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Inside his private lab, deep within his New York penthouse, Tony Stark was racking his brain. The holographic blueprints of his arc reactor floated before him, shifting as he ran simulation after simulation.
Each time—"Component not compatible, sir."
Tony sighed. "Of course it's not," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The palladium poisoning wasn't critical yet—but he knew. He could feel it. Creeping. Spreading. If it got worse, Pepper would notice. And if Pepper noticed? He was screwed. "Jarvis," Tony exhaled. "Give me something."
The A.I.'s smooth voice responded immediately. "I suggest drinking chlorophyll water, sir. While it will not remove the palladium, it will slow the rapid spread."
Tony blinked. "Wait, really?"
"Yes, sir. And unlike alcohol, it will not slowly kill you."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, order me some, Mother Jarvis."
"Right away, sir."
He leaned back, rubbing his face before standing. He needed fresh air. Tony stepped onto the balcony, inhaling deeply. Then immediately regretted it. "…God, this city stinks."
A voice from above responded. "Then you should go somewhere with fewer people. Like Wyoming."
Tony flinched. He spun around, eyes darting up toward the roof of Stark Tower. There, crouching casually, was a man dressed in a flowing purple-and-gold hanfu. His long, messy black hair was tied loosely, strands falling over his face.
Tony recognized him immediately. Jack Hou. The warlord of Golden Peach. The newly rising meta-human who claimed a chunk of New York like some kind of ancient emperor.
Tony narrowed his eyes. "…You're the guy who stole my armor finger."
Jack tilted his head. Then smirked. "Middle finger, to be exact."
Tony's jaw clenched. "…Right."
His hand subtly tapped his watch, activating the suit sequence. Jack didn't move. Instead, he casually rested his chin on his palm. And then—He started talking. "Do you understand the profound symbolism of taking your middle finger?"
Tony blinked. "The what?"
Jack continued, completely serious. "By severing your middle finger, I have robbed you of both defiance and insult."
Tony stared.
Jack lifted a hand, demonstrating. "The middle finger is the ultimate universal gesture of disrespect. Without it, you cannot fully express rebellion. I have, quite literally, pacified a part of your soul."
Tony's eye twitched. "You're insane."
Jack nodded. "Of course."
Tony crossed his arms. "You think this is funny?"
Jack leaned forward, his golden eyes gleaming. "I think it's hilarious."
Tony exhaled through his nose. "…So what do you want, Middle-Finger Thief?"
Jack stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles as if preparing for a casual conversation instead of an ambush. "Well," he said, voice smooth as silk, "I'm here to say goodbye to the founding father of the Marvel Universe."
Tony's brows knitted. "…The what?"
"I'm going on a journey," Jack continued, completely ignoring him. "Which is a damn shame, really, because I'll miss your second movie. And I already missed the first one! Can you believe that?"
Tony opened his mouth. Closed it. Squinted. "What the actual hell are you talking about?"
Jack sighed dramatically. "It's all because of that old perv. If he had let me go earlier, I could've witnessed your rise firsthand."
Tony's confusion tripled. Old perv? Who the hell was he talking about? Was he referring to some government higher-up? Some ancient Chinese warlord? Tony rubbed his face. "Jesus Christ, the rumors were wrong."
Jack tilted his head. "Which rumors?"
"The ones that say you're just a villain." Tony exhaled. "Turns out you're actually full-on lunatic."
Jack grinned. "Glad we're on the same page!"
But while Jack was busy rambling, Tony wasn't just standing there. With a final tap on his watch—The trap was set. From the depths of Stark Tower, two sleek, silver prototype suits powered up.
Jarvis' voice chimed in his ear. "Target locked, sir."
Tony smirked. "Let's see how you handle this, lunatic."
The suits launched, thrusters roaring as they took to the sky. From each of their palms—The signature hum of repulsor blasts filled the air. Aimed directly at Jack.
Jack, standing on the edge of the rooftop, simply clapped his hands together. Like a birthday boy about to receive a gift. His eyes sparkled. His smile stretched ear to ear. "KEKEKEKEKE!! THIS IS SO COOL!!"
Tony blinked. "…Excuse me?"
The repulsor blast streaked toward him—Jack dodged effortlessly, twisting midair like a leaf in the wind. But he didn't stop clapping. In fact—He was laughing. "AGAIN! AGAIN! PLEASEEE!"
Tony stared. What. The. Hell.
The suits recalibrated. Mini-missiles deployed. These weren't just ordinary rockets. They had adaptive tracking, designed to ensure no collateral damage to the city. The moment they fired—They locked onto Jack.
Jack jumped. The missiles followed. Jack jumped again. The missiles adjusted, twisting midair to keep pace. But instead of panic—Jack started screaming with joy. "YIPPEEEE!! LET'S GOOOOO!!"
Tony's jaw dropped. Was he… mimicking Mario Bros?!
Jack spun, flipped, and vaulted over air-conditioning units, ledges, and railings. At one point, he did a cartwheel off a flagpole and shouted—"Wahooo!!"
