I.

The Acquisition of Power was thought to be a simple legend written about as a fairy tale, passed down through the generations as a fable to ward off those that were greedy for the vast power that the family held. However, fate proved that this was much more than a fairy tale. It was real and now, one man knew that he and he alone would hold the power of his family. Once he gained the power of his counterparts, he could reshape the world to his will. He could correct the mistakes that were made with the initial creation of this world. And he would be able to lord over it all.

He knew it sounded like a trite plan. And cliché. Every body wanted to take over the world. But he knew that he was different from the rest of those imbeciles. He was better than all of them—the Magnetos, Apocalypses, and Sinisters. Those commonplace thorns in society's side were narrow-minded and selfish. He would succeed where they failed and do things the right way. Single-handedly, he would create the perfect world. And would all belong to him.

Only a few more deaths would secure his throne.

The armor clanked heavily across the floor to his desk, even through the wearer moved fluidly. He pushed aside books and papers, some in unrecognizable handwriting, and came to a stop on a list of names.

He grabbed a pen and scribbled through Thomas Cale, which was written multiple times on the paper. There was only one inscription of the name that remained.

Yes, only one more Cale left. Then everything would be his. The Acquisition of Power would be complete.

Simply imagining success, made him surge with energy. The room was too small to accommodate the power that radiated from this armored figure. It ruffled papers, knocked over stacks of books, shook glass bottles to the floor, and rattled the single window built high on the wall. And as a laugh burst forth, the energy tore thought the room, causing more destruction and shook the foundation of the castle.

His maniacal laugh echoed through the halls, the power he now wielded slowly driving him insane.

II.

"Mr. Cale," the young blond secretary hurried behind Thomas Cale, the owner of Cale Enterprises. When she was within a few feet of him, she said, "This important message was left for you. The caller didn't say who they were, but they stressed that you get this message and follow it precisely."

She hastily handed the yellow piece of paper to him.

Thomas took the paper and skimmed over it, reading the words silently. Once he had finished, he crumpled the paper in his hand.

The secretary looked stunned and guilty. "I apologize Mr. Cale, I—"

Thomas gave the young woman a warm smile. "I should be apologizing. I didn't mean to alarm you. It was just an unexpected message, one I wasn't looking forward to. I'm leaving for the day. Can you cancel my meetings and forward my calls to Pat?"

The secretary nodded eagerly. "Yes, Mr. Cale."

"If everything quiets down, go home early. It's Friday." Thomas smiled again before heading toward the elevator.

"Thank you, Mr. Cale!" the secretary called as the elevator doors closed.

Thomas made his way to his car and pulled out of the parking garage of the high rise headquarters of Cale Enterprises. Instead of turning left on Sanford Street, which always took him by a small café he always ate lunch at, he turned left, heading toward the theater.

It was up until last year that the theater would be packed to the brim with patrons watching various performances put on by the drama group of Easton. However, due to financial difficulties and a lack of an audience, the theater had closed its doors. It was still a nice building: the outside was of old, faded brick with iron balconies white shutters. The inside, which had been remodeled only five years before was lavish with wood paneling, combined with gold fixtures and bright lighting.

Thomas walked through the front doors and closed them quietly, even though he was sure that the person that had summoned him here was already aware of his presence. His hard soled Oxfords thudded lightly on the carpet then down the aisle, straight to the stage.

Thomas leaped over the orchestra pit onto the stage. He scanned the seats but saw no indication that anyone had been there. Before he could decide what to do next, a bright spotlight clicked on and shined right in his face.

Covering his eyes, Thomas squinted to try to make out who was behind the spotlight. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that there was no one there.

Then, he felt it. Someone was behind him.

Moving with much more agility than most his age, Thomas dropped down. He felt a strong swipe of a blade, which missed his head by inches. Thomas sprung up and flipped once, putting a bit of distance between him and his attacker.

