Risen
"All I ask is that you do not get in my way."
He had sought to bring him hope—his old friend, despite everything they had been through together—yet hope was not what he had brought him.
The Phoenix had been released, and in her fury had killed his only true friend. She had every right to be furious at him, Charles, as he had imprisoned her mind for years. It had been a wondrous sight, Jean in her full glory. Until… until that moment….
Magneto bore the pain, carrying on with the cause as ever, yet Erik had been crushed. Deep inside he knew he would never be the same, not without his conscience, his umbilical cord to life and hope. With Charles' death it was now truly severed. For good.
Magneto drew strength from that knowledge. The irking voice, the hesitation that Charles represented would no longer linger, would not be in his way anymore. Erik, on the other hand, grieved for his old friend, his only friend.
When Mystique fell away, and the cure took his powers, there was nothing left to live for. His dream of mutant supremacy destroyed… many, many mutants destroyed…
Erik became a shell of the man he once had been. Nothing to live for, not really. He became an old man overnight, his bones tired, his mind clouded.
Chess in the park was his only joy: a bittersweet reminder of what once was. He who had once instilled fear in the hearts of the very beings he despised, was now at their mercy. Fortunately hardly anyone noticed who he was. He was just a retired man enjoying his meager pension.
Chess buddies. That's all that humans were to him now. More than they had ever been before. Without the difference between them, he could finally, for the first time in his life, connect to them, these inferior beings. Some of them were better at chess though….
The loneliness was no more than he deserved. Erik knew as much. Not only had Charles died because he had egged Jean on, but Mystique had been discarded by him like a cigarette stump. He was friendless through his own doing. He was aimless because of his grandiose dreams. He had become what he hated.
The lust for power and dominion had cost him everything. Everything. His friends and his powers.
"Hello Moira," the voice whispered with a croak. But it couldn't! The man only lived because of the machine. His brain was fried—not the clinical term but the truth nevertheless—he only lived at the mercy of the doctors.
"Charles?!" she asked surprised. How on earth was this possible?
His powers had not deserted him! Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they returned. Magneto was over the moon. Each and every day he tried and practiced his growing skill. Now he had something to live for again!
And history repeated itself, somewhat. Soon Magneto made friends, new friends, mutant friends. They gathered in deserted buildings and obscure rooms. His hatred and anger was fueled once more. Mystique had been captured—her powers having returned—and had been tortured and killed. Her very genes the basis for research for the Sentinel program.
As much as he hated to admit it, one thing had changed. He still had human friends, not many, merely a few. They stood beside them: Magneto was unable to truly understand, yet he accepted it begrudgingly. He'd always ridiculed Charles and Hank for their trust in humans… and now he was guilty of the same.
His better side claimed it was in Charles' honor, but the truth was far harsher. It was need, pure need and desperation, that drove him to accept it. Nothing noble or honorable.
He had never been virtuous, but always practical. Pragmatic to a fault he was.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Not wanting to draw attention to his altered physicality, Charles had found a way to make it appear as his former body. Although this new body should be able to walk, his mind had other plans. Just as severed limbs could still hurt or itch, Charles' mind could not remember walking. It was a harsh and ridiculous fate. Here he was, the world's best telepath—or so he thought for humbleness was not his strong suit—who could trace other mutants, who could conjure up visions, alter states of mind, and he could still not walk. The fact—or so Moira claimed—that it was psychosomatic, was even more unbearable. Defeated! By his own mind. The very mind that could present an image of the old Charles, even though technically his body no longer was the old Charles, could not make his legs function properly again.
Not wanting to draw attention to his altered physicality, not wanting it to usurp attention from his message or his return, Charles returned to the X-mansion. In a wheelchair, appearing revived. Risen from the grave. The students and teachers were shocked, one or two fainted at the sight of this dead person alive!
Raven's fate hit him hard. Charles could not recall a time when she wasn't on his mind. His sister, friend, later fiend of sorts. Hatred for the Sentinels filled his heart. It had never been this personal before.
Soon the rumors reached him. The Brotherhood was not dead. Magneto had returned. Charles was unsure whether to be thrilled or upset. He'd assumed Erik was dead, like so many others. Of course, Erik had watched him die…
Might they be reunited? Would fate clash them together when it was needed again? Should he seek him out himself? Charles pondered the question every night, before sleep overtook him.
News of his return from the realm of the dead had not reached Magneto's ears. He'd had finally confided his sins, to a human no less! As the daughter of a holocaust survivor, he didn't scare her. She could relate, at least to that part of his story.
Having released himself of the burden of his secrets, Erik felt better. Relieved to be known again. He'd had told her of his longings, of his deepest wish that his friend should live. He'd given up hope for that. For a while, he had hoped, Charles had been powerful, but after all this time… hope was gone.
Making life better was his only, never changing goal, the lives of all who shared the X-gene. And those who didn't stand in their way. Unfortunately many still stood…
Life slowly became darker. More and more of their kindred fell. Each batch of Sentinels was smarter, more lethal. The time would soon come that mutants could no longer afford to disagree on anything…
Reaching out to the X-men… It felt like a defeat. Yet he knew it was necessary.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend…
Magneto gritted his teeth, remembering this truth to fill him with strength, as he glided up the driveway towards the X-mansion.
Too many memories, good and bad, were part of this place….
"Professor..? Someone is coming…" Storm warned him, disturbing the peace of his classroom.
"Class dismissed!"
"Who is it? Sentinels?" he asked, worried that they'd hurt their sanctuary. The last place of safety for so many.
"Better see for yourself…" she answered cryptically.
The visitor had asked to meet in the gardens, reluctant to enter. Charles thought it odd but Storm assured him his back was covered.
"What is this mystery?" he shouted at a figure dressed in black standing by his grave. Mourning it seemed…
A shudder went through the figure as he turned around faster than Charles thought possible for one appearing so fragile.
"It can't be? Is it truly you?" Erik whispered. "Surely I must be dreaming…"
"It is I," Charles responded in the affirmative.
"I… I saw you…" Erik stammered. "You can't have…. I saw you…"
"My gifts may not have outshone Jean's," Charles sighed heavily, "but they are still considerable."
Erik responded with a sound he'd never thought he'd ever utter again. A chuckle. A genuine laugh.
With shining eyes, he said: "Resilience, thy name is Charles."
"I do aim to please," Charles replied, slightly sarcastic.
"I do too," Erik reacted more serious. "We've no choice but to cooperate… and I wouldn't wish to fight alongside anyone else…"
"Indeed."