Luther stepped forward once, just a step. But the sound that followed was deafening.
An invisible force hit Xavier square in the chest. It wasn't magic. It wasn't aura. It was raw, physical might—like being hit by a speeding train.
Xavier's body smashed into a wall and left a crater before falling to one knee. His breath hitched; his ribs screamed.
Still, he laughed. "Not bad for an old man."
Luther appeared in front of him instantly and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. "And yet, you still smile," he said quietly. "Why?"
Xavier's telekinesis flared again. Every shattered fragment of stone, every chunk of wall, every twisted bit of metal from their fight—suspended midair—suddenly shot forward.
Hundreds of projectiles slammed toward Luther from every direction.
He dropped Xavier just before impact and disappeared.
