Chapter 4: The Dream

Erik slept deeply—far deeper than he ever imagined possible. The distant screams and explosions outside failed to stir him, as though he had sunk into the darkest depths of the ocean, insulated from all external stimuli. Somewhere in the haze of unconsciousness, he vaguely registered being dragged across the ground, then transported into a new vehicle. But even then, he remained trapped in his dream, unable to wake.

The dream consumed him, pulling his soul back to a space he had long forgotten, replaying the last moments before he left.

In the dimly lit space, people lay scattered across the ground, their armor in tatters, their bodies covered in dirt and blood. They looked like the remnants of a defeated army—exhausted, battered, but not defeated in spirit.

"Surviving this ordeal is a miracle," someone finally muttered, their voice carrying the relief of narrowly escaping death. A chorus of agreement followed, and gradually, the group regained their energy, breaking into lively discussion before settling into silence once more.

"Has everyone chosen to return to their own world?" a voice asked. Some responded with certainty, while others hesitated. But regardless of their choices, they all shared the same desire—to escape from the control of that supreme existence.

Endless battles, life-and-death struggles, the constant fear of perishing at any moment, watching comrades disappear one by one—no matter how strong-willed a person was, it was a nightmare that few could endure.

They had all walked a tightrope over a bottomless abyss.

Now, with the path home finally in sight, their longing for freedom could no longer be contained.

Standing alone at the edge of the group, Erik showed no interest in bidding farewell to his departing comrades.

No one found it strange.

This was, after all, a makeshift team formed by chance. The longest-standing member had only survived seven or eight missions together; the newest recruit had joined right before the final battle.

Like creatures in a survival game, they had been pitted against one another in a ruthless struggle. The world had been their battlefield, and only the fittest survived. No matter how much effort one put into forming bonds, nothing could guarantee safety. A single moment of carelessness could mean death. Again and again, the weak perished, and the strong endured.

In the end, only the elite remained.

That was why, despite being a ragtag group, every member was exceptional.

They had survived through combat and cunning, but their relationships remained shallow. In battle, they relied on each other to survive. But now that the fight was over, there was no sentimentality in their parting—only an eerie silence.

One by one, the survivors faded into the mist, vanishing into the unknown. Soon, only a handful remained to say their final farewells.

Erik had been the last to join the team. His original companions had all perished, and he had little connection with the remaining members. They barely knew each other's real names, referring to one another by nicknames or code names.

There was no point in lingering.

He, too, was ready to leave—to step into the new world he had chosen, to begin again.

Just as he was about to go, someone called out to him.

It was the temporary team's leader—a young man with a calm, composed demeanor.

"You've made up your mind?" the leader asked. "You're really going to that world?"

"There's no going back to the one I came from," Erik replied with a nod. "Might as well pick an interesting place to start over."

The leader didn't press further. Everyone had their own burdens to bear. Life was a constant struggle—there was no need to dwell on things that couldn't be changed.

"Most of our gear was destroyed in the fight," the leader continued. "But I still have this. Since I can't bring it back, I might as well give it to you. Consider it a parting gift."

He handed Erik a small red sphere.

Erik held it up to the light, inspecting its strange, semi-transparent surface. Inside, a faint, blood-red glow swirled like mist trapped in glass.

It looked almost like a drop of living blood.

"This belonged to a former teammate," the leader explained. "A bloodline core—created using Magneto's genetic template, with a few additional mutant traits. Modified by the system. It'll be useful in that world."

Erik tightened his grip around the sphere and nodded in thanks.

With this, their debts to each other were settled.

Not that either of them had ever kept count—but for men like them, no one wanted to owe a favor.

As the moment of departure arrived, the leader asked one last question. "We fought side by side, but I still don't know your name. What should I call you?"

Erik took one last look at the endless void around him—a place he had dreamed of escaping for so long. Then, pressing the bloodline sphere to his chest, he felt its power surge through his body.

He answered without hesitation.

"I'm using Magneto's bloodline. Call me Erik."

The name echoed in his mind.

And then—like mist under the morning sun—the dream dissolved.

As he faded, he and the "other" Erik became one, their consciousness merging.

