Are all humans on Earth Mutants?
Did they mishear?
Some people suspect they are hallucinating, look at the person next to them, and find that the other person is making the same movements as them.
His eyes were filled with disbelief.
In the end, those humans who discriminate against Mutants are themselves Mutants.
Felicity stood on the steps, looking at the people kneeling on the ground, her heart pounding and her palms sweating.
She was also surprised by the bombshell Russell brought up, but she didn't think he was lying, because there was absolutely no need for it.
"You...you all get up first." Her voice was very soft. "You all heard what Lord Russell said: Mutants and humans are the same, there is no racial distinction."
Although he didn't give a clear answer about Jian Guo, he said, "You can stay here, stay near the hotel, don't cause trouble, don't fight, and don't cause any trouble for Lord Russell."
She paused, then mustered her courage, "When the time is right, Lord Russell will definitely see you."
The crowd fell silent for a moment. The old man stood up first, followed by the boy, and then the woman holding the child.
No one spoke, no one left. They stood there staring at the hotel's revolving door, their expressions complex, as if waiting for a tomorrow that would never come.
Felicity turned and walked into the hotel. After a few steps, she stopped, looked back at the people still standing there, and felt a mix of emotions.
"Om Messiah," she repeated the word softly, leading Laura into the hotel.
After a brief silence, the crowd outside unanimously decided to upload the words spoken by Ohm Messiah to the internet and spread them throughout the world.
Xavier Institute, a desolate ruin under the cover of night.
The ruins of the teaching building cast huge shadows in the moonlight. The evacuated students had left the lawn, leaving only a few teachers cleaning up.
Storm was carried onto the ambulance on a stretcher, her legs hanging limply below the knees, despite being tightly bandaged, blood was still seeping out.
The Iceman lay on another stretcher, half of his body blown apart. His healing process was very slow. His face was very pale, not from his skin, but from excessive blood loss.
However, his injuries were not as severe as Ororo's, despite his ability to transform into elements.
Wolverine stood amidst the ruins, his claws retracted, his hands bare. His healing factor was still intact; aside from looking disheveled after being dug out of the collapsed concrete slab, he was largely unharmed.
He watched his comrades being carried away, speechless, for the academy had paid a heavy price this time.
Charles sat in a makeshift wheelchair, facing the collapsed school building and behind him the equally collapsed library.
His hands rested on his knees, his fingers trembling slightly, not from the cold, but from the lingering pain in the depths of his consciousness caused by the zither.
Magneto stood beside him, his gray eyes gazing at the ruins, his expression as calm as ever.
"Charles."
"Um."
"Your academy suffered quite a bit of damage this time, and some students even died... You don't have to keep it all bottled up inside; if you want to cry, just cry it out."
Charles shook his head. "It's not just me; we all have to shoulder this together."
"Qin is your student. You raised her like a daughter, and she originally regarded you as her father. It's just that neither of you knew how to express it and used the wrong approach, which caused such a big misunderstanding."
Charles's eyes reddened. "Erik, when did you become so good at comforting people?"
Magneto's lips twitched slightly. "I always have, I just didn't want to tell you."
Charles looked down at his hands, the hands that had just pressed Storm's wounds, helped Iceman get up from the ground, and wiped away the tears of the still-crying children.
Those hands had done everything, but never one thing: give the awakened Qin a big hug.
"You don't need me here, I'm leaving. If I stay, the kids might think I'm the one who turned the academy into ruins." Magneto patted his old friend on the shoulder.
"Where are you going?" Charles asked.
"Manhattan." Magneto turned and walked out of the ruins. "To find Russell."
"What do you want with him?"
"Let's chat. He's a celebrity now, especially with this trip to the White House. It can't be done without Magneto, a globally wanted criminal." Magneto didn't turn around.
"Maybe if we have a good talk, he'll join the Brotherhood; maybe if we don't, our relationship will deteriorate, but it's better than standing here doing nothing."
Charles watched the back of the figure wearing that ridiculous helmet.
When they first met, they were both very young. Over the decades, they have separated and reunited, each going their own way, and now they stand in the same ruins again.
"Erik."
Magneto stopped, but didn't turn around.
"Be careful," Charles said, his voice full of concern.
"The same to you."
As soon as he finished speaking, Magneto didn't hesitate for a moment. He spread his arms and flew towards the sky in the direction of Manhattan.
