Marvel's Alien Force

Chromastone and Jean floated in silence as the light across the world slowly began to dim.

Within moments, the divine radiance that had blanketed the Earth faded into the sky, leaving behind only lingering warmth—and a world irrevocably changed.

Jean's body sagged in his arms.

She had spent everything—every ounce of power, every drop of strength—and now that she had seen what he had done with it, she finally allowed the fatigue to take her. Her breath slowed, her head tilted against his chest, and she drifted into sleep, cradled in crystalline arms.

Chromastone looked down at the planet below.

The chaos was gone.

The panic silenced.

Only awe remained.

A small smile tugged at his lips. It worked.

Just as he had planned.

This was no accident. It was the result of careful strategy—of calculated risk and flawless timing. And for that, he gave silent thanks to Grey Matter, whose cold intellect made this planning possible. In battle, brute force had its place—but in moments like this, precision ruled.

He turned his gaze upward.

Beyond the curve of the Earth, he could see the red shimmer of Mars. Farther still, Neptune, Saturn, and even hints of distant stars. And finally, he looked toward the sun—and the pale moon sharing the sky.

So vast.

So close.

This world…

He had touched it today. Not just physically, but fundamentally. He'd left a mark on its spirit. He had shown the people something beyond power—he had shown them possibility.

And now, he would change it.

Truly change it.

He glanced down at Jean in his arms—her expression soft, peaceful. There was something noble in the way she had burned so brightly and given everything. She had trusted him with her power. And he had proven worthy of it.

Slowly, he began to descend.

'Diamondhead.'

With that thought, his form began to shift once more.

The elegant purple-and-red structure of Chromastone receded. The sleek frame thickened, his crystalline armor sharpening into angular edges of sapphire blue. Horns reshaped. Shoulders broadened. And just like that—he was Diamondhead again.

The form the world had seen.

The form the world remembered.

This would be his public face—his symbol. Diamondhead looked strong, otherworldly, and noble, yet still carried a silhouette that resembled a man. Not too monstrous. Not too alien. A perfect bridge between the familiar and the divine.

He had other forms, sure—some too insect-like, others too alien for comfort. Chromastone was powerful, yes. Too powerful. Using it casually would shift perceptions in the wrong direction.

But Diamondhead?

Diamondhead looked like a protector. A force of nature—but one that stood for something. Someone who could be trusted, relied upon. The kind of presence the world could rally behind.

And more importantly, this form kept him grounded.

His intellect remained sharp. His emotions stayed intact. It was, in truth, the closest thing he had to his original human self.

So this would be it.

When the time came to stand before the people again—not as a weapon, but as a hero—this would be the face they'd see.

Diamondhead, the beacon of hope.

Lily stared at the sky, eyes wide with hope, waiting.

Her big brother had promised.

He said he would come back for her and her mother—that he would take them with him. So she waited, clutching her little hands together in prayer, hoping each second would bring him closer.

Martha waited too. But her heart was heavier.

As the droplets of light touched her skin, the clouded haze that had overwhelmed her thoughts began to lift. Clarity returned. And with it came memory.

She remembered everything.

That terrifying being. The inhuman force that had separated her from Lily. That moment when her soul felt like it had been thrown into hell—when pain wasn't just physical, but emotional, spiritual. Crushing.

She remembered lying on the cold ground, unable to move, certain she would never see her daughter again.

The last thought before her eyes had closed wasn't of herself—it was of Lily.

Who will protect her? Who will hold her?

Who will she cry to when she's scared?

Will she survive this world… alone?

As a mother, nothing else mattered more.

And..... even if she had lived, she was sure she'd be living as something broken. As someone half-dead.

But—

She looked down at her body. Whole.

She looked around. The others who had been barely breathing… those with broken bones, torn limbs—many of them were standing again. Weak, dazed, but alive.

Not all had returned. Some bodies remained still. Some lives were already beyond saving. But those on the edge—those who were hanging between this world and the next—they'd come back.

And as the truth settled in her chest, as her mind accepted what had just happened…

The tears came.

