Chapter 59 – The Second Team Forms

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The void around Jack shifted. It was no longer the endless, barren abyss it had been moments ago. The emptiness folded in on itself, reforming, reshaping, creating. And then, a village emerged.

It was quaint, almost too perfect—as if someone had once seen a village in a dream but never truly experienced one. The wooden houses were simple, the paths lined with cobblestone, the air thick with the scent of burning wood.

Jack sat on the ground, cross-legged beside a campfire, watching the embers crackle and rise. Across from him, it sat. The amorphous mass that had been struggling for form. It shuddered, its body shifting between shapes, attempting to find something stable. A moment later, half of a humanoid figure emerged.

The upper body was there, though only partially formed—its lower half still melting into the air like mist.

Jack didn't move. He simply watched, his golden eyes reflecting the flickering flames.

The entity's form rippled, changing again. One moment, it had a soft face, smooth and youthful. The next, it was aged, lined with wrinkles and scars. Then it was neither.

And then it spoke. Its voice was not one, but many—a chorus of overlapping whispers, different pitches, different tones. "Why are you here, demon?"

Jack blinked. Then, he grinned. "Wow. That's a little presumptuous," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. "I know people call me a handsome devil, but no one's ever gone straight for demon before."

The entity didn't react. It merely shifted again. This time, it partially formed into a face Jack recognized. Logan. Half of the Wolverine's face stared back at him, but the eyes were all wrong. Empty. Searching. It spoke again, its voice still fractured, still layered with too many echoes. "Why are you here?"

Jack's grin didn't fade. "Alright, I'll bite," he said, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I'm on a journey. Fate brought me here." He tilted his head. "And let's drop the whole demon thing, yeah? Let's try names instead. I'm Jack Hou. How about you?" Jack extended a hand. 

The entity tilted its half-formed head, confused. "C'mon," he said. "This is what people do. You grab my hand to greet me—it's a sign of respect."

The entity hesitated. Then, slowly, it reached out and awkwardly clasped Jack's hand. Jack gave it a firm shake. The entity stared, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

Jack smirked. "And now, you tell me your name." For a long moment, nothing happened. And then—The entity shifted again. Its form solidified into something familiar. It took Jean Grey's shape. It looked at Jack through her eyes.

And when it spoke, it no longer had the chaotic chorus of voices. It spoke with only one. "Krakoa," it said. "I go by that name now."

…

Xavier sat in the medbay chair, hands folded, as Hank McCoy—the ever-diligent Beast—adjusted the last of the biometric scanners strapped to the professor's temples.

"Alright," Hank said, stepping back and rubbing his tired eyes. "You've stabilized—for now. But Charles, let's be clear: you need rest."

Xavier gave him a patient smile. "I appreciate your concern, Hank."

"Don't just appreciate it—listen to it," Hank grumbled.

Ignoring him, Xavier turned to Ororo Munroe—Storm. "Ororo, I need you to take the X-Jet to Japan," Xavier said.

Ororo raised a brow. "Japan?"

"Yes. You're picking up a friend—Shiro Yoshida."

At the mention of the name, Ororo frowned. "Sunfire? I thought he didn't want to be part of the X-Men."

Xavier nodded. "He doesn't. But when I told him about the situation, he agreed to help."

Ororo folded her arms. "That's surprising."

"He's not coming for us," Xavier clarified. "He's coming because he believes in justice."

Ororo studied Xavier's face for a moment, then sighed. "Alright," she said. "I'll bring him here." She turned on her heel and exited the room.

Hank leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "You already had a second team in mind, didn't you?" he asked.

Xavier didn't deny it. "Yes," he admitted.

Hank exhaled through his nose. "Alright. Who else?"

Xavier tapped his temple. "I need to make one more call."

Hank's expression darkened. "You just got out of cerebro, Charles," he warned. "You push yourself again and you might not recover from it."

Xavier gave a knowing smile. "Hank," he said, "I only need two minutes."

Hank sighed but reluctantly gestured for him to continue. "Fine. Two minutes. Not a second longer."

Xavier closed his eyes and touched his temple.

…

The desert was deathly silent. No wind. No distant coyote howls. Only the occasional rustling of dry brush and the glow of a single campfire. A solitary figure lay resting beside it, his body relaxed but ready—always ready.

His muscular arms were folded behind his head, his chest rising and falling with measured, slow breaths. Nearby, a camo-colored single-seater jet blended seamlessly into the sand and rock, serving as a makeshift shelter during his solo mission.

This was John Proudstar. A warrior of the Apache. A man called Thunderbird. His mission here? Investigate reports of a suspected meta-human experiment happening in the deep desert.

But before he could uncover the truth—his mind was invaded. It wasn't an attack. It wasn't an enemy. It was familiar. "John."

Proudstar's eyes snapped open, instantly alert. He recognized that voice. It was Professor X. Without hesitation, Thunderbird sat up straight, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness as if Xavier were physically standing there. "I'm here, Professor."

Xavier's voice echoed in his mind, urgent and steady. "John, I apologize for reaching you this way," Xavier said. "But I have no time to explain in detail. I need you here before sunrise. We have a rescue mission."