"Well, it's about time you showed up. I was beginning to worry that you had canceled on me," Thomas held his hand by his side and a flame erupted toward the floor. It disappeared, leaving behind a magnificent sword, which Thomas now held in front of him.

"So, this is the prophesized threat to the Cale bloodline, huh? You look like a simple, clunky knight to me."

The armored knight simply stepped back, positioning himself into an offensive stance, his sword poised for an attack.

"A man of few words? Fine, I don't like chit-chatting anyways."

Thomas made the first move with an overhead strike. The armored figure blocked the attack easily and counterattacked with a low strike. Thomas blocked the attack effortlessly. The two went back and forth for what seemed like an hour, one never able to gain an advantage over the other.

Thomas breathed heavily as he surveyed his opponent, who had no indication of fatigue. He stood, ready for the next wave of attacks.

He took the pause in battle to analyze the knight's fighting style. It was definitely formidable, one of the best that Thomas had ever seen. But it was too good. Thomas was a master of the sword, his fighting style passed down through the generations. Yet, this knight was able to keep up blow for blow. There was something familiar about this knight. Too familiar.

An unfamiliar feeling of uneasiness suddenly swept through Thomas as he waited for the slightest move from the knight.

"Waiting on me, huh?" Thomas broke the silence that permeated the theater. "Seems my sword won't do, try this!" Thomas leaped into the air and with a swipe of his sword, rained down ice daggers.

The knight phased out of the way, appearing behind Thomas in the air and landed a strike to his back.

Thomas hit the stage hard but still kept possession of his sword. He tried to shake off the pain that suddenly racked his body. Just then, he realized that he wasn't prepared for this battle in the least. He knew what he was up against, yet he underestimated his opponent. Now, he was going to fall victim to whatever the knight had in store for him.

Thomas turned onto his back to see the knight with his large broadsword over his head. It then arched downward right toward his head.

At the last possible second, Thomas threw his sword up and blocked the attack, much to the knight's surprise.

"I'm not going to make it so bloody easy for you! You want me? Well, you're going to have to find me!" With that, Thomas repeated a chant in a guttural language, spoken in some ancient time in some mysterious, long-forgotten land.

The knight looked back in forth as unnatural energies began to crackle in the air. Sparks of electricity began to pop and the theater began to shake. The knight turned back to Thomas who had scrambled out of the knight's reach and now stood on the opposite side of the stage.

"I know your plan, dark knight. I also know that you haven't completed your quest yet. And now, I will be out of your grasp."

A portal opened behind Thomas, a swirling of blue and grey, opening to a place beyond the comprehension of normal people.

He waved then took a step back, pulled into the void of the portal. The knight moved quickly, and reached for the portal as it closed. Thomas only caught a glimpse of the knight successfully following him into the portal, before it closed, sending Thomas and his pursuer to a destination unknown.

III.

Tasha Lewis read over the same sentence in the magazine she was reading. It was the tenth time that she had read the sentence. Giving up on trying to distract herself, she closed the magazine.

She glanced at her watch. It had only been five minutes since Michael agreed to go talk to Rich. But even five minutes seemed too long. Tasha wished he would come back with Rich tagging along, apologizing for having all of them worried.

It was only a few days ago that Rich withdrew from everyone and kept himself closed in his room. He wouldn't let anyone in, not even Grimore. Yvette, Kai, Godiva, and Tasha took turns making meals and leaving them outside his room. Sometimes they would return to find it eaten, but other times, it would be totally untouched.

Though Tasha was adopted, she felt that they had a strong sibling bond. Before this, they told each other everything, relied on each other without fear of being judged, and helped each other no matter what happened. He was a great older brother and Tasha did her best to be a great younger sister. Until now.

She partially blamed herself, lately she had been so caught up with school that if there were any warning signs, she wouldn't have noticed them, even if they had been blatantly obvious. When Rich suddenly went into self-imposed exile, Tasha wondered if she could have prevented it. Maybe if she were around more, he would have had someone to talk to about whatever was bothering him.

