Chapter -1X: What If?

In the vast realm of the cosmos, a tapestry of stars, swirling galaxies, and ethereal nebulae interwove, creating an endless expanse of celestial beauty. Amidst this great vastness, a curious sight caught one's attention: a radiant portal, tiny yet ever-expanding. This portal, shimmering with iridescence, offered glimpses into a myriad of realities and timelines, a mosaic of worlds within its depths.

Emerging from this kaleidoscope of possibilities was The Watcher himself. His skin was a muted shade of blue that seemed to absorb and reflect the surrounding cosmos simultaneously. His large head, almost disproportionate to his body, was a testament to his expansive knowledge, and his piercing ethereal blue eyes were windows to countless universes. As they darted from one portal to another, one could almost perceive the weight of endless eons and infinite stories they held within. He was the embodiment of silent observation, an ageless guardian of the multiverse.

"I am The Watcher," he intoned with an air of detached wisdom. "From universe to universe, I've observed. Seen the crescendos and abysses of each, the heroes, the foes. Yet, I remain, forever, a bystander. To watch, to understand, that is my eternal vow."

The voice of The Watcher resonated with an omnipresent echo that seemed to originate from every corner of the universe, "Time. Space. Reality. These aren't merely stages of a linear journey. Rather, envision them as an intricate prism, branching endlessly into threads of what once was, what might have been, and what is yet to unfold."

As one gazed deeper into the portal, memories from the world unveiled themselves. But not as one might remember them. There was Professor Xavier in his iconic wheelchair, Wolverine with his fierce metallic claws, and Jean Grey exhibiting her formidable telepathic might. But peculiar twists interrupted the familiar.

Jean Grey sat confined to the wheelchair, while Professor Xavier emanated an energy, a flaming aura reminiscent of the powers of creation and destruction...

Wolverine, leading not as an X-Man, but as the head of the Brotherhood of Mutants in Magneto's place…

The Watcher continued, "Each choice made, every path either embraced or shunned, gives birth to a new reality. A universe teeming with its own potential, repercussions, and tales."

The narrative accelerated as the portal displayed its alternate realities with increasing urgency. There was Magneto, but not as the leader of the Brotherhood; he instead stood as a shield, safeguarding humanity...

Storm's commanding presence arose, a hammer in her hand channeling the powers of a god…

As the portals surrounding The Watcher continued their dance of realities, he posed a question to the unseen observer, a challenge to one's very understanding of existence, "Why reveal these alternate tales? What purpose does it hold? It is a quest, dear reader, to expand the realms of your understanding, to challenge the confines of your beliefs, and to always ponder on one perpetual query: 'What If?'"

In the ever-shifting landscape of the cosmos, while other portals shimmered and danced, a new one emerged distinct and demanding attention. This portal pulsed with an unfamiliar energy, intriguing The Watcher.

He moved towards it, his flowing robes trailing behind him. As he neared, the portal offered glimpses of yet another set of possibilities. Each flash within it was a tantalizing taste of a story yet to be explored. Among the familiar faces of mutants, a new one stood out. This face had rugged features, a sharp jawline, and intense, almost fiery eyes. He learned this was Tyson, an alternate version of the mutant, Rogue.

The Watcher, intrigued by the new portal, murmured to himself, "A play of fate, an alternate strand in the grand tapestry. What stories you must hold."

Diving deeper into this portal's visions, The Watcher focused on one particular reality…

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The memories and experiences of Illyana flowed through Tyson's mind. He felt the connection to Limbo and utilized it to match the devil's teleportation as he clashed with Azazel. He struggled to adapt and blend the influx of knowledge and power from both teleporters. With each teleportation, Tyson's understanding of Azazel deepened, the devil's soul interweaving with the others inside him, shifting the battle in his favor. He accessed memories of the demon's tactics, countering his every move. His healing factor mended any inflicted wounds instantly. His heightened senses, combined with the cunning of both Azazel and Illyana, made him a formidable opponent. He twisted, turned, and outmaneuvered Azazel, predicting each move and countermove.

Azazel, not used to being outmatched, growled in frustration. "How are you doing this?!" he hissed, his black eyes narrowing in fury. "Who are you? Mephisto? Lucifer?"

Tyson lunged, grappling the devilish entity in a vice grip. As he made contact again, Azazel's life force began streaming into Tyson further shifting the fight closer to his victory. The devil's eyes, normally glowing with malice, widened in fear.

"Release me!" Azazel spat, his voice cracking. His energy depleted rapidly, leaving him a weakening shadow of the formidable foe he once was. Azazel desperately tried teleporting; a burst of crimson engulfed the two, but when the light faded, Tyson's grip remained unbroken. Azazel tried once more, again failing to free himself. This time they emerged near Illyana, who was just starting to shake off the remnants of the charm that had ensnared her.

Panic set into Azazel's eyes. The fingers of his free had danced in a pattern that Tyson recognized, arcane spellcasting. An abyssal word of power squeaked past Tyson's iron grip.

Time seemed to warp for Tyson. With his heightened senses, the moment felt stretched. In the space of a heartbeat, Tyson recognized the sensation building around them. It was familiar, something from the depths of his mind; knowledge came to him from Azazel's understanding of magic. This wasn't a spontaneously cast spell. Its effects manifested too quickly. This was something Azazel prepared in advance.

Private Sanctum.

As realization dawned, the atmosphere in the room changed. The few flickering candles went out, leaving only the afterglow of their light. The hum of magic grew louder in Tyson's ears, like the droning of bees.

Tyson's mind raced faster. The pulsing of the spell signified the barrier solidifying. Tyson understood; Azazel had the foresight to prepare contingencies. His thoughts whirred.

Private Sanctum disabled all teleportation. Tyson's, Illyana's, and Azazel's as well. Could he break it? No. Counter it? No. They were trapped… but so was Azazel. Why would he use that spell when he was already at a disadvantage?