Thunderbird didn't hesitate. He stood up and grabbed his gear. "Alright," he said, strapping on his combat harness. "I'll be there."

…

Jack Hou sat cross-legged beside the flickering campfire, his hands resting lazily on his knees. Across from him, Krakoa shifted and flickered, its form struggling to settle, its shifting face blinked slowly. Its form, still resembling Jean Grey.

Jack grinned, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "Alright, Krakoa," he said. "Strange name, if you ask me."

"So is Jack Hou." Jack's grin widened. "Ooh, clap back. We love to see it." But Krakoa's face remained neutral. It didn't seem like it was joking. Jack scratched his cheek. "Huh. No sense of humor. Tough crowd."

Krakoa's form rippled again, shifting slightly, but it didn't change its shape completely this time. Instead, it remained as Jean, though there were subtle inconsistencies—the eyes were slightly too large, the hair lacked weight, the lips barely moved when it spoke.

Jack sighed. "Alright, since I answered your question, it's my turn." His golden eyes glowed slightly as he leaned forward. "What are you, Krakoa?" Jack asked. "My friend."

Krakoa's shifting features paused for a moment. Then it spoke. "I am me. Krakoa is me."

Jack frowned. "Huh. That's not an answer."

Krakoa ignored him. Instead, it immediately asked another question. "How can you be here?"

Jack's eye twitched. "Hey, you can't just do that," Jack said. "Answer my question properly first, you sentient island fu—" He suddenly stopped. His brain clicked. Then he laughed. "Ohhh, you're a sentient island. I just answered my own damn question."

Krakoa tilted its head again, Jean's face now staring expectantly at Jack.

Jack exhaled through his nose. "Fine. You want an answer? I'm here because I can. How's that for an answer?" He smirked, smugly. He wanted payback—to answer without actually answering.

Krakoa nodded. "That is an answer."

Jack blinked. "…Wait. What?"

Krakoa accepted the answer so easily that it made Jack's blood pressure rise. He leaned forward, frowning. "No, no, no, don't just accept that. You—you accepted my bullshit answer? Just like that?"

Krakoa simply replied, "Yes."

Jack clenched his jaw. This wasn't fair. He tried to dodge the question, but instead, Krakoa flipped the script on him. Jack squinted. Krakoa didn't react. Instead, it calmly asked another question.

Jack snapped his head up. "Wait. I haven't asked you a question yet."

Krakoa blinked. "But you just asked me one."

Then his brain rewound the last ten seconds. Oh shit. Jack froze and ran his hands down his face, dramatically pulling his cheeks down. He looked exactly like the painting The Scream. "How the hell am I getting outsmarted by a sentient island?!" Jack yelled.

He had asked a question. And Krakoa used it against him. He had just been outsmarted by a sentient island.

…

The morning sun cast golden light over Xavier's mansion, but the air was heavy. Word had spread. Students—mutants young and old—had heard the whispers. 'Something went wrong on the mission.' 'The X-Men were in danger.' 'And now—now there was a rescue team forming.'

A crowd gathered in the hangar. Young mutants pushed closer, murmuring, watching the figures who stood by the Blackbird. The rescue team. Their eyes kept drifting to one man in particular. 

Shiro Yoshida. Sunfire. A famous Japanese hero. A man who rarely involved himself with the X-Men's affairs. The fact that he was here—joining this mission—meant that the situation was serious.

And now? Now everyone wanted in. "Take me with you!" A student shouted. "I can fight too!" Another pleaded. "Please—I can help!" Amidst the chaos, a blur of blue and smoke flashed through the air—BAMF!

Kurt Wagner teleported past the crowd, dodging grabbing hands and blocking bodies. His yellow eyes locked onto the gathered team, and he ran straight for them. He landed in front of them, breathless, and said—"Let me join. Please."

John Proudstar—the leader of this mission—stood with his arms crossed. His strong, imposing figure barely moved as he looked down at the younger mutant. "I get that you care," John said. His deep Apache voice was steady, measured. "But you joining us could be a liability. This mission is—"

"I won't be a liability," Kurt cut in.

The entire team watched him. Sunfire stood silent, his arms folded in disinterest. Storm raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything yet. Colossus stood still as a statue, his eyes calm.

Kurt clenched his fists. "I can teleport people out of danger," he said. "I can help you. I know I can."

Ororo took a step forward, her white hair catching the morning light. "You know that teleporting other people takes a toll on you, right?"

"I know," Kurt said. His voice didn't waver. "I'm ready."

John exhaled sharply. His eyes searched Kurt's face for hesitation…He didn't find any.

Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Fine," John said. "But you stay behind us. You teleport yourself out of danger first. Your priority is yourself."

Kurt grinned. "Ja. Got it."

Before he could say anything else, he felt a strong hand ruffle his hair. Colossus. The Russian mutant gave a small, approving nod. "You are a good comrade to have our back."

Kurt's grin widened. And just like that—Nightcrawler became the newest addition to the team. The rescue team was set.

Thunderbird, leader, strength and agility. Sunfire, fire and plasma control. Storm, weather manipulation. Colossus, indestructible steel body. Nightcrawler, teleportation and infiltration.

As they turned toward the Blackbird, the gathered students watched in awe. The second team was ready. The rescue mission began.

**A/N**

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