Tasha shook her head. She was being irrational. She wasn't gone any more than a normal teenager in the eleventh grade was. And she wasn't the only person that Rich could talk to and she wasn't the only person Rich was ignoring. Kai, Godiva, Yvette, and Grimore were in the same boat, worried sick.

Still, the irrational thought that she somehow hadn't done enough nagged at her.

She was relieved to see Michael McNeal head back down the stairs but sighed when she saw he was alone.

"Did he talk to you?" Tasha's violet eyes were heavy-laden with concern.

Michael tried to smile, "I don't think he was happy with my lock picking skills," he tapped his temple. "He could use some sun and a shower, but other than that, he's okay."

Tasha frowned. "Aren't you the one always telling people they can't lie to a psi?"

"I guess I am, huh?" Michael smiled. Tasha was a psi-like Michael, but her powers were limited to telepathic communication, mind-control, and what she called her Psychic Bolt. Basically, the attack would fire off all the synapses in her opponent, rendering them unconscious or worse. She rarely used it though, relying on her other powers to help others.

Michael pondered on the best way to frame Rich's condition. "He's closing himself off to the world. I know that he's a private person. He was always like that, even at school. But this is even worse than that. It's more like he's hiding from something."

Tasha shook her head. "He just started acting like this a few days ago. It's really strange. He won't talk to anyone. Not Kai, Grimore, or Godiva. He's even been avoiding Yvette."

"That's not like him at all. No matter what happened, he always kept Yvette close and told her everything. I would suspect that he held all of you in the same regard. He wouldn't just shut you out like that," Michael said.

Rich was Yvette's savior, helping her to literally break out of her shell, and experience life as a normal person. Well, as normal of a life as a student of Xavier's could have. Eventually, they fell in love. Rich and Yvette eventually left the school temporarily to resume his position as head of Paladin Technologies.

"I'm sorry. I wish that Rich were feeling a little better. It's terrible that you came all this way for this."

Michael smiled warmly. "It's not your fault. I probably should have called before I popped over here. It's not a big deal. I'll just stay in a hotel for a few days and—"

"I hope I didn't hear what I think I just heard," a stern voice sounded from the kitchen. Godiva Cale leaned from around the corner and gave Michael a no-nonsense glare. "I hope that I didn't hear you were staying in a hotel. What I should have heard is that you were bringing your stuff in to stay here."

Michael shrank back. "Well, I don't want to impose," he shyly said.

"Mike, look at this humongous castle. There are only a few people that live in this place. There's no way you could impose on anyone here. Now, grab your stuff. Kai's finishing up dinner."

"Thanks, Godiva."

"Don't worry about it. You guys took care of my cousin for all that time, this is the least I could do."

"Well, your cousin definitely saved our butts quite a few times."

Godiva smiled. "That's Rich for you. Now hurry up so we can eat. You look like you need something to eat anyways."

Michael looked disapprovingly at himself. He thought that he looked healthy. Maybe a little slender with little fat but not emaciated like Godiva made it sound. "Are you saying I'm skinny?"

"Well, you could stand to gain a few pounds," Godiva smiled as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Michael desperately looked at Tasha. "My self-esteem is dropping to zero. Please tell me I'm not that skinny."

As Tasha shrugged and smiled, Yvette rounded the corner with a huge smile. "Don't worry. You look great!"

"Yvette, it's good to see you," Michael returned the smile.

She looked great. Her red hair, striking azure eyes, and fair skin still made her look like a specially made doll than a toughened student of Xavier's. No one would be able to tell by looking that she could instantly transform her skin into a diamond hard, razor-sharp substance, complete with claws that replaced her hands and feet.

Her brilliant smile faltered slightly. "I'm sorry that you came at such a difficult time."

Michael shook his head. "Maybe he just needs some old friends around. I'll call the others in a few days and see if they can make it out."

"I think that would be great. I wouldn't mind seeing everyone again myself. It's been a long time." Yvette added, "I know Rich is acting strangely right now, but I'm sure he appreciates your visit."

