As Erik took the first move, the battle officially began. Apocalypse naturally stood still, unmoving, while the four horsemen at his side charged in different directions to break through the encirclement.
Torres, engulfed in flames, could usually hold his own against others quite well. Unfortunately, his opponent this time was Sunfire Shiro Yoshida.
"Hey man, nice heat. How about we turn it up a notch?" Shiro quipped as he absorbed Torres' flames and counterattacked.
"Go to hell, bastard!" Torres roared. He wasn't losing in momentum, but inside he was panicking. How unlucky could he be? Out of all possible opponents, he had to run into someone who directly countered him. He just wanted to go easy on someone and get through this, but now that was out of the question.
He had heard of the X-Men. Even though it was mostly S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who pursued him, plenty of his skilled acquaintances had been captured by the X-Men.
"Haha, if that's all you've got, I better hurry up and finish you off. The others over there might need my help soon."
As he spoke, Sunfire Shiro Yoshida intensified his fire output, releasing a dose of radiation to subdue Torres before it could do significant harm.
That's right—subdue, not kill. This was a rule the X-Men had established. Unless absolutely necessary, they didn't kill. Criminals deserved judgment, not a quick death. Plus, a little time in prison might just turn some of them around.
…
On another front, Waynes was up against Darwin Armando. The two were evenly matched. At first, Darwin couldn't compete with Waynes' steel fists, but with his superior combat skills, he managed to dodge and deflect as best he could. With each clash, he activated his Survival of the Fittest ability to strengthen himself. Within minutes, his body had adapted enough to go blow-for-blow with Waynes.
In terms of fighting skill, Darwin wasn't bad, but Waynes, who had long survived in underground fighting arenas, had developed his own formidable style. The match was intense and deadlocked.
"So you've got some moves after all. Didn't expect you to hold your ground," Waynes admitted.
"Hmph! I was throwing punches before you were even out of diapers, bastard! You'll never beat me!" Darwin snarled.
…
Psylocke Elizabeth was paired against Ator, who had super speed. At first glance, Ator seemed to have the upper hand, constantly creating afterimages that danced around Psylocke, suppressing her. But in reality, he was dancing on a razor's edge, barely avoiding her deadly strikes.
Though Psylocke hardly moved, each energy blade she released nearly grazed Ator's body. If his speed had been even a bit slower, he'd have already lost limbs.
"How can you possibly track my speed?!" Ator exclaimed while dashing.
"Your speed is nothing compared to the Saints," Psylocke replied with a cold smile.
The X-Men didn't spend all their time on missions; they trained rigorously. Their best sparring partners? The Saints.
Even the weakest Bronze Saints could punch at the speed of sound. Through constant practice, Psylocke Elizabeth developed an instinctive combat sense—not relying on her five senses, but pure intuition.
Ator's speed looked impressive, but it was nowhere near sonic. So to Elizabeth, it was child's play. In fact, it was because he was so much slower than the Saints that she hadn't taken him down immediately—she was still adjusting to the slower rhythm.
…
The final Horseman, Molcarba, had the most troublesome ability—Decay. Normally, he could only decay tangible substances like plants, and even that was slow.
But under Apocalypse's enhancement, not only could he instantly decay anything he touched, he could even decay energy itself—a power that touched on time.
Yet, he had no chance to use it. As soon as the fight started, Charles used telepathy to immobilize him.
Apocalypse was furious, cursing his four subordinates for failing to kill their enemies quickly. What a waste of his gifts.
What he didn't realize was that the world had changed while he slumbered. The number of mutants had skyrocketed, many of them possessing incredible powers.
The X-Men were not your average mutants. They had undergone intense training and were on a whole different level.
Originally expecting to watch his subordinates crush the enemy, Apocalypse now had to step in. They were clearly losing.
But before he could act, Erik, Raven, Angel Warren, and Mimic Calvin had already focused their attention on him.
Erik's magnetism control had reached such a level that he no longer needed external metals—he could extract metallic elements directly from the earth to form weapons.
Angel Warren hovered overhead, unleashing volleys of metallic feathers. A single moment of carelessness, and Apocalypse would be skewered.
Mimic Calvin had copied Warren's ability, and the two soared together in tandem.
Raven, the weakest in terms of combat, could only use modern firearms. But that wasn't her fault—her powers weren't made for head-on battles.
The four attacked in turns, leaving Apocalypse no chance to respond.
"Damn you… traitors!" Apocalypse roared as he blocked the waves of attacks.
"Heh, we already know your secret. You can't use two different powers at once, can you?" Erik taunted as he attacked.
"You—"
"And you're no god," Raven cut in. "You're just another mutant with a fancy ability."
Indeed, Apocalypse wasn't the father of mutants. He started off as a completely ordinary mutant with a rather unimpressive ability: Soul Transfer.
This allowed him to transfer his soul into another person's body and inherit everything from them—including lifespan and powers. But the price was soul erosion. Each transfer shaved off a piece of his soul. Eventually, too many transfers would cause him to vanish entirely.
But by a stroke of luck, his first transfer landed him in a mutant with Power Amplification.
He immediately amplified his own Soul Transfer ability, reducing its side effects. Over time, he built a giant altar that could assist the transfer and nullify the drawbacks completely.
From then on, he began calling himself a god and enslaving others.
This wasn't information they uncovered through data or intelligence. It had been told to them by Melin.
"How do you know that!? Who are you people really!?" Apocalypse panicked. He had never told anyone, not even his most trusted followers. How could they know?
"Heh, you self-proclaimed god—your lies are laid bare before a real one," Erik mocked.
"Damn you! You rebels! I am a god! The one and only god!"
With a furious roar, Apocalypse unleashed a powerful energy wave, expanding his barrier outward.
"Watch out!" Erik shouted, shielding Raven and Charles. Angel Warren and Mimic Calvin quickly ascended higher to avoid the blast.
But their steady assault was interrupted. Apocalypse… was about to strike back.
"Ugh!"
Erik and Raven, just barely on their feet, suddenly felt something being drained from within—like their lives were slipping away. Warren and Calvin plummeted from the sky. Charles, Sunfire Yoshida, Darwin Armando, and Psylocke Elizabeth all collapsed, affected by an invisible force that robbed them of strength.
The four Horsemen weren't spared either.
"M-My lord… why…" Molcarba, just regaining consciousness, looked at Apocalypse in disbelief. He was the only one among them who truly worshipped Apocalypse.
But before he could get an answer, his flesh melted into a black ooze, leaving only his pale bones behind.
"Hmph! Useless. What good are you to me?" Apocalypse scoffed, glaring around. "Now, it's your turn. None of you will leave here alive!"
He had lost it. He wanted everyone dead—even Charles, whose body he had coveted. No one who knew his secret could be allowed to live.
Torres, Waynes, and Ator were filled with regret. They had thought of escaping Apocalypse's grip but hadn't acted before he was exposed. Now they wished they had joined the X-Men. Prison would have been better than this.
Charles and the others were filled with both rage and determination. Though their bodies were being corroded by an invisible force, they weren't dead yet. They gritted their teeth and tried to rise.
"Hold on… Just a bit more… now's the time!" Erik clenched his jaw, pushed his limits, and finally formed a small blade—launching it straight at Apocalypse.
Caught off guard, the blade grazed Apocalypse's cheek, slicing it open.
He froze, touching the wound in disbelief. Blood stained his palm. He—he was hurt?
"You—"
Before he could react, Erik's wave of metal blades and Sunfire's radiation-charged flames came barreling toward him.
It was only a small wound, but it was enough to break the momentum.
The counterattack—had begun.