Bulldozers drove in from a distance, their lights casting large patches of light on the ruins. The night wind blew up dust, making it hard to open one's eyes.
Charles sat alone in his wheelchair, like a forgotten sculpture.
Daredevil, noticing Magneto's departure, emerged from behind the ruins. His hand rested on the wall, and he could hear Charles's restless heartbeat.
"Professor X."
"Matt." Charles adjusted his wheelchair and looked at the disheveled lawyer. "How are you feeling about your abilities now?"
"It's recovering, but not fully recovered yet."
Charles looked apologetic. "Matt, I'm afraid I can't help you anymore. I've suffered a severe emotional blow and need time to heal. Besides, that kid Russell..."
Matt nodded. He couldn't see, but he could sense something in the old man's voice—the despair of someone who had lost everything and was left with only a still-breathing shell.
"Professor, what do you plan to do?"
Charles looked up at the sky. There were no stars tonight; the only bright light was the moonlight, which was gradually being obscured by thick clouds.
Many people had long since left the ruins, leaving only the still-flickering emergency lights and his own faint heartbeat.
"I'm waiting for Qin to come back, and then—" he paused, "I'll use my death to appease her hatred."
Matt was unwilling to believe it, his lips moved slightly, "Professor, you don't need to do this."
"I know what you're trying to say. 'It's not your fault,' 'You tried your best,' 'She will forgive you.' I've heard those words countless times, and I've said them countless times to countless people." Charles interrupted Matt.
"But when it happens to you, you realize that some things are easier said than believed."
He looked down at his hands.
"If my death can restore Qin to her original state, then it will be worth it."
"Can you do me a favor?" Charles asked Matt with a smile.
"What kind of help?"
"If you see Russell again, tell him that killing won't solve anything."
Matt didn't say anything.
He stood amidst the ruins, listening to the howling of the night wind through the collapsed walls, like a nightmare from which he would never awaken.
"I will pass on your message, take care, Professor."
He turned and left, his footsteps soft, as if he didn't want to disturb anyone.
Charles sat alone in his wheelchair, looking at the ruins. Bulldozers were clearing away the debris, and the lights shone on his face, casting his shadow on the rubble, making him look like a giant deep in thought.
He knew the sun would rise again tomorrow, but he didn't know if he would be able to see it again.
The Presidential Suite on the top floor of the hotel.
Russell sat on the sofa, his gaze passing over the Floor-to-Ceiling Window to look at the Manhattan skyline at night.
The Nippon refracted countless tiny spots of light on the glass curtain wall, like an overturned palette.
He wasn't actually looking at the scenery; he was looking at the control panel.
After the battle with the piano, the proficiency of the three abilities on the panel all improved significantly.
The Emotion Points increases the fastest; even describing it as an exponential increase seems too slow.
[Soul Stone Storage: 1]
A point of light floated deep within his consciousness, originally belonging to Jim, the man who killed a banker on Wall Street, had his head pierced by Hawkeye, and was pulled back from the brink of death by him—he had long since been reborn.
This one belongs to Scott Summers, Cyclops.
Russell stared at the point of light, his eyes thoughtful. He felt no guilt, nor did he ever feel guilty for the people he had killed.
Scott was in his way, so he killed Scott. It's that simple.
He was thinking about something else.
If Soul Stone can be put back into a new body, can it be put into a robot?
The group of people below the hotel called him Om Messiah, and what Om Messiah was most familiar with was, of course, the Warhammer.
"Machine Spirit," he repeated the word softly, a slight smile playing on his lips.
The creations of the Mechanicus, the living CPUs crammed into Titans and Knights in Warhammer 40,000.
To extract a person's Soul Stone from their body, stuff it into a machine, and bring the machine to life.
In the hotel Training Room, he did more complex things using Atomic Manipulation, reassembling carbon atoms in the air into diamonds and rewriting human cells into another form.
Theoretically, it's not difficult to put Soul Stone into a robot; the difficulty lies in building a robot that can carry Soul Stone.
Or perhaps it's true that any computer can hold Soul Stone, and it's not that particular.
Russell leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
With Atomic Vision activated, Scott's Soul Stone light flickered deep within his consciousness, as faint as a lamp about to go out.