"Yeah, I just wish I could figure out what was wrong," Michael rubbed his chin. He respected Rich enough to not read his mind. But if this went on for too long, Michael was willing to have Rich be angry with him if it meant getting to the bottom of what was going on. But that would be a last resort. Right now, Michael was simply glad that he had a place to stay and great food to eat.

Michael quickly grabbed his bags and set them in a room on the third floor of five. He washed his hands then quickly headed back downstairs. Michael's mind wandered to the others and he really did contemplate calling them out to England. But then, he thought against it and settled down to eat.

Despite the power he wielded, there was no way for Michael to know that before the week was out, he would be seeing plenty of his teammates again and not under the best circumstances.

IV.

The Danger Room session was enjoyable, but after it was done, Jubilee found herself slipping back into a depressed state. It was easy to hide it from everyone with attitude, but when she was alone, she couldn't hide it from herself.

She stood at her window, gazing out into the night sky. In her mind, she connected the stars to make Everett Thomas's smiling face then rearranged the lines to make Angelo Espinoza sticking out his tongue at her. Another few twists of the lines created the smiling face of Jean Grey-Summers.

Jubilee couldn't escape her thoughts even in the vast night sky. She grabbed a magazine from her bed and flopped down. She had only glanced at the page for a moment when she heard a knock at her door.

"Yeah," she shouted.

The door opened and a familiar face stepped into the room.

"Monet?" Jubilee tossed her magazine to the side. "Why are you here?"

"I predicted that you would ask me such a foolish question, so I prepared an equally foolish answer. Because I am."

"Same old Monet."

"Same old Lee."

The two girls smiled at each other. Their relationship was always a strange one, a solid mix of love and hate, competition and compassion, friendship and criticism. Through it all, they still respected each other on a level that few could understand. Despite their relationship, now more than ever, she was glad to see Monet.

"So, you got some time off from playing Princess Power with the Paris X-Men?"

Monet strode confidently across the room and glanced out of the window. "Lee, you never cease to amaze me with your childish attacks. I presumed you had grown out of such presumptuous mannerisms, but apparently, though not often, I was mistaken."

"Hayseed, I need a translator!" Jubilee yelled out of her door.

Bare footsteps scuttled down the hall. "Jubilee, is everything okay?" Paige rushed into the room, short of breath. "I heard screaming and thought—" she trailed off when she saw Monet staring at her blankly.

"Paige, you always were the one for dramatics," Monet smiled.

Paige rushed over and wrapped her arms around Monet. "Ohmygosh—itssogoodtoseeyou—youdontknowwhatsbeengoingon—everythingsbeensoconfusingandterribleandthenigotkickedoffthex-menand—"

Monet gasped and attempted to wriggle out of Paige's emotional grasp. "Paige, though I possess a copious amount of powers and am highly fluent in several languages, I cannot comprehend or even vaguely translate gibberish, particularly when it's accompanied with sobbing."

Paige pulled back a second, tears brimming at the edges of her bright blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Monet. I just—"

Monet looked embarrassed. "I wasn't trying to be insensitive, Paige. I—" as Monet's voice fell, so did her eyes until she was looking at her feet.

"Hey, don't sweat it," Jubilee brightly said. "We're all here together, right? And that's all that matters."

Monet smiled and so did Paige.

"Okay, group hug, just this one time while Monet and I can still stand each other," Jubilee reached for the two girls and they embraced until they felt better.

V.

The hard, cold concrete was the first thing Thomas Cale felt as his eyes fluttered open. Then pain.

As his eyes focused, he saw a crowd of people hovering over him with expressions of bewilderment, concern, and wonder on their faces. He couldn't discern a single comment from the hushed murmurs that circulated through the crowd, but Thomas knew they were talking about him.

