Apocalypse's Pyramid Royal City, atop the ruins of Cairo.
Across the vast ochre plains, enormous Spark Portals flickered open one after another. With the help of numerous Kamar-Taj mystic arts practitioners, the hundreds of thousands of mutants who had been brought here under psychic illusions returned to the cities where they lived.
Yet several thousand innocent mutants remained here forever, becoming casualties of the most terrifying superhuman war in modern human history.
Upon the central pyramid, whose dome had mostly collapsed, the figure in black armor could still be seen seated upon the towering stone throne.
He seemed to have become a statue. Since that day, he had sat there day and night, with lead-gray clouds constantly hanging over his head.
"Hey! What's with you? Why are you heading back in?"
A skinny Indian man walked against the flow from the other side of the portal, dragging an enormous ox cart behind him. It was piled high with all sorts of items, even including pots, pans, bowls, and tents.
He familiarly offered two cigarettes to the Order Executor guarding the portal. His black, greasy fingertips rubbed together for quite a while before finally producing a small flame, waiting to light one for him.
After the Executor refused without hesitation, the Indian man piled on a smile and bobbed his head as he spoke heavily curry-accented English.
"Sir, heh-heh, it's like this, sir. Look, that gentleman will soon be gathering supernatural organizations and people from all over the world here. That'll mean... that'll mean a lot of people, right? I've prepared everyday goods, and I can make some specialties from back home too. Heh-heh, please make an exception."
It was not only this mystic arts portal leading to India. After many mutants from around the world returned to settle things at