Unable to free himself from Tyson's draining grasp and growing weaker with each passing second, Azazel made a desperate move. His rapier, gleaming menacingly, thrust toward Illyana's heart. The sharp tip of the sword shimmered as it sailed through the air, aimed with lethal precision.

Tyson finally recognized the trap.

With his current position, if he maintained his grip on Azazel, Illyana would die.

Tyson tried to teleport them both away but nothing happened thanks to Azazel's prepared spell. Until the spell ended or Azazel willingly dismissed it, they'd be unable to teleport.

Illyana's eyes widened in shock as the sleek rapier pierced her chest, its cold and gleaming tip protruding from her back. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Tyson could see the flickering light in Illyana's eyes, the surprise turning to pain. Blood started to seep out, staining her clothes in dark crimson.

Tyson's grip on Azazel only tightened, anger radiating from his very core. But Azazel's face didn't register triumph, only terror. The spell and tactics that were meant to be his escape had backfired. Instead of freeing him, the spell had trapped him there with an enraged Tyson, and Illyana, who lay wounded, her life force ebbing away.

Tyson could feel Azazel's panic, the thrum of his heartbeat, the desperation as he tried to break free. But it was all in vain. Azazel's struggles grew weaker with every passing moment, his once formidable strength fading. The very life force that had sustained him for centuries was now being drained away.

Illyana, with her last ounce of strength, whispered in her thick Russian accent, "Finish him, Tyson. For both of us."

As the last remnants of Azazel's life ebbed away, Tyson felt a surge of power, the culmination of everything the ancient mutant had ever been, now a part of him. A rush of memories, experiences, and emotions flooded into Tyson. It was like a dam had broken, a torrent of information and raw energy pouring into him. He could feel the weight of ages, the wisdom, the treachery, and the sheer might of the ancient mutant. The once proud devil lay lifeless, defeated by his desperation and Tyson's relentless determination.

With Azazel's life force fully assimilated, Tyson turned swiftly to Illyana, his mind racing. The sheen of sweat on her forehead and the weak rise and fall of her chest told him he didn't have much time. Through the rush of Azazel's memories — years of mystical incantations and forbidden rituals — one spell stood out like a beacon.

Life Transference.

The concept was straightforward: exchange your own vitality to mend another. The spell dealt double the damage to the caster versus what it healed on the target. In the hands of anyone else, the cost might be too great. But Tyson's unique healing factor changed the stakes.

Gathering his focus, Tyson began the incantation, his fingers moving in precise, deliberate motions. A symphony of ethereal blue and gold sparkles, reminiscent of a cosmic dance, spiraled from his hands, echoing the visual spectacle of the sorcerers he remembered in the films.

As the magic of the spell settled in, pain surged through Tyson's body. Jagged wounds, deep gashes, and bloody punctures appeared spontaneously across his skin, each injury representing the life force he was surrendering. The pain was intense, a raw sensation that would've brought anyone else to their knees. But for every wound that opened, his healing factor responded with rapid vigor, sealing the cuts almost as soon as they appeared.

Illyana's eyelids fluttered, her blue eyes trying to focus. Through labored breaths, she managed to utter, "What... are you doing?"

"Just hold on, Illyana," Tyson replied, maintaining the intricate dance of his fingers as the magic flowed. "You'll get through this."

The magical energy swirled and tightened, concentrating into a bright beam that connected Tyson to Illyana. The light seemed to breathe life back into her, the pallor of her skin brightening, the depth of her wounds lessening. When the last remnants of the spell dissipated, Tyson, exhausted but whole, looked down to see Illyana's eyes clear and focused. She took a deep breath, feeling strength return to her limbs.

Illyana looked at Tyson, a hint of gratitude leaked through her heavy accent. "You saved me. That's two I owe you now. Thank you." Her eyes roved over Tyson, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Not sure if the look suits you, you just healed me, like an angel, but you look like a devil."

The change had felt so natural, Tyson hadn't noticed when he grew a tail and took on the appearance of a devil. When their gazes met again a deep urge overcame Tyson. A small voice tried to speak, but it was drowned out by predatory instincts and a conquering drive. A spark ignited in his eyes, and Illyana couldn't look away. Low, cryptic words tumbled from his mouth before he could discern their meaning. "She kissed a devil, and in return, the hellfire no longer burned." His tone returned to normal and a sly grin plastered itself on his face. "Tell me you like what you see."

The mischievous sparkle in Illyana's eyes dulled for a moment, replaced by an almost trance-like state. Then her eyes regained their sharpness "Hmm," she murmured, her voice dripping with a sultriness Tyson had never heard before. "The color of your skin, that tail…" She leaned in, her face inches away. The intense look in her eyes was slowly replaced by her usual fiery spirit, but the sultriness remained. "Just admiring the view," she whispered, smirking. "I like what I see."

Tyson could feel the power of Azazel's charm. He'd unintentionally used the ability on her. Illyana's eyes were now uncertain; they reflected a mix of confusion and vulnerability. He wanted to push away the intoxicating lure of this newfound power. He wanted to apologize. But then, another voice whispered in the depths of his mind. It was seductive and commanding, pulling at his basest desires.

Use it, the voice seemed to purr. She's never been this vulnerable.

Tyson shook his head violently as if physically trying to dislodge the insidious thoughts. Sabertooth's wild instincts roared in agreement with Azazel's sultry suggestions, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of a dangerous precipice.

Illyana's fingers lightly brushed against his shirt. She looked up at him with wanting eyes.

Illyana whispered, her voice barely audible. Tyson leaned down to hear her words. Once he was closer, she leaned in as if telling a secret, but instead placed a chaste, tentative kiss on his cheek. Her uncertainty made her seem all the more appealing, stoking the fires of the primal urges battling within him.

