Why be a hero… when you can be a god?

Note: Our protagonist is a villain.  They're not here to save the day, and their moral compass is, well, let's just say it points in a very different direction. 

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"Oh? Are you a JoJo fan?!"

"Fuck—you lunatic!"

"Well, whatever~"

The massive road roller rumbled forward, closing in with a deafening roar. Sabretooth's eyes widened in panic as he struggled to roll out of the way. But his limbs refused to obey.

Paralyzed, he could only lie there, terror flooding every inch of his body.

He screamed and cursed, eyes locked on the monstrous steel drum as it drew closer… and closer… and closer.

Until death rolled over him—crushing him without mercy.

"Ahhhhh—!"

Click. Crunch. Spulch.

In the dead of night, at an abandoned construction site, a chilling scream tore through the silence, echoing into the distance.

Then came the sickening crunch of bones.

Sabretooth was flattened into a mangled, bloody mess—a pulp of flesh and shattered bone.

"You were right. The process was a bit boring."

A few minutes later, Ron drove the road roller back and forth across the corpse, like crushing a giant biscuit underfoot.

His expression was calm—eerily calm—as if he were simply completing a chore. He glanced down at the ruin beneath the drum and spoke with casual disinterest, as though commenting on the weather.

It was the kind of scene you'd expect from a horror film—a deranged killer at work.

If anyone had stumbled upon that place at that moment, they probably would've pissed themselves from sheer terror.

Half an hour.

He crushed Sabretooth for a full thirty minutes.

Every time the mangled thing on the ground started to vaguely resemble a human body again, Ron would roll over it once more. Only after half an hour of relentless pulverization was Sabretooth finally dead.

His regeneration was remarkable—but even that couldn't stand up to cold, unyielding steel with an X gene suppressant.

+2,500 Ability Points.

By the timeline of this world, Sabretooth wasn't supposed to die yet. He was meant to remain active for decades—constantly clashing with Wolverine, eventually becoming involved in Magneto's major plot to turn humans into mutants.

Of course, his role wasn't irreplaceable.

But now he was dead.

Fate had already begun to shift.

"Not bad," Ron muttered. "Almost made my points back."

And this was only the beginning.

"I've got my ticket. Now it's time to prepare for entry."

He brushed the dust off his clothes, gave Sabretooth's mangled corpse one last look—twisted beyond recognition, a sight fit for nightmares—and smirked before turning to leave.

Sure, Sabretooth's regenerative abilities were strong.

But even Magneto—who caused global incidents on a regular basis—had been captured alive by the military more than once and turned into a lab rat.

What was Sabretooth in comparison?

If the military hadn't wanted to keep him for their own purposes, he would've been eliminated long ago.

Ron could think of at least a dozen ways to kill him using nothing but common, everyday items.

...

"Excuse me, my name is Charles Xavier."

"Erik Lehnsherr."

In a bar, a young Magneto—Erik—and Professor X—Charles—approached a man sporting a very familiar, Wolverine-like hairstyle. Smiling politely, they introduced themselves.

Before they could say another word—

"Go fuck yourself."

The man, a cigar between his lips, took a long puff. He didn't even bother to turn around. His voice was cold, dismissive, and final.

He had no interest in conversation.

Just like that, he told them to scram.

"…"

Their expressions froze. They glanced at each other, then turned and left the bar, defeated.

Outside.

Charles threw up his hands in frustration."That fellow mutant was incredibly rude. I didn't even get to say anything before he told us to leave. There's no way to communicate like that."

"I don't know what his problem is," Erik muttered, frowning. "But let's go find someone else."

He still looked back toward the bar, puzzled.

What the hell was that guy's problem? Did he eat gunpowder for breakfast? Or is he always that arrogant?

"Probably because his overly sensitive nose picked up the mix of both your scents."

A slightly teasing voice interrupted from nearby.

"He probably thought you two were a couple of gay guys trying to hook up with him, got disgusted, and told you to piss off."

The man inside the bar was Wolverine. At this point in the timeline, this was his only moment of triumph against Magneto—rudely cursing out a young Erik Lehnsherr.

After Stryker transformed him into the true Wolverine with Adamantium, every encounter with Magneto would end in defeat.

Today, he brushed them off with indifference and profanity. But soon enough, Magneto would show him what it meant to be picked up… and put down.

"Hmm?"

Charles and Erik turned around, their eyes landing on a young man leaning casually against a wall, arms crossed.

"Gays? We're not—!"

Charles quickly waved his hands, looking flustered. As someone who had once been known as a college playboy, he had no desire to be misunderstood about his sexual orientation.

"I know you're not," Ron said, walking toward them with a faint smile.

"At least… not yet."

He added with a smirk.

Standing before him were the young versions of Magneto and Professor X. The two had only recently met, drawn together by a shared goal: stopping their common enemy, the Black King—Sebastian Shaw.

With the help of Cerebro, built by Hank McCoy (Beast), Charles was dragging Erik across the country, searching for fellow mutants willing to join their fight.

Erik's motivation was vengeance—he wanted to kill Shaw, the man who had murdered his mother during his childhood.

Charles, on the other hand, was trying to prevent Shaw's plan to trigger World War III. He wanted to save the world.

"Oh, come on. What do you mean by 'not yet'? Erik and I are good friends, but we would never have that kind of relationship," Charles said in exasperation.

Erik frowned slightly but remained silent.

Charles, however, waved his hands repeatedly, clearly uncomfortable, desperate to make his point.

