I do not own X-Men Apocalypse.
I do not own Magneto.
There in the Beginning and the End
He had been happy.
He, Erik Lensherr, had been happy.
For the briefest spans of time, he had simply been happy.
No mutant agenda, no earth-shattering crisis.
Just him.
Just them.
Just happy.
Against all odds, against all logic.
Against any sense in any world, he had been happy.
With his wife. With their son.
With himself.
He had let her go.
Let them go.
Let everything go.
Everything about himself that he had been, he had let go.
Slowly, uncertainly.
But with burgeoning happiness and a quiet sense of relief.
And become something else.
A father.
A husband.
A mutant man.
He had changed dirty diapers.
Comforted colicky babies.
Dried countless dishes as she washed them.
Massaged her aching feet and talked about his day.
Held her as she cried over the death of her mother.
He had washed the car, mown the lawn, and paid the taxes.
He had given the boy bathes, chased away closet monsters, and read bedtime stories.
But most of all, most importantly, he loved, truly loved, his family.
And now they were gone.
Their dead bodies he had cradled in his arms.
Kissed their grime covered faces.
Wept his anguish down upon them.
He had felt his heart rip apart in his chest.
Felt the ground beneath him quake in his rage.
And then, with nothing else to live for, and nothing left to lose, he had risen.
Slowly. Flatline-calmly.
With his broken heart dead in his seething chest.
Once more.
Risen to become The Magneto.
With a burning, fiery-cold vengeance.
Capable of razing heaven and earth to dust.
And consuming the very sun itself.
She wouldn't want this.
The voice was small, quiet, and still.
It called out from between a place of darkness and light.
That bright place between rage and serenity.
She wouldn't want this. She would want peace.
And because it was it was a voice that called out to him, he answered.
I don't know that, do I? Because I can't ask her. No. She's dead.
And received a reply.
But you knew her. You knew what she would want and not want. And she would not want this.
The voice wasn't Charles'.
He knew that for certain .
Charles had never known about her at all.
He had kept that safe.
Carefully, deliberately, safe.
No, it was his own voice.
The voice of the man he had become, if only for a short span of time.
She would want peace.
It was true.
She had loved him.
And she had wished and prayed so many times for him peace.
And instead, he had nearly destroyed the world she had found such joy in. Destroyed it in his own rage and grief.
He had been blinded by his pain.
But now he could see.
See what he had become in her name.
And see what he now had to do.
And so, with a quiet voice in his head and her lovely face floating his vision, Erik Lensherr now turned with new resolve.
To face his master.
En Sabah Nur.
Apocalypse .
And finally right the wrongs that he had done .
Complete conjecture, this. Based on the trailers and my own tenuous belief in Michael Fassbender's Erik Lensherr.
But I like the ideas behind it. Even though the concept of his domestic bliss baffles me.
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