Silently at first. Then in waves.

She didn't even know why she was crying—

Or maybe… she did.

She was alive.

Her daughter was alive.

Lily heard her mother's sobs and turned immediately, her face filled with worry. "Mom? What happened? Why are you crying?"

Martha looked down at her daughter—at her precious, innocent face—and the weight of everything finally broke her.

She fell to her knees and wrapped Lily in a tight embrace, just as Lily had done before, just before it had all gone dark.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her voice trembled, barely able to form the words. "I'm so, so sorry."

Lily hugged her back, small hands patting her mother's back gently. "It's okay, Mom. It's okay."

She didn't fully understand why her mother was crying.

But she could feel it.

And looking around… she realized they weren't alone.

People everywhere were crying.

The female officer from earlier stood silently, eyes wet.

The rescue workers.

The doctors.

The survivors who had crawled from rubble and ruin.

Even the strongest among them shed silent tears.

Not just from grief for those lost—

But from gratitude.

From the sheer overwhelming relief of survival.

From the miracle they had witnessed.

From the hope that somehow, against all odds… they had been given another chance.

And in that sea of quiet sobs, under a fading sky still glowing with divine light, mother and daughter held each other.

Alive. Together.

And waiting.

Scott stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes locked onto the sky.

His sharp posture, serious demeanor, and iconic visor made him look every bit the superhero the world had come to know. But beneath that polished surface, his thoughts were anything but calm.

He could hear the sobs echoing across the city—grief, relief, disbelief. It was like the entire planet had just exhaled after holding its breath for too long. A part of him wanted to share in that moment, but his mind was elsewhere.

He was worried about Jean.

He didn't know where that crystalline being had taken her. He didn't know how much of her power had been used—or why.

But he was certain of one thing: the radiant spectacle that had just enveloped the Earth had something to do with Jean.

When the light fell—when those strange, glowing droplets touched his skin—he had felt it.

The familiar warmth of the Phoenix Force.

It was faint, changed, refined maybe, but unmistakably hers. He knew that feeling. Jean had healed him with it too many times for him not to recognize it.

Still… it raised more questions than answers.

He tapped his finger rhythmically against his bicep, waiting. Watching. Searching the sky.

And then—he saw it.

A flicker of light.

A descending shape.

Too high to make out clearly, but the silhouette was unmistakable. Crystalline. Gleaming. Him.

Scott narrowed his eyes. The being—Mark, he reminded himself—was descending rapidly, and in his arms was—

Jean.

Not flying beside him.

Not floating with power.

But unconscious. Limp. Cradled gently.

His heartbeat jumped.

As they landed, Scott took a step forward, voice low but edged with warning. "What happened to Jean?"

His tone was hard—gravelly, almost a growl. His body tensed, ready to strike if the answer wasn't good enough.

But before he could do anything else, he noticed: she was breathing.

She wasn't hurt. Just asleep.

Diamondhead, unfazed by the hostility, looked at him calmly and spoke. "Do not worry. Nothing happened to her. She simply used too much of her power and fell asleep."

Scott's brow furrowed, but he let out a quiet breath and nodded. Reluctantly satisfied.

He stepped forward, extending his arms.

Diamondhead didn't hesitate. He gently transferred Jean into Scott's embrace.

As Scott looked down at her—exhausted, peaceful—Diamondhead turned his gaze toward Lily.

The little girl was still clinging to her mother, both of them locked in a tearful embrace. Seeing that, he gave her a subtle nod.

His eyes swept across the area one last time.

The injured were whole.

The broken were stable.

The people were… okay.

His little stunt, as some might call it, had served its purpose.

Now came the next phase—meeting the true power players of this world.

He looked back at Scott, who still had his gaze fixed on Jean.

"So," Diamondhead asked, his tone calm and direct, "how do we get to the place you wanted to take me?"

Scott glanced up, nodded, and touched the communicator in his ear.

"Kurt," he said, voice firm, "we're ready. Come here."

***

Throw some comments and Powerstones if you like this chapter.