One of the most — if not the most — powerful mutants on Earth.
Apocalypse.
Originally, he was just a mutant with a rare gift: the ability to switch bodies at will, stealing the powers of whoever he possessed. It made him nearly impossible to kill — every time his body weakened, he simply found a stronger one and jumped ship.
For centuries, he drifted through the world, always hunting for better hosts, stronger powers.
Until one day, he found it — a mutant whose abilities weren't just strong, but amplified beyond anything he'd ever seen. Powers stacked so high they bent reality itself. Apocalypse claimed that body... and then he ascended.
The man he once was disappeared. What remained was something new — something unstoppable.
Now, Apocalypse didn't just survive. He thrived. He began making more and more powerful mutants, gathering them into armies, reshaping them into his "Horsemen," breeding warriors designed to survive anything the Earth could throw at them.
It was a golden age of death and conquest.
Until, during one of his body-switching rituals, something went wrong. Apocalypse's consciousness was trapped, the body he tried to take burned out under the strain. Weakened, he was sealed away by forces that feared what he had become.
The world forgot him.
But recently... something shifted. Old seals cracked. Forgotten tombs opened. Power, ancient and ugly, stirred beneath the Earth.
Apocalypse had awakened once more.
And he wasn't wasting time.
One of his first moves was finding her — Ororo Munroe.
Storm.
Once, she had been one of the X-Men's brightest heroes. Her mutant gift was the ability to manipulate the weather — summon winds, call down lightning, bend the skies to her will. But her control had limits. Her emotions could send her powers spiraling. At her worst, she was as much a threat to herself as to her enemies.
Apocalypse changed that.
When he found her, he didn't just recruit her — he amplified her.
Now, Storm wasn't just connected to the weather. She was the storm.
The skies answered her without hesitation. Thunder cracked when she spoke. Entire weather systems shifted to match her mood. With a single breath, she could summon a hurricane. With a thought, she could freeze a city or drown a continent.
Wherever she walked, the winds whispered her name like a prayer — or a warning.
Ororo Munroe was gone.
What remained was a goddess of storms, loyal to Apocalypse.
And Apocalypse wasn't stopping with Storm.
He was only getting started.
He moved across the Earth like a shadow, seeking out the strongest mutants — the rare ones, the dangerous ones, the broken ones. Those with power beyond imagination... but lacking the vision to use it.
He offered them more.
Amplified their gifts.
Twisted them into something greater — something terrible.
Each new recruit added to his growing army.
Each new conquest brought him closer to his real goal: finding a suitable new body.
Apocalypse's original body — ancient, mighty — was wearing down. Even with all his stolen powers, it couldn't hold his vast strength forever.
He needed a perfect host.
A vessel strong enough to contain his full potential.
Someone whose mutation could handle limitless power without breaking.
Until he found that perfect body, he would raise the strongest army the Earth had ever seen — and when the time came, he would rise again, stronger than ever, unstoppable.
'Heh... In the end, you'll just end up as my summon,' Max thought, watching the city lights flicker past through the car window.
His real goal wasn't just survival.
It wasn't just power.
It was Apocalypse.
Max wanted him.
He wanted the ancient mutant god-king as part of his own undead army — all that power, all that ancient knowledge, his to command.
'Keep amassing power, buddy,' Max mused silently. 'Keep building your little army. I'll be right here when it's time to reap what you've sown.'
A slow smile curled on his lips.
Emma, sitting beside him, chatted lightly about the next steps for the Hellfire Club, but Max barely listened.
None of them — not Emma, not Shaw, not the rest of the Inner Circle — knew the real reason he had thrown himself into mutant politics.
Max had sensed it.
That cold, terrifying shift in the fabric of power the moment Apocalypse awakened.
It was like a thunderclap in his mind — a presence so vast it shook the astral plane itself.
It was the reason he had forced himself into mutant society, the reason he had played their little games of power and influence.
The reason he had pretended to care.
Max wasn't here to join the mutants.
He was here to own the powerful mutant Apocalypse.
The black SUV pulled up to the Hellfire Club's private entrance — a sleek, almost unmarked steel door tucked into a marble façade.
Two guards in tailored suits nodded them through immediately.
Emma stepped out first, regal as ever, her heels clicking sharply against the stone. Max followed, hands casually stuffed in his pockets, the picture of effortless confidence.
Inside, the Club was buzzing.
Crystal chandeliers glowed warmly over velvet-lined walls. Elegant mutants and human elites alike sipped champagne, the air thick with laughter and music. Word of Max's successful operation had already spread.
Shaw was there, drink in hand, grinning broadly.
Selene, ancient and ageless, watched Max with a glimmer of amused approval.
Even Frost's icy demeanor had softened just a bit — pride flashing in her blue eyes.
As Max entered, a small cheer went up.
"To Max Ryder!" Shaw bellowed, raising his glass.
"Our new weapon!"
Max gave a lazy wave in response, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. He didn't need their approval.
It was almost... cute how excited they were.
Emma leaned in, her voice a low, teasing purr, "Enjoy it, Ryder. You earned it."
Max just smiled coolly, letting them toast him, letting them believe they had won.
They had no idea.
He moved through the crowd, accepting handshakes and slaps on the back like a king among fools.
But his mind was elsewhere — already planning, already calculating.
***
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