He gently touched the point of light with his Telekinesis, and the point of light trembled slightly, like someone being awakened from a dream.
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
Felicity peeked out from behind the door, looking anxious.
"Sir Russell, someone is looking for you downstairs."
"Who?"
"He said he was Wilson Fisker, the chairman of Fisk Industries."
Russell opened his eyes. Wilson Fisk, or Kingpin, the emperor of the New York underworld, Daredevil's nemesis, and Spider-Man's enemy, was a familiar face to him.
It's worth seeing an ordinary person who weighs over 400 pounds, has more muscle than fat, can punch through a brick wall, has no Mutant Gene, no superpowers, and has transformed himself into a monster entirely through willpower.
"Let him come up."
Felicity hesitated for a moment. "Should we let Laura— "
"No need, he's not here to fight."
A few minutes later, Kingpin walked into the Presidential Suite. His body was almost as wide as the door frame, and a dark gray custom-made suit wrapped around his mountain-like frame. He took each step with great steadiness.
Behind him followed Bullseye, the man who always wore a black leather jacket and always had a blank expression; his gray eyes were like two scanners in operation.
Kingpin looked around the room, his gaze sweeping over the sofa, coffee table, and bookshelves before finally settling on Russell.
The young man he praised sat on the sofa in a very casual posture, like someone sitting in their own living room waiting for takeout.
"Sit down," Russell said, gesturing to the chair opposite him.
Kingpin sat down, but Bullseye didn't. He stood behind Kingpin his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on Russell without letting up for a moment.
"Mr. Russell, I am Wilson Fisk..."
"I know who you are, Kingpin." Russell waved his hand to interrupt him. "What are you doing here?"
Kingpin's momentum faltered as he organized his thoughts.
He has met many Heroes, many supervillains, and many people who thought they could threaten him.
But Russell is different. He doesn't threaten you, or even look at you, but this indifference is more unsettling than any threat.
"There's a big project I'd like to discuss with you," Kingpin finally spoke, his voice low and deep, like the bass strings of a cello.
"A big project?"
"About New York, about Mutants, about the future of this country."
Russell's eyebrows twitched. He leaned back on the sofa, looking into Kingpin's gray eyes. There was no fear, no greed in those eyes, only one thing: ambition.
That kind of ambition—standing at the top of the underground world, yet still wanting to climb even higher.
Tell me about it.
Kingpin leaned forward, crossed his arms, and placed them on his knees.
"You said on TV before that the White House was going to hold a world-class competition, so I came, but not to participate, I came to sponsor it."
I can handle everything: venue, equipment, advertising, security...
If you're not comfortable in a Manhattan hotel? I can buy any comfortable estate you want... it's all up to you."
Russell looked at him without saying a word.
Kingpin continued, "My request is simple: I hope you will put me in the presidency."
Russell's lips curled into a slight smile. "All that you've said is useless to me; I'm not particularly interested."
"And your heart tells me that you have more than just this request; there are other things you want."
Kingpin paused, as if a stone had been pressing down on his powerful heart.
"What's up?"
"You want to ask me if I can help you awaken your mutant abilities?"
The air in the room fell silent. Kingpin didn't deny it, but a fleeting ripple appeared in his gray eyes, like the surface of water being rippled by a breeze.
Bullseye at Russell, taking his hand out of his pocket, not to attack, but because he actually had the same idea.
While he was downstairs at the hotel, he learned from the discussions among the Mutants that all humans on Earth possess the X-Gene.
Add to that Jim, who caused trouble on Wall Street, and it was from the hotel that he acquired his extraordinary abilities, proving that Russell was the mastermind behind it all.
"Is that alright?" Kingpin asked, his gaze fixed intently on Russell.
"Sure," Russell replied readily.
Kingpin's pupils contracted. He hadn't expected the answer to come so quickly and decisively, without any hesitation or conditions.
But why should I do that?
Russell looked at the man sitting opposite him, who was like a mountain.
"You're just an ordinary person, with no superpowers, and you can't offer anything of equal value in exchange."
Kingpin didn't argue, but said to Bullseye beside him, "Lester, could you please go out first? I have something to discuss with Mr. Russell alone."
A strange light flashed in Bullseye as he walked out. Kingpin watched as the outer door closed again, and he took out a scroll with golden patterns from his arms.
"This is a scroll related to Demons..."