Colors twisted and shattered like rippling water, accompanied by a deafening roar that filled his mind. Fragments of memory surfaced—things he had long forgotten. The trials he endured in that hellish realm, the arrogance of his early days, the foolish attempts at romance, the fear and rage of being overpowered, and the pride of becoming strong.

Scenes from his past played out before him, flickering like old film reels.

The faces of rivals, enemies, lost comrades—all of them appeared and vanished in an instant.

He reached out, trying to grasp the face of a woman he had longed to protect.

But before his fingers could touch her, she was gone.

He stood frozen.

And in that moment, he understood—his past was truly over.

The memories faded like smoke.

Then, as the blinding light receded, Erik found himself standing in a dimly lit room.

A furious, heavyset man glared at him.

The new world had arrived.

Meanwhile, as Erik lay unconscious, several things had occurred:

Their vehicle had been ambushed by a group of unknown mutants. Wolverine fought off the attackers but was injured in the process. Erik remained unresponsive, trapped in his sleep. Rogue had nearly burned to death in the wreckage but was saved at the last moment.

The one who rescued them brought them back to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Wolverine healed quickly and regained consciousness. Rogue adapted to her new surroundings.

Only Erik remained in a deep slumber, puzzling the X-Men.

In a meeting, Professor X and his senior team gathered to discuss him.

"Physically, he's in perfect health," Jean Grey reported, pointing at the X-ray scans on the screen. "No signs of injury. He was found wearing only a single item—a semi-transparent black wristband. We've tried removing it, but it won't come off. Other than that, we have no records of his identity."

Wolverine confirmed that he had met Erik in an underground fight club in Canada. "He's got experience—good technique. And he can control metal without touching it."

Jean nodded. "Based on these clues, he's likely a trained combatant with metal-based mutant abilities. While his power levels aren't extreme—somewhere between Class 2 and 3—he has potential for growth."

Scott Summers, better known as Cyclops, was skeptical. "We don't know anything about him. He could be dangerous. I say we keep him away from the school."

Wolverine smirked. "Nah, I don't mind having him around. He fights dirty, but I can handle him."

After much debate, Professor X made his decision.

"It's our duty to protect our own kind, Scott. I'll keep an eye on him." Professor X spoke calmly, cutting off any further objections.

With the leader's decision made, the others had no choice but to comply. Cyclops, though clearly unhappy, said nothing more and left reluctantly.

Storm, always observant, lingered behind. As she turned to leave, she noticed the deep furrow in the professor's brow. Pausing for a moment, she retraced her steps.

"Professor, is something wrong?" she asked.

Xavier murmured, almost to himself, "It's uncanny… far too uncanny."

Storm raised an eyebrow. "Who looks like who? Do you recognize this intruder?"

Professor X maneuvered his wheelchair toward the screen. With a click, the display switched to the footage of the unconscious newcomer. Staring at the familiar face, Xavier's astonishment deepened.

"He looks exactly like Erik in his younger years—before he ever became Magneto. The same powers, the same appearance... It's as if the Erik of the past has traveled through time and appeared before me."

Storm considered this. "Maybe he's Magneto's son or a relative? Or, as Scott suggested, could he have been cloned by some organization?"

Xavier shook his head. "His mind holds no such memories, and his body shows no signs of accelerated growth. There's something else as well—something Jean didn't detect. In the bar, he turned dozens of bullets into metal spheres and stored them in his wristwatch. Rogue thought it was just a magic trick and didn't pay much attention. But when I examined the watch later, I found something shocking—it's a piece of spatial technology, capable of storing objects larger than its own volume.

"I have no idea how it works, but it's far beyond anything we have today. Even Stark Industries, with all its advanced tech, couldn't achieve something like this. I can't imagine what kind of organization could have developed it.

"As for Magneto... I know for certain that my old friend Erik is still alive and well. This man only resembles him in appearance. Perhaps… it really is just a coincidence."

Xavier's reasoning was sound, but doubt still lingered. Storm left, her mind troubled by the implications.

Alone in the room, Professor X stared at the screen.

"Logic tells me you are someone else… but Cerebro tells me you are Magneto. What's the truth?" He moved his wheelchair closer to the display, whispering to himself.

"Maybe this is fate giving us another chance, Erik. This time, I will lead you down the right path."

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