The newfound power coursing through Tyson's veins was intoxicating, and it became harder and harder for him to resist its allure. There was a rawness, a savage intensity that threatened to sweep away his reason and restraint. And for just a moment, he surrendered to it.

He turned to Illyana, and with a surge of will, pressed into her mind. Her usually fierce blue eyes became cloudy, distant, and vulnerable. They were the eyes of someone awaiting direction.

"Illyana," Tyson's voice held a command, a deep resonance that seemed almost inhuman. "Azazel referred to you as the Mistress of Limbo."

A shiver ran through her, the words piercing her very being. Her expression changed, becoming less defensive and more submissive, ready to obey.

With a wicked, almost predatory grin, Tyson continued, "Every king needs a mistress or two. You, Illyana, are mine, as is Limbo. From this point on, and forever forward."

Illyana's lips parted, her voice coming out in a soft, almost dreamlike whisper, "I am yours, Tyson. Limbo and I, we are yours to command."

The powerful declaration hung in the air between them, charged with the weight of Tyson's newfound authority and Illyana's submission. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause, awaiting the next chapter in their intertwined fates.

The energy crackling between Tyson and Illyana was almost tangible. With the weight of the power he now wielded, he leaned in, capturing Illyana's lips with his own. The kiss was passionate, and as their lips met, Tyson felt the rush of her life force flowing into him. Illyana's reaction was almost unexpected. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss as if she felt no pain as her fingers curled into his shirt. Their shared powers surged and created a bond that was more profound than mere physical connection.

But as quickly as the fervor rose, Tyson realized the danger and pulled away, ensuring he didn't drain her of too much. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, both a little dazed from the intensity.

As their lips parted, Tyson felt something shift within him. The connection he'd had to Limbo through Illyana's powers became something more — it was now a part of him, woven into his very being. A sense of dominion settled on his shoulders, anchoring him to the chaotic dimension.

Illyana's eyes, still glazed with passion, sought his. With a sense of determination, Tyson wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. He accessed Azazel's shapeshifting ability and returned himself to his previous non-demonic appearance. The Sanctum spell was still active, so he lifted Illyana up in a bridal carry and brought her outside of the structure.

Tyson summoned a swirling portal, its edges shimmering with otherworldly light. Without hesitation, the pair stepped through, leaving behind the dimension of Limbo. Moments later, they emerged in the familiar surroundings of Xavier's Institute.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

The face of Ororo Munroe stared back at him, but he knew better. Tyson knew exactly who, and what, he was dealing with.

Mystique.

His heightened senses worked in overdrive, picking up the details that most would miss. His eyes traced the outfit 'Ororo' was wearing. A long-sleeved turtleneck and gloves were similar to the outfit he'd seen her wear when he first arrived at the institute. It hadn't raised any flags, but now that he looked, he noticed that it provided no opening for him to make skin contact. Clothes were like armor against his power. Mystique was no fool; she had come prepared, aware that his power required direct contact.

Tyson's mind spun with possibilities. His hand held Mystique at bay, but his other arm was occupied, the unconscious form of Jean leaned against his side. Another problem prickled at the back of his mind. If this was playing out like the film then Mystique wasn't the only adversary lurking around. Sabertooth was out of the picture, but there were others. Toad, the agile, tongue-lashing mutant, and, of course, the mastermind himself, Magneto. The thought of coming face-to-face with the magnetic manipulator set his nerves on edge. Especially sitting inside a train car, which was essentially…

A giant metal box…

Tyson mentally cursed himself. The scene from the movie played out in his head. Rogue was kidnapped from a train. And that happened with Wolverine, Cyclops, and Storm nearby. Tyson only had Jubilee and an unconscious Jean as backup.

All these thoughts raced through his mind at a breakneck speed, but thoughts alone wouldn't resolve this situation. Time was not on his side. He had to act, and he had to act now.

With a sharp surge of regret, Tyson let Jean's unconscious form slump to the floor. He knew it was a harsh move, but it was a necessary one. As long as the plot of the movie stayed on course, the antagonists had only one target - him. Jean, though incapacitated, was momentarily safe.

His powerful hand remained locked around Mystique's arm, gripping her like a vice. Swift as a striking cobra, he brought his free hand around and clamped it around her neck. His large fingers cut off the blood supply to her head and silenced any words she might have uttered. The only thing preventing her life force from being stolen was the turtleneck crushed against her skin.

Suddenly, with a force borne from superhuman strength, Tyson moved. His feet pounded against the floor of the carriage as he lunged for the side wall. Mystique's head was still captured in his grip, and she was forcibly carried along as he dragged her. They were a blur of motion, as they made contact with the wall, the window beside them shattered from the force, allowing the wind to whip around the train car. The train's metal wall groaned under the sudden pressure, bending under Tyson's superhuman strength.

The abruptness of the movement and the terrifying sight of their conflict sent shockwaves through the passengers. Some had been knocked down with Tyson's monstrous leap. Others scattered or screamed as they struggled to move away from the epicenter of the fight. Confusion reigned as they stumbled over each other, and tripped over abandoned bags and briefcases. Their panic created a chaotic tide within the moving train.

Tyson's attack was swift and unyielding. Mystique's head and upper body were embedded in the train's wall. Time seemed to crawl as chaos swirled around Tyson. It was like he was the eye of a storm; all was clear and calm in his immediate vicinity while pandemonium reigned just beyond. His focus was entirely on his target, Mystique. She struggled and fought, hitting his forearms, but he had Azazel's strength and Sabertooths, there was no comparison between them.

Seeing Mystique's true form had unlocked a deluge of Azazel's memories. As he parsed their shared past, an evil grin spread across his face.

