Chapter 57 – The Island Strikes Back

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Jack twirled his staff, the Ruyi Jingu Bang humming as it deflected the barrage of whipping vines. They struck like iron cables, snapping toward him from every angle, but Jack's movements were fluid, effortless.

Left parry. Right deflect. Spin. Dodge. Step in. Twist.

The forest came alive against him. The ground trembled, roots bulging from the earth like grasping hands, trying to unbalance him. Leaves rustled violently, sending bursts of pollen-like mist into the air that exploded in bursts of light and force.

Jack, however, never faltered. The moment his footing wavered, his body adapted. His instincts shifted. His knees bent lower, his weight distributed, absorbing the tremors like they were nothing more than waves beneath a boat.

Then—A massive vine, thick as a tree trunk, lunged from the underbrush. Jack sidestepped, planting his staff against the ground, using it as a pivot to flip over the incoming strike. Mid-air, he twisted, bringing the staff down in a powerful swing.

CRACK!

The vine splintered apart, writhing like a wounded snake before retreating back into the earth. Jack landed with ease, his golden robes barely rippling as he took his stance again. "Hoh? That's all?" He smirked, twirling the Ruyi Jingu Bang in one hand.

The forest did not like that. A pulse of energy rippled through the jungle. The ground shuddered.

More vines erupted. Faster. Stronger. More unpredictable. The jungle itself became a storm of attacks—thorns like daggers, roots lashing like whips, flowers exploding like grenades of spores.

Jack laughed. A low chuckle that grew into a wild cackle. "KEKEKEKEKE!" Then he moved. Not dodging— weaving. His feet slid across the ground, his body turning at the exact moment an attack came, making the wild strikes useless.

A vine stabbed forward— Jack simply tilted his head. Missed. A thorn shot out like a bullet— Jack turned his shoulder. Missed. A burst of spore explosions— Jack stepped through the chaos, his movements seamless, unreadable, untouchable.

The island tried to correct itself. It tried to learn. The attacks became sharper, more erratic.

Jack's smile grew wider. His staff became a blur, each swing a perfect counter, each step a flawless evasion. And still—He hadn't even begun to fight. No spell. No full powers. Just strength. Just skill. Just him. 

The forest roared in frustration. Jack strode forward. And the island itself began to fear.

Jack laughed, his voice echoing through the thick jungle. "Kekekekeke! You are a relentless one, aren't you?"

The vines that had been lashing at him hesitated, retracting slightly as if confused. The tremors beneath his feet softened. The violent bursts of pollen explosions ceased.

Jack tilted his head, his grin widening. Then—His golden gaze ignited.

A deep, resonant hum filled the air as his eyes burned with celestial light. His pupils shifted, no longer round but resembling the turning gears of an ancient cosmic mechanism. Through his sight, he no longer saw just trees, plants, and earth. Jack saw the truth. 

The island was alive. Not just inhabited by life—it was life. Every tree, every blade of grass, every shifting grain of soil—it all breathed. The very core of the island pulsed like a beating heart.

And within that heart, he saw something deeper. Jack's smile faded. What he saw was not sins. Not bloodlust. Not hunger. What he saw was lingering regret. Self-blame. A circling thought of resentment.

Jack's stance eased. He planted his staff into the ground, resting a hand on it as he exhaled. "…Well now," he muttered, his voice softer but still carrying that playful undertone. "You really are an interesting one."

His golden eyes darted around, scanning the living network of sorrow stretching across the island. Then—he locked onto something.

A mountain. A colossal peak stood at the center of the island, looming over everything like a silent sentinel.

Jack's gaze narrowed. He could feel it. The source. The heart of it all. A voice, faint as a whisper but heavy as a storm, lurking within. He tapped his staff against the ground, sending a pulse of energy outward.

The jungle shuddered in response, its wild assault fully halting as if holding its breath.

Then Jack spoke—his tone low, calm, measured, but carrying the weight of someone who was not demanding, but telling. "You can talk to me."

…

Xavier's Office – 3:00 AM…

Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair, staring at the polished surface of his desk, his fingers steepled together as he processed the silence in his mind. The silence was unnatural. 

His connection to Jean Grey—gone. A severance so sudden, so absolute, that it made his stomach twist. He closed his eyes, reaching out once more, pressing against the telepathic void where her presence should have been. But there was nothing. Just a vast, suffocating emptiness.

And the last thing he saw from Jean's mind before the cut? An ambush. The team under attack. A sudden surge of power—Then—darkness.

Xavier inhaled sharply. This was no normal interference. He turned his wheelchair toward the personal intercom and pressed the button. "Hank, Ororo, Moira, Piotr—my office. Immediately."

Minutes later…

The door swung open, revealing a group of half-asleep but suddenly concerned individuals. 

Moira MacTaggert, still fixing her loose hair, muttered as she entered, "Alright, Chuck, what's so urgent you dragged us out of bed?"

Hank McCoy—Beast—entered right behind her, holding a tray of steaming coffee cups. His blue fur bristled slightly, betraying his own concern. "Yes, this is rather unusual for you."

Colossus, towering over them all, rubbed the sleep from his eyes before asking, "How is the team? Are they alright?"

