Chapter 89 – Welcome to Jack’s World

The cottage was quiet. Outside, the hum of machinery powering down and clinking of tools echoed as the Alfar finished the last of their check-up. Inside, Hermes—still wrapped in his Saint Nicholas disguise—sat alone by the fire, hands resting on his lap like a man awaiting judgment.

He had done the math. He had bent the rules. And now all he could do was wait. Wait for the blowback. Wait for the punishment. Wait for the gods to come knocking with chains and thunderbolts. And instead… Knock. Knock.

Hermes sat up immediately, straightening the red and white coat, deepening his voice. "Hohoho—Aska, come in."

The door creaked open, revealing Aska, the leader of the Alfar, with a bottle of glowing Alfheim wine cradled in his hands. His beard braided and his expression unreadable. "Thought we might drink," Aska said, setting the bottle on the table. "Been a long night."

Hermes nodded silently, conjuring two simple cups from thin air. They poured. They sipped. And then—silence. Aska was about to speak—"You remember that little kid? The one you—" But Hermes raised a hand. "I've got something to confess."

Aska paused, eyes curious.

Hermes stared into his cup like it held the cosmos. "I'm… not Saint Nicholas. Not really. Never was. This started as a prank. A silly idea. I thought—what if I pretended to be one of the Yahweh saints and started gifting mortals just to watch the confusion? That was it. That was the joke. But then…"

He exhaled. "Then I met your people. Or rather—your ancestor. And it just… spiraled. One thing led to another, and suddenly I asked for a sleigh and reading wish lists and learning cookie preferences. It stopped being a prank years ago. But I kept the lie going." Still not meeting Aska's eyes. "I lied to your people. Lied to you. I'm sorry."

For a long second, there was only the crackle of the fire. And then—"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Hermes blinked. Across from him, Aska was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his chair, clutching his stomach and pounding the table. Tears welled in the Alfar's eyes as he wheezed through the laughter. Hermes could only stare. "Did… Did you go mad, old man?"

Aska finally caught his breath, wiping a tear from his cheek. "No, you absolute idiot—we won."

Hermes' brows furrowed. "What?"

The door burst open behind them. Several Alfar warriors charged in with gleaming eyes, some still covered in soot and workshop dust. "Did he say it?! Did he really confess?!"

Aska stood triumphantly. "He did! The prophecy is fulfilled!"

Hermes was now completely lost. "What prophecy?! What the hell are you talking about?!"

Aska turned to him with a grin that practically shone with mischief. "Centuries ago, our ancestors spoke of a day when the 'Red Trickster' would reveal his true name to the Tribe. That in doing so, the pact would be complete—and the Alfar would rise again as true gift-bearers of Midgard."

Hermes blinked. "You're kidding."

Aska slapped his back with a hearty laugh. "You thought you were the only one lying? We've known for at least two generations, Trickster God. We just liked the gifts."

"You… You knew?" Hermes asked in disbelief.

Aska gave a sly smirk. "We're Alfar. You think we couldn't tell you weren't some human saint? We saw the winged sandals, Hermes. We saw the golden ichor in your cuts. We saw you drink wine like it owed you money. You were never Saint Nicholas. But you became him."

And then, in a softer voice. "And now the world remembers the gifts. Not the rules."

Hermes stood there, stunned. A god who had worn a mask for centuries, now undone… only to find that the people beneath the mask knew all along—and loved him anyway.

He let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. "...You bastards tricked the Trickster."

The Alfar raised their glasses. "To the real Santa."

Hermes laughed too, lifting his cup high, his disguise now gone. And for the first time in centuries, he felt lighter.

…

The glittering skyline of New York City vanished behind the sleigh as Jack Hou reclined with his arms behind his head. He exhaled, watching the frost from his breath disappear into the chilly Christmas morning air. "Wheewww. There's a lot of people in one building. How do you live like this, huh?" he asked to no one in particular.

Beside him, Zephyr, his cloud companion, shimmered and shifted its airy form with a shrug—almost as if saying 'You live here too, genius.'

Jack paused. Blinked. Then pointed a finger at the cloud. "Oh… right. I do. Kekekeke."

Zephyr rippled in exasperation. "Anyway, only one place left. The X-Mansion. Do you think I can sneak in and steal that baldie's wheelchair?"

Zephyr puffed a warning gust of wind. You're Santa, remember? You give, not take.

"Ah ah ah, not true," Jack wagged his finger. "I take the cookies and milk. Fair trade, baby."

Zephyr's exhale turned into a sarcastic puff.

Jack grinned wide like he'd just won an imaginary debate and leaned forward, peering over the sleigh's edge. Down below, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters sat nestled among the snowy trees, glowing warm against the winter white. A beacon of comfort. Legacy. Secrets. "Mmmm. Look at that. That's some shady money right there," Jack mused. "How the hell did Baldie not get seized by the IRS? Do you think he files his taxes properly, Zeph?"