His fingers tingled, signaling the onset of a transformation. The skin on his hands started to darken, turning a deep shade of crimson. As the change surged up his arms, it felt like fire running under his skin, hot and vibrant. His nails elongated into talons, each sharp enough to cut through steel. Tyson's face contorted, jaw elongating slightly, skin pulling tight against high cheekbones. His eyes turned a flat black that extended beyond the pupil, engulfing all the white. His hair became a jet-black mane, and his skin went blood-red. A devilish tail sprouted from behind, curling with a sinister grace. As the transformation was completed, Tyson stood there, a perfect imitation of Azazel.

Mystique was pinned against the wall. She stared at him, yellow eyes wide with a mix of recognition and horror. The malicious pleasure that bubbled within Tyson was unmistakable, it was a feeling of power, of control. He leaned in, close enough that the cool mist of his breaths tingled her face. His voice, deep and dripping with malevolence, whispered, "I'm back, Raven... and I want our child."

The weight of his words hung in the air. Tyson had tapped into one of Mystique's most closely guarded secrets, intending to twist the knife and make her squirm.

Mystique had always been adept at shielding her mind from unwanted intrusions. Over the years, her mental barriers had been honed and strengthened. Her brain was ever-shifting, matching her appearance, making it difficult for telepaths to read her thoughts. But Tyson's uncanny transformation and intimate knowledge of her darkest secrets created a momentary chink in her armor. He seized on it without hesitation. With a focused intensity, Tyson bore down on her mind using Azazel's charm. His face came closer, his whisper chilling in its intimacy. "You belong to me," he murmured with a cold certainty, "Forever..."

The psionic attack felt like fingers weaving their way into the fabric of Mystique's psyche, pulling at the threads of her identity, unraveling her. There was a momentary lapse in her once fierce demeanor. Her yellow eyes appeared clouded, filled with fear, confusion, and a hint of anguish. Her flailing movements seemed staggered as if trying to distance herself from the physical and mental intrusion.

The strong-willed shape-shifter looked fragile, shaken to her core. Tyson's words and charm aimed to leave a lasting mark.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he detected movement. It was as if the world around him had suddenly morphed into a surrealist painting. The metal of the train car peeled away, its rigid structure contorting and tearing open. It twisted and formed into metallic tendrils, all reaching out for him. Above, the roof split apart, unveiling the sky and the figure floating down.

Magneto.

He descended with his arms outstretched as if he were the Messiah himself. An aura of raw power emanated from his very being. He appeared to defy gravity, his descent steady and deliberate, resembling a deity descending upon his mortal subjects.

Making a quick decision, Tyson suddenly whirled around, his grip on Mystique tightening. He crouched low, his muscles coiling like springs, ready to release the pent-up energy within them. With a powerful thrust of his legs, he used every ounce of his superhuman strength to hurl Mystique straight at Magneto.

As she soared through the air, Mystique made for an unusual missile. But Magneto was a seasoned combatant and a master with his power. His hands subtly shifted in the air, a flick of his wrist signaled his next move. Somehow he'd slowed Mystique's flight. Then a plush train seat was torn from its fixed position. It lurched towards Mystique, its trajectory aligning perfectly with her path. With uncanny precision, Magneto matched its speed to hers. The cushioned seat absorbed the momentum of her flight, and she landed safely into the makeshift cradle.

Tyson couldn't help but admire the finesse with which Magneto manipulated his surroundings. Magneto handled his unexpected countermove with an expertise that was nothing short of mastery. He'd plucked Mystique from the air, ensuring his ally's safety and maintaining control of the battleground. But Tyson hadn't intended his move as an attack, not in the conventional sense. He had gambled on unpredictability, hoping to momentarily divert Magneto's attention away. And for what he had in mind, even a split-second distraction would suffice.

As Magneto turned his attention back to Tyson, that area of the train car was startlingly empty. There was now nothing but the nervous crowd scrambling to find safety. But Tyson was not among them. The seconds it took for Magneto to handle Mystique had been enough.

Tyson's ploy had worked.

Tyson began moving the moment he let go of Mystique, teleporting using Azazel's power. The chaos and panic of the crowd enveloped him, and he used it to his advantage, disappearing amidst the sea of terrified faces. But that wasn't all. Using Azazel's power, his form morphed and flowed like liquid, adapting and blending seamlessly with the crowd. The train car filled with anxious, scared, and shocked passengers proved to be the perfect camouflage. As Magneto's gaze swept across the car, it found no sign of the imposing figure that had been Tyson. Instead, it found only the faces of the city's ordinary denizens.

Even if Magneto had a way to reveal him and used it on the train's passengers, it wouldn't have mattered. Tyson wasn't among them. He was just a shadow, moving among the throngs of people on the Bronx streets. Hiding in plain sight.

As Tyson melted into the crowd, his mind began piecing together the chain of events that had culminated in this situation. He found it almost ironic that a situation that seemed so chaotic was actually the result of carefully laid plans, plans that had been meticulously orchestrated since the first manifestation of Rogue's power.

Rogue, or rather, the Rogue before he'd taken their place, was nothing more than a teenager whose power manifested at the wrong moment. It had made the news, of course. And that's how they had first come to Magneto's attention. In response, he had dispatched Sabertooth, who was particularly suited to tracking. Tyson took Rogue's place, and it wasn't until he was in the Canadian wilderness that Sabertooth had caught up to him and Logan. But Tyson had thrown a wrench into Magneto's plans when he'd killed Sabertooth. It was an unexpected twist that not only empowered Tyson but also deprived Magneto of his tracker and muscle. It was a crippling blow to Magneto's scheme, and it had forced him to alter his plans. Left with little choice, he had to choose between a direct assault on the Xavier Institute or bait Tyson out of the sanctuary. He chose the latter, sending Mystique to impersonate Ororo.

