied mutants, government representatives, civilians, and leaders of various mutant organizations. Despite their plans regarding Jean, the authorities had still sent official delegates.
Richard ignored the stares and walked with Clarice toward the garden behind the main building. Logan had called three days after Charles' death, inviting them to attend.
He had accepted.
Whatever else Charles had been, he was worthy of respect.
In the garden, rows of chairs filled the space. White flowers lay before a newly placed tombstone. Iceman and Kitty Pryde approached, handing them white chrysanthemums.
Richard and Clarice bowed slightly before the grave and placed the flowers among the others.
They moved to their assigned seats in the front rows. Even among hundreds of attendees, their positions were prominent.
After a few minutes, four figures approached the tombstone—three men and one woman.
Richard had never met them personally.
But he recognized them immediately.
Reed Richards. Susan Storm. Johnny Storm. Ben Grimm.
The Fantastic Four.
.....
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