Thomas tried to move but the pain was too intense. Had he fallen from the sky? He suddenly felt uneasy with his plan. His teleportation spell did its job, but at the same time, something didn't feel quite right. He should have simply ended up outside the theater, where he would have more room to battle his opponent, whoever it was underneath all the armor. Which then brought up the question, where was the Dark Knight? Thomas knew that it had followed him into the portal, but it should have emerged right behind him. But then again, if there was some kind of disruption in the portal, maybe something else had happened. Something Thomas wasn't in any shape to think about.

His head began to spin and he felt like he was going to vomit. He coughed but took a deep breath and tried to relax. There was no way he was getting up. A siren wailed in the distance and Thomas realized someone had at least called an ambulance. He would be bale to figure everything out once he got a little sleep.

No!

Thomas couldn't afford to slip into unconsciousness. The knight was still out there somewhere and would be coming for him. He had to be ready, but he was so tired. Maybe a small nap wouldn't hurt. Yeah, a small rest then he would be ready for the Dark Knight.

As the siren grew closer, Thomas Cale slipped into an unconscious slumber.

VI.

The sound of metal crashing against concrete echoed through the deserted alley then it was silent again. The armored figure looked left and right, slightly disoriented, but angered by where he had ended up.

And where the hell was Thomas Cale?

Then someone slumped against the brick wall caught his eye. It must've been Thomas. The figure approached the figure and snatched him up by his shirt, pinned him against the wall, and lifted him two feet off the ground.

It wasn't until the last second that the knight saw that the man he held in his hand wasn't Thomas Cale, but a disheveled bum, reeking of alcohol and sweat. The bum opened his eyes slowly and gasped at the sight of the Dark Knight. He wanted to scream, but his raspy voice was caught in his throat.

"Where is he?" the knight growled.

The drunken homeless man mumbled a few incoherent syllables then his head rolled forward loosely.

"Where is he?" the knight asked through gritted teeth.

The reply was nothing more than a whisper of sleep. The knight grabbed the homeless man with both hands and slammed him into the wall, leaving the man dangling a foot off the ground, his head smashed into the brick wall.

The armored knight heard the siren approaching and quickly deduced that Thomas in fact had ended up elsewhere and some concerned patron had called for an ambulance. It was of no consequence though. The old fool had simply prolonged the inevitable. His death was unavoidable.

The knight had a single thought in mind, so it never occurred to him that the environment was totally different from where he first battled Thomas Cale.

After killing the useless bum, the dark knight lingered only until he detected the faint residual energy signature of Thomas. Once locked on, he turned and strode confidently down the alleyway, made a left, and headed straight to the hospital. The knight tromped into the street, disregarding the peculiar stares and headed after the sirens. Straight toward the hospital.

No one would stand in his way. This was the last Cale that he had to kill before gaining the ultimate power. Just thinking about it made his heart speed and his blood race. The energy surged through him relentlessly, filling every piece of him with magical power, strength, resilience, speed, and agility. No one would dare stop him and if they tried, they would meet the sharp end of his mighty blade.

The sound of a siren approaching from behind didn't even register as a threat. Nor did the screeching cars in front of him. The police—the knight assumed that's what they were—stood in his path, guns drawn, barking commands for him to stop, to put his sword down, to lay on the ground.

Didn't they realize they were nothing but weak humans? None of them deserved to breathe the same air, let alone attempt to stand in his way. The surprising nerve of these police, thinking that mere bullets would stop him.

They shot several times at the knight, but the bullets ricocheted off his black armor, never slowing his stride even for a moment.

The police were brave, the knight gave them that small credit. They stood their ground, even when the blade whistled through the air, they didn't scream. Maybe it was because the blade moved too swiftly for them to react. Regardless, they fell before his blade like a hot knife through warm butter. Killing them took no effort at all.

Then there were screams. Someone always screamed. A woman, a passerby on her way to the store or to the bus stop, stopped to gander at the scene and yet somehow was surprised at the death and destruction she witnessed.

But it wasn't for the dark knight to understand. He had his mission and no one would stand in his way.

No one.