Russell stood on the raised platform behind Apocalypse, looking out over the sea of people below.
His gaze swept across familiar faces.
Socrates stood among the crowd with his head tilted back, his beard stirring in the wind. Alexander the Great stood with his arms crossed, his red cloak billowing behind him.
Napoleon stood on tiptoe atop a stone block, though the towering Achilles in front of him still blocked most of his view.
Frowning, he nudged the man beside him in the waist and muttered, "Move over. Let me have another look."
Farther away, on the left side of the crowd, a group of Mutants in Han-style clothing stood quietly.
Ying Zheng stood at their forefront, his black imperial dragon robe striking amid the crowd. Beneath his crown of twelve hanging strands, his face was as cold as a frozen lake. His gaze passed through the throngs and settled on the golden man in modern clothes atop the platform.
Liu Bang stood two paces to his right. The scabbard of the crimson sword at his waist gleamed dark red in the sunlight. He tilted his head as he studied Russell, a playful smile on his lips.
Zhang Heng stood a short distance behind them, still clutching a bamboo scroll. His eyes held a scholar's characteristic caution and curiosity.
At last, the flow of people stopped. Tens of thousands stood solemnly in the central square, every gaze fixed on the two figures atop the platform.
Apocalypse in his blue armor, and the unfamiliar man beside him, wreathed in golden light.
Apocalypse stepped forward and spread his arms. His voice rolled over the square like thunder once more:
"Some of you already know why I have come, while others do not. But before I explain, I must introduce someone."
He turned