Zephyr's form shimmered into a shrug. The concept of taxes was… abstract to sentient cloud beings. "Yeah, I don't get it either," Jack sighed. "Tax money goes to the 1%, not us. Then again, it's not like I pay any taxes either. Kekekekeke."

He leapt down from the sleigh, boots crunching into the snow. He looked around with casual curiosity. But then, the moment his foot touched the icy grass of the X-Mansion grounds, something shifted. His grin faltered.

A chill crept not from the winter but from something else entirely—something unnatural, warping the qi of the earth itself. His pupils narrowed. The golden glint of his Golden Gaze flashed in his eyes. "Hmph." Without hesitation, he dashed back up to the sleigh.

Zephyr shifted with confusion. Jack landed on the seat, gripping the reins and looking directly at his companion. "Zeph. Emergency sub time." Zephyr pulsed a soft question mark.

"I know, I know. It's super unprofessional to tag out during my first ever Santa run—but this is urgent. Like, continent-wiping bad. Christmas can't get derailed over a fire-chicken's teenage tantrum."

Zephyr hesitated, then nodded, understanding the gravity in Jack's usually joking tone. The cloud shimmered—and shifted again. Its soft, puffy surface stretched, forming a humanoid silhouette with a blue scarf now adorned with twinkling Christmas ornaments.

Jack gave a low whistle. "Well, damn. Lookin' good. Better lookin' than me already. Alright then, go on—don't let me down." The sleigh cracked with shimmering wind as Zephyr took off, now the official substitute Santa for the rest of the continent.

Jack stood alone, hands on hips, gazing toward the mansion. He cracked his knuckles. The wide, manic grin returned to his face, crooked and full of fire. "Alright… now what do we have here… kekekekeke."

His eyes flared gold as he stared past the walls of brick and wood, sensing the flames of power burning inside. "I leave you alone for a few weeks, fire-chicken, and this is what you get up to? Gaslighting a traumatized teen?" He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Tsk tsk tsk. Shame. No sense of holiday spirit." Jack took one step forward. And the ground quivered.

…

Inside her own mind, Jean Grey's fractured psyche hung on by a thread. The warped edges of her consciousness spiraled like broken glass floating in water, each one holding a memory, a doubt, a fear.

But… A presence. Light-hearted. Infuriatingly so. "Kekekekeke… you know, mind and heart are kinda my thing, right?" A voice—Jack.

He stood inside the fragile mental plane, arms behind his head, floating through the psychic space like he was admiring the decor. His grin glimmered with zero reverence for the chaos surrounding him.

The Phoenix Force, no longer even trying to wear Jean's form, flared into an inferno of divine rage. "Shut up, you broken monkey," it hissed, voice echoing in layers across dimensions. "You bend the flow of the natural laws, you shouldn't even exist."

Jack, without missing a beat, gave a shrug. "But I do. Kekekekeke." Then—BOOM. With a single gust of molten wings, the Phoenix hurled him from Jean's psyche like an unwanted guest.

The air imploded around Jack as he crashed into the hardwood floor of the main lobby. The sheer psychic backlash shook the mansion's wards, setting off every high mechanical alarm system at once.

The mansion screamed with red lights and klaxons. Footsteps thundered from all directions. Logan was the first to slide into view, claws out, eyes wild. "What the fuck is going on?!" Then he blinked.

Because there, sprawled seductively in the center of the floor like a deranged centerfold, was Jack Hou. "Paint me like one of your French boys."

Scott, leaning over the second-floor railing with hot cocoa still in hand, recoiled. "Eww, dude." Bobby walked in from the hallway, yawning with a pillow tucked under one arm. "Did you seriously pull the alarm just to make that shit joke?"

Jack burst out laughing. "Kekekeke! Noooo, no, no. I came here as Santa. But then I decided to stay for a little fire-duck hunt."

Alex, halfway down the stairs, squinted. "Fire-duck?" And then—BOOOOM! 

The roof of the X-Mansion cracked from the inside. Every beam, every tile, every strut of wood and steel shuddered—before it levitated. The entire ceiling lifted from the mansion like it was weightless, tilting slightly in midair before launching into the distance, vanishing into the snowy sky with a supernatural whoosh.

Jack, still on the floor, casually rested his cheek in one hand. "Oop—someone's about to get part of a mansion. Granted, it's just the roof, but hey… you get the part you pay for. Kekekeke."

Scott muttered under his breath, dread filling his gut. "It's… Jean."

The team turned. Floating above the house, Jean Grey—or what remained of her—hovered like a burning angel. Her hair writhed like flame. Her eyes glowed with alien intensity. Her breath steamed like the exhaust of a starship engine.

Scott shouted into the comms. "Secure the youngest! GO!"

Down the hall, Darwin, Ororo, and Petra already led the younger generation out the rear, shepherding them toward the safety bunkers.