Xavier's expression tightened. His silence was answer enough. Moira immediately pulled out her tablet, fingers flying across the screen as she checked their data feed.

Then she froze. "…Holy shite." Hank leaned closer, his glasses reflecting the screen's glow. "It was cut off." His voice turned grim. "Forty-five minutes ago."

Xavier gave a slow nod. "Yes." The room tensed.

Storm—Ororo Munroe—folded her arms, her silver-white hair catching the dim office light. "Are we sure this isn't a false alarm?" she asked, voice measured but firm. "Maybe the signal was just jammed."

Hank shook his head immediately. "Not with the Blackbird around."

Moira nodded, adding, "We designed it to act as a transmitter, a substitute signal carrier for the field team. Even if outside interference blocked normal channels, the Blackbird would keep their comms running."

Storm's brow furrowed. "Then how did we lose them?"

Hank exhaled. "…The Blackbird must have been destroyed." A heavy silence followed. Moira swallowed. "Or worse… it could be some unknown energy source, something that can block our technology—" "—like the Golden Peach did," Xavier finished for her, his voice low.

Ororo's hands clenched into tight fists. "Then we can't wait. We need to send a second team."

Xavier closed his eyes. His mind was already reaching out, preparing for the next step. If the first team had been cut off—then the X-Men needed to move. Immediately.

…

Jack moved like a phantom. His bare feet barely brushed the trees, yet he propelled himself forward with precision, leaping from branch to branch as if he were weightless. The dense canopy of the jungle blurred past him, the wind carving against his sharpened features.

His staff dangled loosely from his left ear, brushing against his cheek, the metal humming against the night air. His purple-gold robe rippled, catching the faint moonlight that pierced through the swirling clouds.

Despite the chaotic motion, his expression remained unreadable. A flicker of something—a knowing smirk, perhaps—played at the edges of his lips.

As he closed the distance to the towering mountain, his golden eyes flicked upward, scanning its vast, immovable structure. It was old. Ancient. A silent monolith standing defiant against time itself.

Jack descended swiftly, landing effortlessly onto the rocky base of the mountain. Then, he placed his palm against the stone.

Stillness. He closed his eyes, allowing the whisper of his master's voice to surface in his mind:

"Feel the surroundings." "Feel the wind carve into your stone body." "Feel the ground's acceptance of your existence."

The words, spoken in his master's gravelly tone, were not mere instructions. They were truths. And Jack listened. Slowly, something shifted. The mountain's surface softened beneath his touch. It was no longer solid rock, but something… pliable. Like clay.

Jack's fingers sank into the stone. Then his palm. Then his entire arm. He lifted his foot, pressing against the rock—and it welcomed him.

His body sank deeper. The texture of the mountain changed, warping around him like thick liquid stone.

Jack exhaled. A small smile formed. Then, in one final movement—The mountain swallowed him whole.

…

The forest was relentless.

Vines lashed out from the darkness like serpents, twisting and coiling with deadly intent. Thorn-covered branches whipped through the air, aiming to pierce flesh. The ground itself trembled beneath them, shifting unpredictably like it had a mind of its own.

Logan, leading from the front, sliced through the onslaught, his claws flashing as he severed each attacking vine with brutal precision. Green sap splattered across his arms, the scent sharp and unnatural.

Behind him, Alex unleashed searing blasts, scorching anything that moved. The jungle recoiled at his energy, the flora withering into charred husks where his power struck.

Bobby, gritting his teeth, froze entire patches of the terrain, encasing writhing roots in thick ice. "Scott!" he shouted. "How much longer is your stupid marked tree?"

Scott, firing another concussive blast to clear a path, barely spared him a glance. "Five more minutes! I swear!"

Alex gritted his teeth, blasting another plant into oblivion. "This is getting out of hand! How the hell is a mutant controlling this much plant life—at this scale?!"

Then—Jean froze. Something clicked in her mind, a sudden realization crashing down like a tidal wave. Her green eyes darted across the jungle, scanning the unnatural silence that had gnawed at her subconscious since they arrived.

Then it hit her. Her breath caught.

"Guys…" she whispered, before shouting over the chaos. "We're not dealing with a group of mutants!"

Petra, her hands still pressed to the shifting earth, glanced back. "What?!" She struggled to stabilize the tremors as another violent shake rippled beneath them.

Jean frantically turned, scanning their surroundings as if seeing it for the first time. "This forest isn't normal. It's been eerily quiet since we arrived. No birds. No insects. No wildlife at all."

Alex, grunting as he blasted apart another lunging root, snapped, "Jean—get to the point!"

Jean's voice trembled with urgency. "The whole island itself is a mutant."

A beat of stunned silence. The team staggered back, processing the impossible truth. Bobby's eyes widened. "What the actual hell is going on?!"

Scott, face tight with concentration, didn't hesitate. He gave one decisive command. "Jean—tell the Professor." Jean nodded sharply.

"Everyone—defend Jean!" The team moved. In an instant, they closed ranks around Jean, forming a protective circle. Logan and Alex at the front, Scott and Bobby covering the flanks, Petra holding the ground firm beneath their feet.

Jean dropped to her knees, pressing her fingers to her temple. She closed her eyes. And reached out.

**A/N**

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