Chapter 119
Cairo, years ago. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and the streets hummed with life—the clatter of carts, the cries of merchants, the laughter of children weaving through the crowds. Charles Xavier strolled through it all with his walking stick, his posture still proud, his eyes always searching.
He paused near a marketplace, watching a young girl darting between legs and stalls, her eyes quick as a hawk's. She was a slip of a thing, barefoot, with hair like white silk catching the sun. A flash of movement—his pocket tugged, his wallet gone.
Charles' lips curved faintly. "Not so fast."
He stretched out with his mind, a gentle nudge meant to slow her. She stumbled, just enough for him to catch up, and he retrieved the wallet from her small hand. He looked into her wide blue eyes and felt it—power, vast and untamed, coiled beneath her skin. A mutant. Even here.
But before he could reach further, a searing bolt lanced through his mind. Psychic fire exploded behind his eyes. He staggered, gripping his temple, following the trail of malice that accompanied the strike. His gaze lifted across the street—to a dim bar, heavy with incense and shadow.
He stepped inside. The air was oppressive, thick with smoke and whispers. At a corner table sat a man like a mountain draped in silks, his bulk filling the chair as if the wood might break beneath him. His skin was dark, his head shaved, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Charles felt the psychic weight of him even before the man spoke.
"You are bold," the stranger said, his voice smooth and deep, "to enter my den so easily after tasting my warning. Tell me, foreigner—do you always chase children in the streets?"
Charles straightened, his jaw tight. "That child is no ordinary thief. She is one of us. A mutant."
The man's smile widened. "Indeed she is. And in Cairo, all mutants fall under my protection. My name is Amahl Farouk. To the world, a king among beggars."
The name slithered through Charles' thoughts like oil. He kept his voice calm. "Protection is not what I saw. You use them. Twist them to your will."
Farouk leaned back, his laughter rolling like thunder. "And why not? Power exists to be used. To rule. Do you not feel it, Foreigner? The truth that humanity is weak, begging for chains? Mutants will rule them… as gods among cattle."
Charles' hand tightened on his cane. "Or we can rise above them without destroying them. Mutants and humans can live together, in peace."
Farouk's smile curdled. The smoke in the bar seemed to thicken, the air itself bending to his will. "Peace is the dream of children. Dominion is the reality of men." His eyes glowed. "If you believe otherwise, prove it. In the astral realm."
The world around Charles dissolved in a blink. The bar, the smoke, the clamor of Cairo—all gone. He stood now in an endless desert of shifting dunes beneath a violet sky. And across from him, Farouk loomed even larger, his astral form a grotesque giant with eyes like burning coals.
Charles formed his own astral body—a lean figure wrapped in light, his cane now a blade of pure thought. He leveled it at Farouk. "Very well. Let us see whose dream endures."
Farouk's laughter shook the sands. "So be it, little dreamer."
The desert shattered, reshaped into a battlefield of Farouk's making—jagged rocks, molten rivers, storms of knives raining from the sky. Charles fought through them all, every strike fueled not by rage, but by will.
Still, Farouk pressed him, heavier, stronger, his imagination conjuring horrors—chains of fire binding Charles, phantom armies swarming him, illusions of his own failure. Charles staggered under the weight, his defenses crumbling.
"Yield, Foreigner!" Farouk's voice boomed. "You are nothing but a lamb lost in the dark!"
Charles shut his eyes. He slowed his breath. He remembered the child's eyes, filled with fear and hope. He remembered Moira's letter, the promise broken, the vow he had made never to waste his pain. He gathered his mind into a single point, condensing every ounce of his power into a beam of light.
When he opened his eyes, the astral blade shone like a star. "No. I am not your lamb."
He struck. The beam pierced Farouk's chest, burning through the monstrous astral form. Farouk roared, clawing at the wound, his body unraveling into smoke and ash.
In the physical world, Farouk's body slumped over the table in the bar, lifeless. The Farouk's reign of shadows ended in an instant.
Charles stood, shaken, his body trembling from the effort. He looked down at the corpse, his heart heavy. He had peered into Farouk's mind as he died, glimpsed the hunger, the empire of cruelty he had built. The truth struck him with finality: mutants could become monsters, gods of fear and domination.
And if such a fate was possible, then others like Farouk would follow.
As Charles walked back into the Cairo sunlight, cane tapping steadily on the stones, he made a silent vow. There must be another path. A dream stronger than their fear. A school… a family. A team. I will build it. For mutants. For humanity. For us all.
He did not look back at the bar.