Alex snarled, stepping toward the glowing inferno. "This bitch again. I knew we should've kicked her yesterday."

From the ground, Jack lazily raised a hand in warning. "Oop. I wouldn't say that if I were you."

Too late. Jean raised one trembling hand, red-hot with psionic force, aiming to strike Alex down. But—BOOM!

A streak of glowing red and black burst from the shadows. A single playing card, sizzling with kinetic energy, exploded against Jean's palm, sending the blast askew and cracking the window behind her.

Remy LeBeau stepped forward, coat billowing in the psychic wind. "Je suis désolé, mon ami… but I can't let you do this again."

From every corner, they stepped out. Calvin, Scott, Alex, Bobby, Suzanne, Anna Marie, Remy, and John Proudstar. All of them. Their bodies might have been unsure. Their histories cracked. But their stances were solid. They surrounded Jean in a wide semi-circle, the foyer of the mansion glowing red with her unstable psionic heat.

The firebird within her growled. "You all hate me. You all fear me."

Scott stepped forward, slowly removing his visor. "No. But we won't let you take her."

Jean's jaw trembled. The Phoenix shrieked inside her like a beast in a cage. Above it all, Jack remained reclined on the floor, chin resting on his hand. "Well, this is interesting," he muttered. "Let's see where this goes first." His smile never left—but now, the glint in his eyes was not mischief. It was a strategy.

…

The battlefield was a furnace. Wreckage lay across the charred grounds of the X-Mansion. The grass was scorched, the front gates mangled like tinfoil, and the front lawn had turned into a cratered warzone. 

Around the smoldering courtyard, the first-gen X-Men coughed and groaned as they dragged themselves from the rubble—bruised, battered, and utterly broken. The scent of ozone and scorched oxygen lingered in the air. They had faced this force before—on that forgotten day hidden behind a mental lock—but now they remembered. And now they were certain. They couldn't beat her.

Hovering in the air like a harbinger of judgment, Jean Grey—or rather, the Phoenix Force in her form—flared brighter with every breath. Her flames curled off her body like molten ribbons, her face a twisted mixture of Jean's sorrow and the Phoenix's wrath.

The sky cracked above her. The clouds spiraled. Winds howled. And below it all stood Jack Hou. The sun rose behind him, golden rays cutting through the mist and smoke, casting a divine glow around his silhouette. He gave a slow, exaggerated clap. "Wowww. That was great. Really, really great," he said, voice thick with sarcasm. "Love seeing a cosmic entity get all chimmy-chummy with a bunch of mortal plebs like us."

None of the X-Men responded. Because none of them could. They were still recovering from being tossed like ragdolls. Cuts, burns, frostbitten limbs. Scott's visor cracked, Alex's ribs broken, Calvin unconscious, Anna Marie unmoving. Bobby coughed, his entire upper body trembling from overuse of his Omega-level power.

Jack pointed at him. "Bobby. Your ice power is way more powerful than you think. The fact that you can't even tank a few seconds of her heat is... honestly? Embarrassing." Bobby, wheezing, raised a middle finger but collapsed again.

Jack clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Really, guys? She's not even in full control yet, and you're already this beat up? I thought you were the 'legendary' X-Men."

Jack sighed. Then, without flourish, he plucked several strands of his hair. He bit them. And like sparks from a fire—Dozens of Jacks exploded into existence. Some floated on miniature Zephyrs, clouds trailing behind them like divine skateboards. Some stood on the fenceposts, arms crossed, laughing. Others balanced like gymnasts on elongated Ruyi Jingu Bang staffs.

Fifty. Sixty. More. A sea of Jack Hous, each crackling with suppressed energy, smirking in unison. "Alright," the original Jack said, pointing lazily. "Get the X-Men, X-Kids, and my beloved... X-MILF—" He pointed right at Ororo, who groaned from a pile of rubble, barely conscious. "—to safety. I don't want my weather goddess fried sunny side up."

Several clones nodded in unison and dispersed, zipping forward in every direction. Some scooped up the fallen X-Men, carrying them like royalty on clouds. Some summoned barriers, others built clone chains to hoist people to safety.

Jack turned toward the firestorm in the sky. Only a dozen clones remained now—floating above, around, or beside him. Some perched. Others hovered. He smirked. Then turned to them and said. "Let's go all out with this one."

The clones grinned like devils. Then—each one plucked their own hair. And in a matter of seconds—The world tilted. Hundreds of Jack Hous now hovered around the mansion.

"Kekekekekeke." Jack spun his Ruyi Jingu Bang, then slammed it into the ground. A barrier erupted across the battlefield, a golden lattice of divine energy locking down a mile-wide radius. Reality shuddered. Trees bent away. The earth curled up like it knew what was coming.

Jack, now glowing with golden qi, raised his hand. "Welcome to Jack's World." And then he pointed his staff at the blazing inferno that was once Jean Grey. "Let's do this, birdie."

**A/N**

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