Marvel's Alien Force

"Why?" Professor Xavier whispered, his voice hollow as his eyes remained locked on the glowing sky—wide, unblinking, and full of broken emotions.

'Why did this happen?'

'Where did I go wrong?' he asked himself in silence.

He stared at the light raining down across the Earth—not in awe, not in wonder, but in quiet, suffocating despair.

Not because he hated the light.

No, the light was beautiful. Miraculous. Hopeful.

But what it represented—that was what crushed him.

This light, this divine act that had mended the world, had also reshaped its narrative. With a single, world-changing act by one man… humanity's perception of mutants would never be the same again.

They wouldn't be seen as the next step in evolution anymore.

They'd be seen as something else entirely.

Something beyond.

Something that had transcended what it meant to be human.

And in that shift… everything Charles Xavier had fought for—peace, equality, coexistence—crumbled.

The world wouldn't strive to understand mutants anymore.

It would worship them… or fear them.

There would be no middle ground.

Wolverine and Storm both felt Xavier's silent sorrow.

They didn't need to ask—they understood.

After all, they'd fought for the same cause.

The dream of mutant equality.

The hope that mutants could stand beside humans—not above, not below—but as equals.

To live normal lives. To be seen as people, not anomalies.

But now...

Logan let out a long, tired sigh as his thoughts drifted to his own life—if it could even be called that. A life so long he'd forgotten when it started. He might be the oldest among them, but his body still remained that of a man in his prime.

The drops of light washed over him. He could feel them—not just physically, but deep in his nerves, in his bones. Soothing. Rejuvenating. Like clarity poured into the chaos of his soul. His mind, usually clouded with a low-burning rage and pain, cleared for the first time in... decades, maybe.

Storm felt it too. The quiet calm that settled into her chest like a soft breeze after a storm. For the first time since her mutation awakened, she didn't feel fear—not of herself, not of losing control. The light whispered to her:

'You've grown. You've changed. You are no longer who you were.'

And then there was Xavier.

The despair that had cracked his voice just moments ago began to fade—slowly, almost reluctantly—as clarity returned to his mind. His body, frail and weak for years, suddenly felt... light. Alive.

And yet—he didn't smile.

For Charles Xavier, this clarity came with a bitter realization.

This healing... this divine energy... it had reached into every part of him. Even the parts he'd refused to heal. The parts he'd kept broken on purpose.

He had denied countless healing attempts in the past—not out of pride, but necessity. His legs didn't matter to him. His telepathic sensitivity did. 

The very thing that made him the world's strongest mind had come at a cost—his own fractured psyche.

He had torn himself apart to become the telepath he was now.

And for the first time... he wondered if that choice still mattered.

Professor Xavier—no, Charles Xavier—shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked forward.

Tony Stark stood a few feet ahead, eyes lifted toward the sky.

The man, usually layered in sarcasm and steel, now looked... peaceful.

Light droplets fell onto him, and in return, he smiled—genuine, relaxed, almost boyish.

Charles watched him silently.

'So even he feels it.'

The drop of light that touched Charles' hand had already begun to work. It didn't just soothe the body—it softened the soul. And in that moment, as the final edge of resistance faded, a quiet thought echoed within him:

'Ideals... they were good while they lasted.'

He closed his eyes.

A single tear slid down his cheek.

There was no sobbing. No collapse. Just a quiet, mournful release.

A lifetime of work.

Sacrifices.

Hope.

Faith.

All of it... undone in a moment of divine light.

And then—he felt it.

The sensation he had locked away for decades:

His legs.

Touching the ground.

Holding weight.

Alive.

He hadn't felt them since the day his own friend—his brother—took that away from him.

But now?

He could feel again.

Stand again.

And yet...

He didn't feel happy.

That damn light—it soothed everything. Even his grief. Even the ache of being rightfully bitter. It wouldn't let him wallow. It wouldn't let him scream. All he could do was sit in this surreal moment, neither crying nor laughing.

Only feeling.

"What a world," he murmured. "Really... what a world."

A quiet chuckle escaped him, cracked with exhaustion.

'Maybe it was time', he thought.

Time to retire from being the heart of the X-Men. Let the younger generation take over. Let others chase the dreams he'd burned his life for.

He was too old for this war.

Too tired to carry the dream any longer.

But this feeling? This strange, numbing peace wrapped in despair?

He would allow himself to sit in it—for just a little longer.

His mind went quiet.

Charles Xavier closed his eyes and let the light rain fall upon him. Logan and Storm did the same. So did the rest of the world.

For a few precious moments, there was nothing but peace.

And then—like the gentle stirring after a storm—the world began to move again.

Charles opened his eyes slowly and looked toward Tony Stark, who seemed to have emerged from his own daze of clarity.

With a soft, almost wistful smile, Charles said, "Wasn't that… beautiful?"

Tony inhaled deeply, as if trying to breathe in the essence of what had just happened. There was no real scent in the air—but still, he felt it. The memory of rain, of something pure. Something healing.

He nodded and stepped forward, settling into his seat.

"That might've been the best moment of my life…" he muttered. "Even though it wasn't my moment."

Tony let out a quiet chuckle, unable to put the rest into words.

Charles understood.

There were no words. Not really. Just… acceptance.

Turning his head slightly, Charles glanced toward Ororo and said, "Check in with Scott. Find out if they made contact with the one responsible."

Ororo nodded and tapped her communicator, reaching out to Scott. A few seconds passed, then a brief exchange. 

After ending the call, she looked back at Charles with a conflicted expression.

"Professor… Scott and Jean did meet him. His name is Mark Cain."

She hesitated, then continued.

"Jean… isn't responding. According to Scott, she followed Mark into the sky. And that light we saw... it seems she was a part of it."

Her voice trailed off, unsure. It sounded like betrayal—but it wasn't. Still, a strange unease clung to the air.

Logan's brow furrowed in surprise, but it was Charles who sighed softly.

His student… involved in this.

There was no anger.

Just understanding.

And resignation.

'Let's just do it.'

He had made up his mind.

It was time. Time to retire—for real, this time. Let the younger generation handle the battles ahead. Let them carry the dream. He would still guide them, of course, still remain the wise old man in the background…

But the heart of the X-Men?

That role no longer belonged to him.

He was done fighting for a world that had already moved on.

***

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