It had been a well-executed trap, one that Tyson had unwittingly fallen for. He'd let his guard down at the worst possible time. The smell of Ororo, now so obviously different, haunted his senses, but in the end, Tyson had figured it out.

As Tyson blended seamlessly into the throng of bystanders, his first instinct was to disappear completely. Scalping the game ticket for extra money crossed his mind. He could change his appearance at will, fade away into the city, never to be seen again.

But a harsh realization gripped him, he'd left Jubilee and an unconscious Jean behind. Tyson's eyes lifted to the spectacle unfolding above the crowd. He now understood Jubilee's conspicuous absence from the battle. She had fallen victim to an ambush by Toad. As Tyson attacked Mystique, Toad leaped into action, incapacitating the young firecracker.

Magneto orchestrated the entire ambush flawlessly. He floated above the crowd of gaping onlookers. Jubilee and Jean were wrapped in a cocoon of warped metal. Toad stood a short distance away, his baleful eyes darting around suspiciously. Bulbous warts dotted his complexion. He was like a guard dog scanning the crowd for any sign of Tyson's reappearance.

A short distance away, Mystique lay sprawled across a floating cushion, still recuperating from Tyson's mental invasion.

The sight of his friends, helpless and on display, fanned a burning anger within Tyson. His eyes locked onto Magneto, his mind spun with the options he had left.

High above the crowd, Magneto hovered, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dimming sky. With a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured to the entrapped Jubilee and the unconscious Jean, encased in his metallic grasp. He took a deep breath, his voice echoing with an amplified resonance that carried across the bewildered throng below. "Tyson," he boomed, "Your friends' lives hang in the balance. As does yours, I should think. You have demonstrated formidable abilities. Yet you persist in fighting against those who only seek to guide you, to help you harness this power." His eyes scanned the crowd, burning with an intensity that was almost palpable. "You've played the hero, even killed one of my own and wounded another." He motioned towards Mystique, her ragged breathing and sallow complexion a stark reminder of Tyson's capabilities. "Yet here we are, my friends and I, offering you a choice. Give yourself over to us, willingly. Join us. Only then can your friends be spared." His voice softened, the tone dripping with deceptive empathy. "You don't have to live as an outcast, Tyson. You can make a real difference. Don't let their lives be wasted on a misguided rebellion."

Magneto's words hung in the air, heavy and toxic, as he waited for Tyson to reveal himself. Meanwhile, Tyson had been weaving his way through the crowd, switching disguises. A businessman one moment, a hipster the next, even a wide-eyed teenager. All the while, maneuvering himself outside of Magneto's field of view where he could strike unnoticed.

As Magneto levitated above, a shout sliced through the silence from the crowd below. A burly man, with a trucker hat perched atop his disheveled hair, squinted up at the figure in the sky.

"Hey, you think you're Jesus or somethin'?" he bellowed, his thick Bronx accent carrying the insult straight to Magneto's ears.

A ripple of laughter swept through the crowd, the tension momentarily broken. Another voice piped up, this one feminine and sharp, "Yeah, and I'm the Virgin Mary!"

Despite the spectacle, the spirit of New York City was alive and kicking. A smattering of additional voices chimed in, taunts wrapped in humor, sarcasm that was the birthright of every true New Yorker. They were providing just the distraction Tyson needed.

"You'd make a lousy messiah, pal!"

"Hey buddy, what are you doing in the Bronx? Head down to the garden and bless the Knicks."

The insults and jabs echoed around the open space, laughter rising from the crowd, all aimed at the floating figure in the sky. It was the perfect distraction. Tyson prepared to seize the opportunity.

The typically bright New York summer sky was shifting, clouds bulking together like a gathering storm. The mutants recognized Storm's handiwork. She was closing in, her power manipulating the weather patterns to her favor. The crowd murmured uneasily as the sky darkened, and Tyson saw a thin line of tension hardened Magneto's features. But he gave no indication that he felt threatened. Instead, he floated higher, the words Magneto bellowed next were tinged with a cold finality. "This is your last chance, Tyson! Surrender now, or suffer the consequences."

Tyson grabbed the nearest man and used Azazel's charm, giving him a set of instructions. Then he hustled off quickly, like many others nearby trying to escape the scene.

A rowdy shout cut through the heavy tension, "Hey! I'm right here!" A burly construction worker in the crowd stepped forward, snatching Magneto's attention immediately. The sight of his stubbled face, smeared with a grin, grabbed Magneto's gaze. "Let Jean and Jubilee go and I'll give myself up. So, what's it going to be?" His voice carried a challenging edge, the faint trace of a dare. With a pointed look, he gestured from himself to Jubilee and Jean, their unconscious forms still encased in metal above the crowd. "Them or me?"

The man calling the girls by name wasn't lost on Magneto. With a wave of his hand, he released the girls. The metallic bonds around them dissipated and they dropped towards the crowd in a gentle descent, then along with steel from nearby vehicles and even random bits of refuse from the ground converged upon the man. They swirled around him, twisting and merging together until they coalesced into a solid sphere of metal. The crowd around them gasped in shock as the construction worker disappeared from sight, encapsulated within the metallic sphere.

Magneto had just finished erecting the formidable iron prison. Then a puff of smoke materialized in front of him. In a blink, Tyson was upon him. Strong fingers grasped Magneto's throat, not squeezing, but holding him in place with unyielding strength. As Tyson's fingers tightened, a torrent of memories engulfed him.