If word got out that he was gay, all the beautiful women would start avoiding him—and that would be a disaster for someone with his reputation.

Ron smirked but said nothing, watching the two of them with amusement.

The Erik standing before him wasn't all that different from the future Magneto—except for the heavy shadow lingering between his brows. It was the look of someone who had lived too long in pain and darkness. A lone wolf.

At this stage, he hadn't yet developed the aura of leadership and control that would define his future self.

As for Charles… he was quite different from the bald, saintly figure who would later become the widely respected Professor X.

The current Charles was more a mix of scholar and playboy than a wise old sage. He had thick, curly brown hair, swept back in a stylish wave, adding a rebellious edge to his otherwise refined appearance.

"I didn't expect to be misunderstood and cursed at by one fellow mutant," Ron said lightly, "only to run into two more the moment I stepped outside."

Charles, who was midway through defending himself, suddenly paused. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Ron from head to toe, as if he'd just discovered something unexpected.

With his abilities—telepathy and mind control—Charles could sense whether someone nearby was a mutant.

And in his perception, Ron was indeed one of them. A mutant. Just like the person they had come to find.

"My name is Charles," he said with a warm, genuine smile, extending his hand.

"Erik," the other added, glancing at Ron with new interest. A fellow mutant?

"Ron."

Ron shook Charles's hand and gave a simple introduction, his calm, succinct tone echoing Magneto's own style.

"Oh... I can sense your presence, but I can't read your mind," Charles said slowly, his expression turning to one of surprise.

That had only happened once before—with the White Queen, Emma Frost, who worked alongside the Black King, Sebastian Shaw. But Emma was a powerful telepath in her own right, capable of shielding her mind from intrusion.

Ron, however, clearly wasn't a telepath.

So how... Charles wondered, how is he blocking me?

"Were you trying to read my thoughts?"

The system had a built-in function: it could automatically spend Ability Points to block the detection of Ron's thoughts and memories, shielding the existence of the system itself. This was its most basic protective measure for the host.

Ron glanced at the deduction log—several dozen points had just been spent—and his expression immediately darkened.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to."

Caught red-handed, Charles gave a sheepish smile and quickly apologized. It was clear that this new fellow mutant wasn't taking it well.

At this stage, Charles wasn't yet the calm, disciplined Professor X of the future—someone who would respect others' privacy and use his powers with restraint.

The younger Charles still acted impulsively, often resorting to telepathy out of habit. If he wanted to know something, he'd just reach in and take it—almost instinctively.

Ron had expected this. He had anticipated the mind probe and had been fully prepared to spend Ability Points to protect himself. Internally, he was calm—but outwardly, he let his expression harden.

Only by doing so could he send a message and make Charles think twice before doing it again.

"Charles," Erik said coldly, stepping in. "I've already told you—no one likes having their memories flipped through at will. No one wants every thought in their head laid bare."

His face was grim as he recalled his own experience of being mind-read.

"Uh… I won't do it again."

Under the weight of their cold stares, Charles looked thoroughly embarrassed. He lowered his head and apologized again, this time with genuine remorse.

"Ahem. Fellow mutant—" Charles coughed lightly, then flashed a smile and winked at Ron. "We're saving the world. Want to join us?"

He shifted the topic and casually dropped the iconic line he'd been using to recruit new mutants, delivering it with flair and confidence.

Saving the world. It sounded heroic, noble—cool. Charles firmly believed no one could say no to that.

After all, who hadn't fantasized about saving the world when they were young?

...

A few days later, inside a secret CIA base.

Night had fallen.

In a lounge designated for government personnel to relax, Ron sat quietly at the bar, slowly sipping a glass of whiskey.

His eyes drifted toward the group seated by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He shook his head slightly, the look on his face a mix of amusement and disdain.

"My name is Raven. What are your names, and what are your abilities? I've decided to give myself a codename—Mystique!"

Raven, still young and idealistic, introduced herself enthusiastically. Having grown up alongside Charles, she brimmed with excitement.

Beside her was Hank McCoy, one of the base's researchers, and several other mutants recently recruited by Charles. They all took turns sharing names and powers, like kids at a campfire meeting. It was more like a party than a mission briefing.

Ron glanced at them and scoffed inwardly.

A bunch of giddy, naive, chuunibyou kids... They had no clue how serious the situation really was.

They thought getting recruited by a special CIA division made them cool—that saving the world was some kind of game.

Ron had accepted the so-called invitation to "save the world" and returned with the future Magneto and Professor X to the secret CIA base where they were temporarily stationed.

Not because he was inspired by the noble cause—it had nothing to do with heroism or glory.

He came for one reason only: to disrupt fate and earn Ability Points.

After confirming the current timeline within the X-Men universe, Ron immediately set his sights on a clear target.

He took a slow sip of whiskey, and a faint glint of excitement flickered in his eyes.

"In this era of the X-Men universe," he murmured to himself, "the person whose ability I want most isn't Magneto, with his mastery over magnetic fields... nor Professor X, with his psychic control…"

It's the Black King—Sebastian Shaw.

The mutant known as the Black King, ruler of the Hellfire Club, possessed a terrifying ability: he could absorb all forms of energy—kinetic, thermal, electrical, even nuclear—and convert it into raw power for himself, then unleash it at will.

At one point, he had absorbed the entire nuclear output of a submarine's reactor, effortlessly draining it dry.

He was a supervillain so dangerous that even Magneto and Charles had to join forces and rely on a cunning plan just to take him down.

And now… He was about to appear.

_

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