Tony watched from the balcony, hand over his mouth. "…What am I even looking at?"
Then—Jack stopped playing. Mid-air, he snatched one missile in each hand. The thrusters still roared—But Jack held them firm, like unruly pets.
Then, his grin sharpened. And with one effortless motion—He hurled them both straight into the atmosphere. The missiles shot up, up, up—Until they disappeared into the stratosphere.
Jack tilted his head back, watching them vanish—Then burst into uncontrollable, manic laughter. "KEKEKEKEKEKEKEKE!!!"
Tony stood frozen. His prototypes were just a damn plaything to this guy. Jarvis beeped. "Sir, I believe you are severely outmatched." Tony slowly turned. "…You think?" He took a step back, his fingers hovering over the button that would summon his full suit.
But before he could press it—Jack tilted his head and spoke. "I suggest you don't wear it."
Tony hesitated. "…What?"
Jack's lips curled into a smirk. "Your poisoning will get worse."
Tony froze. His fingers stopped moving. His heartbeat skipped. That—That was weird. How the hell does he know? This lunatic, this deranged warlord—who Tony had only met once, and that was just because the bastard robbed him—How does he know about the palladium poisoning?
Tony's mind raced. Maybe there was a leak? Maybe the media picked up on it, and he just hadn't seen it? "Jarvis," Tony said, voice clipped. "Is there a rumor about my poisoning in the media?"
Jarvis responded immediately. "No, sir."
Tony's stomach twisted. He looked up at Jack, narrowing his eyes. "How do you know?"
Jack laughed. "KEKEKEKEKE!" The sound sent a shiver down Tony's spine.
Jack waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm leaving now anyway. Thanks for playing with me!" He turned his back, his long purple-and-gold hanfu billowing in the wind.
Then—Jack paused. Over his shoulder, he spoke one last thing. "Oh, heed my words…"
His voice, for the first time, lost its manic glee. Instead—It was low. Smooth. Almost… haunting. "Man hands on misery to man, It deepens like a coastal shelf, Forgive yourself from that prison."
Then, without another word—Jack leapt. And vanished. Like a phantom. Leaving behind only the wind and a stunned Tony Stark.
Tony stood frozen, staring at the spot where Jack had been. His brain was going into overdrive. Not only did Jack somehow know about the poisoning—But he knew something that even Jarvis didn't. Something deeper. Something more personal.
Tony's jaw tightened. Jack's last words—those lines—That wasn't just some random poetry. That was about him. Jack knew. Somehow.
He knew about the resentment. The fact that Tony hated his father. The fact that he despised the man he spent his whole life trying to surpass. The fact that, in the end, he had to miniaturize his father's invention just to save his own life. The fact that, deep down, Tony Stark was still trapped in a prison of his own making.
His fists curled. His breath came out uneven. The city below kept moving. The world kept turning. But Tony Stark? For the first time in a long time—Felt like he had been left behind.
…
Jack soared through the air, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like a manic deity playing hopscotch with New York's skyline. The city roared below him—traffic, sirens, the restless heartbeat of millions—but he had only one last stop before his departure.
177A Bleecker Street. To the average eye, it was just another modest brownstone tucked within Greenwich Village. To those who knew better, it was a fortress of the arcane. A building that did not merely stand, but existed, woven into the very fabric of cosmic ley lines—where the Earth's pulse met the currents of the unknown.
Jack landed smoothly in front of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Without hesitation, he knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Then—The door creaked open.
A tall, bald, dark-skinned man stood there, dressed in the robes of a monk, his expression impassive. His gaze swept over Jack, and there was an immediate flicker of wariness. "Do you need something?" the man asked, voice steady.
Jack grinned. "Yes, actually. I just need to say goodbye to my best friend."
The monk's brows furrowed. "Oh?" he said, tone edged with skepticism. "And who might that be, for you to come here?"
Before Jack could answer—A calm, knowing voice echoed from behind the monk. "It's alright, Master Drumm." The monk, Daniel Drumm, immediately bowed and stepped aside. The door opened wider—And there, standing within the Sanctum, was the Ancient One. Or, as Jack liked to call him—
"Yao!" Jack rushed forward, his purple-and-gold robe billowing as he threw his arms around the elder sorcerer.
Drumm's eyebrow twitched.
Jack hugged him tight, then pulled away, inspecting him like a concerned older brother. "I haven't seen you since you warned me about the gods!" Jack huffed, eyes narrowing. "Did they do something to you? Hah? Step aside—your big brother will protect you!"
The Ancient One's lips curled into a soft smile. "Big brother?" he said, amused. "Are you sure you're not the little one, considering you're the one causing me problems?"
Jack blinked—then let out a loud, manic laugh. "KEKEKEKEKE! I guess that makes more sense!"
Drumm sighed audibly and walked away, clearly done with this conversation.
Yao gestured toward the Sanctum's inner chambers. "Come, let's talk over some tea."
Jack shook his head. "No can do, big bro. I'm just here to tell you—I'm going on a journey."