He was a young boy in a concentration camp bearing an indescribable weight of sadness. Fenced in by barbed wire, surrounded by soldiers and the emaciated faces of his fellow prisoners, he felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. A golden triangle pinned to his frail clothing represented the countless others like him, deemed unfit and unwanted. He left behind the haunted eyes of that little boy to grow into a powerful mutant. The world around him changed, but the memories of the camp never left. Instead, they fueled his passion, his rage against a world that he believed would never accept mutants. He met Charles Xavier. The brilliant young man with the dream of coexistence between mutants and humans. Their friendship, deep and genuine, only made their eventual ideological divergence all the more painful. He felt the loss of family, love, and of friends. The betrayals and those he had inflicted on others. There was a constant war within him; a battle between his traumatic past and the potential for a future. But above all, there was power. Power over magnetic forces, they responded to his every whim, metal bent to his will.

Magneto's iconic helmet, which shielded him from any psychic interference, was effortlessly ripped away. With a grit of his teeth, Magneto tried to rally his power, forming a magnetic shield around him. But, almost lazily, Tyson flicked his wrist and the shield shattered into sparkling fragments, vanishing before they hit the ground. In a last-ditch effort, Magneto manipulated nearby pieces of metal, directing them towards Tyson with force. But with another gesture from Tyson, the metal shards halted in mid-air, floating harmlessly before dropping to the ground.

Toad saw his chance and leaped. His long, adhesive tongue shot out, aiming directly for Tyson. But Tyson reacted; a shimmering sheet of metal materialized from the side, intercepting the outstretched tongue. It stuck fast, and Toad's momentum kept him moving forward until he landed hard on the ground. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, another huge metal sheet slammed down on top of him, effectively pinning him. Toad struggled briefly, his wide eyes filled with panic, but the weight was too much. He was trapped.

Meanwhile, Magneto's once proud posture sagged. His eyes, which had always held a fierce intensity, now looked hollow and dimmed. The once formidable leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants was a shadow of his former self.

Tyson felt it, an electrifying surge. It was like a storm of emotions, experiences, and raw power swirling, growing more intense with each passing second. He felt Magneto's strengths, his knowledge, and even the magnetic pulse of the Earth. But he also felt Magneto's fears, regrets, and the vast loneliness that had haunted him throughout his life. And then, as suddenly as it began, the storm stilled.

Magneto's essence had been fully absorbed into Tyson, leaving the former mutant leader lifeless in his arms. Tyson floated there, processing the immensity of what had just transpired. He still wore the devilish appearance of Azazel in the open sky above a large crowd. They watched as he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind the stunned onlookers whose mouths hung open in bewilderment. Moments later, he reappeared in a more secluded spot, the red of Azazel's skin quickly shifting to the familiar appearance of Tyson. The crimson skin, tail, and pointed ears, all dissolved, revealing the young man underneath.

He gently lowered Mystique to the ground using Magneto's power. Her piercing yellow eyes met his, but before she could react or perhaps even think to flee, Tyson's charm power surged forth. It enveloped her in a psionic compulsion she couldn't resist.

"Go back to the base," he commanded, voice laced with irresistible charm.

Without hesitation, Mystique nodded. "Understood." She then morphed, her blue scales giving way to the appearance of an average pedestrian. Her new form allowed her to melt seamlessly into the gathering crowd, her footsteps leading her back to the Brotherhood's base.

Tyson then turned his attention to Toad, who was still trapped beneath the crushing metal. With a mere thought, the metal lifted, freeing the captured mutant. Toad groggily tried to get his bearings, his eyes widening when they met the familiar gaze of...Magneto? Tyson had changed his appearance once again to resemble the group's leader.

"If you're still committed to our cause," Tyson said, voice deep and commanding in Magneto's tone, "return to the base. We have much to do."

Toad hesitated for just a moment, then nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir!" he responded, and without wasting another second, he bounded away in the direction of their hideout.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

A deafening roar sliced through the city, causing everyone nearby to turn their eyes skyward. A sleek, black jet descended, casting gusts of wind that ruffled clothing and sent small debris tumbling. Dust kicked up around the landing gear as it touched the ground. The jet's side door slid open, revealing three iconic figures. Cyclops, with his ruby-quartz visor; Storm, her silver-white hair billowing around her as if she commanded the very wind that had announced their arrival; and Wolverine, his stance low and ready, adamantium claws gleaming in anticipation of a fight.

But instead of the expected clash, the trio was met with a scene of devastation. Buildings were scarred, rubble littered the streets, and amidst the wreckage lay the fallen forms of their students, Jubilee and Jean. Their hearts sank. Initially, they thought it was Magneto standing over the duo. However, before despair could fully set in, they recognized it was Tyson wearing Magneto's signature helmet. His hands glowed with a soft, radiant energy as he hovered them over Jubilee and Jean. The shimmering magic flowed from Tyson and into the injured mutants. Jubilee's cuts began to mend, and Jean's labored breathing eased as they were healed by the Life Transference spell. Meanwhile, blood pooled around Tyson as wounds were continuously opened and healed as he channeled the spell.

Cyclops rushed to the girls, "Are you okay?"

Jean blinked, her green eyes focusing on him. "Professor Summers?... I'm...I'm fine now," she whispered.

Wolverine knelt beside Jubilee, his gruff exterior giving way to genuine concern. "You alright?"

Jubilee groggily sat up, rubbing her head. "Yeah, thanks to him." She gestured weakly to Tyson.

Storm approached Tyson, her blue eyes searching his. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "But what happened here?"

The magical glow surrounding Tyson dimmed, and he seemed to shimmer momentarily as the remaining wounds on his body sealed shut. He took a deep breath, and met Ororo's gaze. "We need to return to the institute," Tyson said, "There's a lot you need to know, and I'd rather explain it away from here."

Ororo nodded, and the group moved briskly to the Blackbird. As everyone found their seats and buckled in, Cyclops exchanged a worried look with Wolverine, who just grunted and looked out the window. Jubilee, still looking a bit shaken, rested her head against Jean's shoulder. They all waited for Tyson to speak. Taking a steadying breath, Tyson began. "It all started with the NBA finals tickets we received. Ororo, you handed them to us personally," he said, looking directly at her.

