She walked inside, her presence cloaked, and moved toward the row of capsule beds — sleek, coffin-like units glowing softly, ready to receive dreamers.
"You are certain these... things can take me to his world?" Apocalypse asked, stepping beside her, arms folded, gaze fixed on the row of strange capsule-like machines.
"Yes, my lord," she replied softly, her voice both reverent and firm.
Just then, a sharply dressed attendant — clearly human, yet wearing a smile born of corporate training — approached them.
"Hello, madam," she said cheerfully. "Which model would you like to purchase today?"
Apocalypse turned his glowing eyes toward the woman with mild disdain, but before he could speak, his companion stepped forward. With a subtle wave of her hand, a small portal shimmered into existence beside her — and from it spilled dozens of golden coins, embossed with ancient mutant sigils. They clattered onto the nearby counter in neat piles, as though summoned from thin air.
"I would like a hundred of them," Apocalypse said calmly, his voice deep and final.
The attendant blinked in surprise, then forced a professional smile as she looked down at the sudden wealth.
"R-right away, sir! Let us just verify these coins... and then we'll have everything delivered to your registered address in no time!" She bowed slightly, gesturing to one of the staff who began collecting the coins carefully.
Apocalypse watched them, then turned to his companion. "Even now... humans worship gold."
"Some things never change," she said with a faint smile.
Outside, the world moved with strange ease. Mutants — some visibly marked by their powers, others hiding in plain clothes — walked among humans without fear. Flying couriers darted through the sky, street-level merchants sold mutation-enhancing wearables, and in the distance, a massive digital screen played highlights of the most recent "New York Invasion Event" inside Max's world.
Max has turned this real world incident as an playable event in game, one can enter inside this event as single or multi-player party and fight alongside the Averngers in repelling the Alien Arny.
It si one of the most famous events in game, as there are always many players who play it leading to this event servere always full.
Apocalypse narrowed his eyes at it. A titan of a mutant battled a swirling energy god above pixelated skyscrapers — thousands cheered in the comments scrolling along the screen.
"So… this is what power is now?" he muttered. "A game? A spectacle?"
"No, my lord," she said beside him. "Power is still power. But now, it's performed. And if Max is the one who built this stage... then it is his performance they worship."
Apocalypse remained silent for a long moment. Then, he placed a hand on the VR capsule beside him, the surface humming faintly under his touch.
"Then I will enter his world. And I will rewrite the performance."
With that, he stepped into the machine, the capsule sealing shut with a hiss of light and vapor. As it powered on, Apocalypse's consciousness was pulled forward — toward Max Ryder's world of illusion, power, and war.
Other muatants also logged in as thye wondered how great is this also.
Darkness.
Then — a rush.
Apocalypse felt his mind stretch across the void, his very essence pulled through circuits and sigils, data streams and dreamscapes. Not magic. Not quite science either. Something else — something in between.
He emerged in silence.
A soft wind blew across an endless field of violet grass. A twin-moon sky stretched overhead, and strange constellations shimmered like unfamiliar gods. The air tasted real. The scent of flowers, of metal, of life — all real.
But he knew it wasn't.
Still cloaked in his human-sized form, he looked down at his hands. Perfect. Flawless. He was here. Whole. But something was… wrong.
He opened his palm to summon power.
Nothing.
He narrowed his eyes and tried again — shifting mass, drawing upon cosmic force, altering his molecules—
Nothing.
No strength answered his call.
His connection to his ancient mutant gifts... gone. Sealed.
The world, though vivid and beautiful, imposed limits.
He turned his gaze upward, the skies of this realm whispering secrets only he could hear. And among them, a sound — subtle, faint — like laughter. Distant, cold, and amused.
Max.
This was his world. His rules.
A glowing screen blinked into view before him, floating in the air, as if summoned by thought. It showed a character creator menu.
CREATE YOUR AVATAR
Choose your base:
— Mutant
— Human
— Undead
— Vampire
— Chimera
...
...
....
Apocalypse sneered slightly. "A mockery of truth," he muttered. "But very well."
He chose Mutant — out of principle. Then he sculpted his avatar not in some fantasy form, but close to his true body: strong, regal, perfectly balanced. Violet skin, dark markings, deep eyes that reflected galaxies. He kept it simple. It was enough.
CONFIRM SELECTION?
[ YES ]
The world blurred.
Suddenly, he stood at the edge of a neon-drenched city — a place of shadows and monolithic towers, flying transports, strange beasts, and figures cloaked in mystery. Other players darted past him — some wearing armor made of light, others covered in fire or ice. Mutants, gods, avatars of war. All of them... performing.
He took a slow step forward. The ground felt real. His boots crunched gravel. He looked up again — a billboard showed Max, smiling lazily, leaning against a throne made of broken code and flame.
"ETERNAL ASCENT — FIGHT. ASCEND. BECOME LEGEND."
Apocalypse narrowed his gaze.
"This is not just technology," he whispered, "this is something... older. Bound in code, but stitched with soul."
Behind him, his companion finally appeared — her avatar shimmering into place beside him, now cloaked in astral robes, her eyes glowing with illusion.
"He locks away powers here. Makes us start low. As equals," she said, reading the subtle flickers of magic hidden in the game's construct. "We must earn them back. Or take them."
"So, this is how he's forcing everyone to have a fair chance," Apocalypse muttered, scanning the strange digital city that pulsed around him. "I want to see more."
As he stepped forward, lost in thought, a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
Apocalypse's eyes flared instinctively, ready to incinerate the stranger—until he remembered: he no longer had his powers here.
"Yo, buddy. Cold look you've got there," said a guy with spiky hair and a neon coat, grinning as he stepped in front of Apocalypse. "You're a newbie, right?"
***
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