The Ancient One's smile didn't fade. Instead, it deepened with understanding. "About time," he said softly.
Jack squinted. "You knew this, didn't you?"
Yao simply shrugged.
Jack sighed. "Fine. Anyway, any place I should look out for?"
The Ancient One raised a brow. "Didn't know you were the cautious type."
Jack's grin stretched wide. "Oh, no, no, no—you misunderstand. I don't want to avoid trouble."
He leaned forward, voice lowering like a gleeful conspirator. "I want to know where it is."
Yao let out a rare chuckle. "If I told you, it wouldn't be much of a journey, would it?"
Jack clicked his tongue. "Tch. You old men love being cryptic, huh?"
Yao's eyes twinkled.
Jack rolled his shoulders. "Welp, that's it—byeeee!" And, just like that, he turned and left. The doors of the Sanctum closed behind him. Leaving only silence in his wake.
Daniel Drumm, who had been listening nearby, approached Yao with a troubled expression. "Master," he said carefully. "Is that… really a sage?"
The Ancient One's smile remained. "Yes."
Drumm's frown deepened. "Then how is it," he said, voice low, "that I can sense faint divine energy from him?" His eyes darkened. "Sages shouldn't have divine energy in the first place."
The Ancient One looked at the door, where Jack had vanished into the city beyond. Then, in a soft and distant tone, he murmured—"The longer you live, the more you realize…" His gaze flickered with something between amusement and curiosity. "This universe has a funny way of telling a story sometimes."
…
The Xavier Institute was always bustling with energy, but today—it hummed with anticipation. With Professor Xavier's new mission assigned, the mansion was alive with the mix of excitement, nervous chatter, and tension that came before an official field operation.
Some of the students were thrilled—finally, some real action beyond training sessions. Others? They were perfectly content staying in the background, enjoying the comforts of their home, their school, their sanctuary.
In the underground hangar, a single Blackbird sat ready for departure—sleek, black, and humming with power. Its engines idled, waiting for its team. Today's mission was a rescue operation. But there was a possibility of combat. Because whatever lay on that unknown island—even Cerebro couldn't get a clear read on it.
At first, Logan had wanted to hand-pick the team himself. But Ororo had suggested otherwise. "Let Scott pick," she had said. "If he's going to lead, let him lead." And so, after being briefed, Scott chose his team. Alex Summers, his brother, also known as Havok. Bobby Drake, Iceman, with his ability to manipulate ice. Jean Grey, a powerful telepath and telekinetic. Petra, a geomancer, capable of controlling the earth itself.
Logan would supervise—but Scott was in charge. In the cockpit, Logan adjusted the controls, then shouted over his shoulder. "HEY! It's ready!"
Outside, Scott stood with his brother Gabriel, who looked on the verge of tears. Gabriel, the youngest of the Summers brothers, sniffled hard. "Y-you're leaving without me?" his voice shook.
Scott sighed, ruffling his little brother's hair. "Gabe, it's not like that. You're not ready for this mission yet."
"But you picked Alex!"
Alex, standing next to them, chuckled, kneeling down to Gabriel's level.
"Hey, squirt," Alex said, grinning. "You really think I'd go on a mission without making sure we come back in one piece?"
Gabriel hiccupped, looking away. "I thought you hated me…"
Scott's expression softened. "Gabriel," he said firmly. "We love you, alright? This mission is just dangerous. That's all."
Gabriel rubbed his eyes, sniffling.
Alex leaned forward, whispering. "Besides…" He smirked. "When I get back, I'll teach you how to fly the Blackbird."
Gabriel's eyes widened. "Really?!"
Scott, standing behind Alex, mouthed a protest—but Alex just smirked.
Gabriel finally smiled. "Okay! You better come back!"
Scott ruffled his hair again. "You know we will."
The rest of the school had gathered to see the team off. Kitty Pryde high-fived Bobby, whispering, "Don't freeze up out there, Icicle." Colossus clapped Petra on the back, giving her a firm nod. "Keep them safe, yes?" Nightcrawler teleported in and out, handing Jean a small silver cross. "For luck," he said, grinning.
Even those who weren't picked for the mission showed support. This was how the X-Men operated. No one was truly left behind.
Before they boarded the jet, Professor Xavier arrived, his wheelchair gliding smoothly across the hangar floor. Everyone fell silent as he approached. The moment felt heavy, but warm. He looked at each of them—his students, his family, his pride.
Finally, he spoke. "No matter what happens, know this—you are not alone. You are X-Men. And you do not stand alone." His gaze softened. "I am proud of you all."
A beat of silence. Then—"Go. And come back safe." The team nodded. Jean turned, eyes glistening. "We will, Professor."
The X-Men team boarded the Blackbird. The ramp sealed shut. Inside, the cockpit lights flickered on. Logan cracked his knuckles. "Alright, Slim. Take us up."
Scott took a deep breath, then gripped the controls. With a roar, the jet lifted off—Soaring into the sky, heading toward the mystery island. The unknown awaited them.
**A/N**
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