She frowned, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. "I did no such thing," Ororo replied, her voice edged with confusion.

Tyson's expression grew graver. "That's because it wasn't you. It was Mystique. She gave us those tickets as a trap."

Ororo's eyes flared with anger, but she remained silent, prompting him to continue.

"The train ride to the game seemed normal at first," Tyson recounted. "But then we were ambushed. Professor Ororo… or who we thought was you, attacked Jean, knocking her out first. There was also a weird frog-like mutant named Toad, and Magneto."

Storm gasped. "Magneto?"

Tyson nodded solemnly. "I managed to drive the others away, but Magneto... I had no choice but to end him to ensure everyone's safety."

A heavy silence fell upon the cabin. The weight of Tyson's revelation hung in the air.

Storm, taking a deep breath, finally broke the silence. "You're going to have to explain all of this to Professor Xavier," she said, her voice carrying an undertone of worry and sadness.

Tyson just nodded, preparing himself for the difficult conversation ahead.

~~ Rogue Replacement ~~

Late that night, Tyson sat at the table, he found himself surrounded by an eclectic duo. When he'd arrived at the institute he spent hours explaining every detail of the ambush to Professor Xavier. The head of the institute mourned the loss of his old friend but didn't blame Tyson for defending himself. After being dismissed, Tyson returned to his room then he used Azazel's teleportation and Magneto's memories to travel to their base

Beside him was Mystique, and then there was Toad. The amphibious mutant seemed completely at ease despite the tense atmosphere. He was the one who broke the silence, his tongue flicking out to catch a buzzing fly before he leaned back in his chair, a crooked grin on his face.

"'Ey up, Tyson," he started, his British accent thick as he extended a hand to him across the table. His slitted yellow-green eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and curiosity. "Name's Mortimer Toynbee, but you can call me Toad."

His casual and almost cheeky demeanor seemed to lighten the mood a bit. Despite his oddball introduction, Tyson found himself returning the grin. He could tell that the mutant had a unique sense of humor, which was a nice change from the personalities he'd been dealing with recently.

"Nice to meet you, Toad. I'd offer my hand, but that'd make for a poor first impression." Tyson responded, settling back into his chair.

Toad's infectious grin remained as he retracted his hand, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. "Pleasure's all mine, mate."

Mystique's eyes were on Tyson as she invited him to share his thoughts. "Tyson, you said you had some ideas. Would you like to share them with the rest of us?" she asked.

He looked at the blue-skinned woman and then at Toad. He nodded in response, finding his voice. "Certainly. I just need to confirm my understanding of some things and clear others up for you." Shifting in his seat, Tyson continued. "First, the hard truth, Magneto is dead. I killed him. His memories, skills, and powers are now mine."

"He planned to use his machine to forcibly turn New York's population into mutants, with the goal of equality." His hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, the only sign of the intensity of his emotions. He took on Magneto's visage as he spoke, "For far too long, we mutants have been ostracized, hunted down like animals, and treated as abominations. My machine can change that. By turning humans into mutants, they will understand us. They will see that we are not to be feared or hated but accepted. We will finally have a world where we can live without fear, a world where mutants are not the minority, but the norm."

The fire in Tyson's eyes showed the depth of his convictions. Yet, it also highlighted the great ethical conundrum they were facing.

Tyson took a moment, letting Magneto's appearance and attitude fade. He then shifted his gaze to Mystique, "Mystique, you understand the ideological differences between your group and Xavier's," Tyson said, his voice carrying the unmistakable echo of curiosity. "Could you elaborate on that?"

Mystique stared at the table's surface before she began, "Charles, or Professor X as you might know him, believes in peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants. He believes that through understanding and acceptance, we can live in harmony. He runs a school for mutants, teaches them to control their powers, and lives within society's norms." Her gaze flicked to Magneto, a flicker of a shared history passing between them. "Magneto...we," she corrected herself, "believe that's a pipe dream. Look around you, Tyson. Every day, mutants are hunted, persecuted, and driven away from their homes. In this world, it's the survival of the fittest, not the most harmonious."

A soft sigh escaped her lips, her fingers drumming a quiet rhythm against the tabletop. "In essence, it's about safety. Charles wants to fit us into a world that hates and fears us. We want to change that world."

Her voice fell silent, leaving the echo of her words hanging heavily in the air.

Tyson nodded slowly, absorbing Mystique's words. He was silent for a moment before he looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "I agree with you, to a point," he began, gesturing at himself with an open hand. "I'm black… well I was, I guess I could be whatever I want now. But anyway, we're also a traditionally persecuted minority in America." His gaze moved from Mystique to Magneto, then finally resting on Toad. "We strove for equality, and to some extent, we've been successful. How did we do it?"

He let the question hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "We didn't do it alone," Tyson explained, his voice steady. "We didn't win our rights in a vacuum. We did it by getting white people, the majority, to understand us, empathize with us, to take up our cause." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "We changed the narrative. We told our stories, our struggles, our hopes, and our dreams. We made them see that beneath the color of our skin, we're all the same. We made them realize that it wasn't a 'black problem' but a 'human problem'. That's how we garnered support, changed minds, and made progress."

Tyson paused before continuing, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the table. "Following that example, I'd say your approach is somewhat better than Xavier's," he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a half-smile. "I mean, lectures and symposiums are great, but they're not going to get the majority to understand, to sympathize. In a way, you'd be converting people to your side."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked behind his head as he considered the others. "The problem," he continued, "is perception. It's all about image, you know? And right now, you've got some serious PR problems." As he explained, Tyson's fingers sketched out patterns in the air, as if visually mapping out the issue. "When you forcibly change people, make them something they don't understand, something they might even fear... Well, it's like kidnapping. Or, better yet, it's like brainwashing. You're not winning allies. You're creating enemies."

He spread his hands, palms up, in a universal gesture of appeal. "People don't like to be forced. They like to have a choice. And if you rob them of that, they will resist, they'll fight back. It's basic human nature." His eyes swept across the others as he concluded, "So if you want to make a real difference, you've got to think about how you're perceived. And right now, like it or not, you're the bad guys. We need to change that."

Toad began to clap, his hands slapping together in a rhythmic beat that echoed throughout the room. "Rousing speech, mate," he said, his eyes glinting with a hint of sarcasm. "But how do we change all that, huh? Not exactly easy to rebrand a bunch of so-called 'villains.'"

Tyson's smile grew, unfazed by Toad's sarcasm. "First off, we don't abandon all our efforts. I have Magneto's knowledge, his genius, and I'll keep working on that machine. But instead of employing it forcefully, en masse, treat it like a luxury good..."

Tyson looked around the room as he evaluated the array of powers present. "Let's go through what we've gotten, just in this room, shall we?" Tyson started with himself. "I have Magneto's power. Think about the military applications. The ability to dismantle weapons, control vehicles, or even bring down an entire fleet. That's the kind of power nations would pay fortunes for." Next, he turned his attention to Mystique, his gaze appreciative. "And you, your power to shape-shift could be marketed in so many ways. The aesthetic appeal alone is astounding. Imagine how much the rich would pay to be able to alter their appearances at will. Vanity is a powerful motivator." Then he looked at Toad, who had quieted down considerably. "Your abilities, superhuman agility, long-distance leaping, that powerful tongue. Imagine the footballer who can leap over the opposing team or the basketball player who can slam dunk from the half-court line. It's an athletic goldmine."

His words hung in the room, painting a vivid image of a world where their powers were not feared but desired, coveted even. He leaned forward, his hands steepled in front of him as he made his case. "Offer it to the rich. Those who are always seeking more power, or the elderly who are looking for a potential avenue for longevity. It's a gamble, a roll of the dice. But you've got a product that offers the possibility of superhuman abilities. It's the ultimate status symbol." He paused, letting the concept sink in before continuing. "At the same time, offer it as charity for those with terminal illnesses, for those with no other chance of survival. The machine doesn't have to promise a cure, just a chance. You market it right, with the proper spin, and it becomes a beacon of hope."

Tyson's gaze moved from one face to the next, assessing their reactions. "Both approaches get people talking, and for the right reasons. You become the heroes. The ones offering a chance for more life, for a better life. That's how you change the narrative."

"That's it?" Mystique asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she expected more.

Tyson shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No." His gaze shifted to Toad, who remained silent, "Tell me, Toad," Tyson said, his voice pitched to catch every ear in the room. "Do you know of Steve Rogers?"

Toad snorted, his grin resurfacing. "Bloody Captain America? Everyone knows Captain America."

"Exactly," Tyson said, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. He could feel the intensity of their attention on him now. "Steve Rogers, Captain America, has been a hero for generations. An icon. And how did he become one? Through experiments, tests... Altering his very DNA, much like what mutants go through naturally. Now, did anyone care about how many experiments failed before they got to Rogers? How many people were sacrificed in the process? Not really. Because the result was a hero, a symbol of hope."

Tyson let that thought hang in the air for a moment before he continued. "If we can create just one 'Steve Rogers', one shining example of the potential that your machine holds, the world will be less concerned with how we got to that point."

A moment of silence fell over the room before it was punctuated by Toad's gruff voice. "Fuckin' A," he mumbled, grinning, impressed by Tyson's argument.

Tyson nodded, "Exactly. Not just that, but consider the desire for power, longevity, or even curiosity. If we market this correctly, we'll have people volunteering." His eyes flickered to Mystique, "You managed to eliminate that senator pushing the anti-mutant agenda." his eyes locked onto hers. "Now there's a power vacuum, one that you're perfectly equipped to fill." A slow smile curled on his lips. "Picture this. You pose as him, working subtly to further the pro-mutant agenda. It's the kind of play that might just change the game."

"Once we get the machine working, bring in a lawyer. We need to make sure we're protected legally if we're going to offer mutant conversion as a paid service, and as a charitable contribution. Think of some kind of a lottery system, or something akin to the make-a-wish foundation. It needs to be on the up-and-up." He paused for a moment, unsure how his next suggestion would be received. "Lastly," he said, "we should think about talking to Xavier. He doesn't see us as an enemy, just as misguided. And, this new approach might be more in line with his moral compass.

Tyson mused, "Minus the human experimentation part, of course. We'll have to complete that first."

AN: This is probably the Tyson some of you wanted. Leave a review if you like the What If and this darker Tyson.

Question for Reviewers

Should I do another What If at the end of the next arc? If so would you like a continuation of this timeline or shift to another?

Behind the scenes

- This scene was inspired by reviewers.

- This chapter was mostly created from previously posted chapters and discarded writing I wasn't happy with. The only newly created section was the Watcher intro and Magneto's absorption.

- In the first draft of this story, Tyson didn't use Jean's power, just Mystique's to hide in the crowd. He got trounced by Magneto, captured, and used in his device. Eventually, Tyson convinced him not to go with the Statue of Liberty plan, and use the machine as outlined in the last scene. I cut it because it was 10 chapters long and ultimately it felt like it didn't accomplish much. But it had some moments that I liked, the New Yorkers heckling Magneto, and the plan to repurpose the machine into a business/charity venture; so I cannibalized them to be used here.

- The first draft wasn't the only story I discarded. Rogue Replacement was actually the second of four superhero stories I wrote over the summer. They all got to between 30-45k words, but this was my favorite. It just barely edged out a Worm/Marvel/DC gamer fic that started in Ellisburg during the rise of Nilbog.