Chương 22: Chapter 22

"You don't know anything about your past?" I asked Logan, feeling the weight of the question momentarily darken the atmosphere around us.

Logan, slowly drinking from his beer bottle, nodded and spoke with a heavy sigh, as if each word weighed a ton:

"The only thing I have is this."

In his hand was a dog tag with the name "Logan," glinting faintly under the dim room light. It looked old, with worn edges and scratches, as if it had been through many trials.

"Hmm... Have you tried looking for information from the period before these dog tags appeared?" I asked Hank, hoping for a fresh perspective on the mystery.

The blue mutant, sitting next to us, held a cup of green tea in his large but graceful hands. His deep blue eyes reflected intelligence and years of relentless research.

"Yes," Hank nodded, his voice calm and measured, "but I couldn't find anything. Even this dog tag, I couldn't determine where it was made."

It seemed Canada had expertly concealed the data on the Weapon X program. I looked at Logan, his eyes full of secrets and indelible sorrow, and said:

"In my free time, I'll try to look into it. Maybe I can find something."

Logan nodded with gratitude in his eyes.

At that moment, the device connecting the Fantastic Four members rang. The piercing sound broke the silence, making everyone flinch.

"Excuse me," I said, standing up and answering the call. Johnny Storm's face, dimly lit from his side, flickered on the screen.

"Good evening, Johnny. Is something wrong?"

"Good evening, brainiac... I need your brains."

Johnny's voice sounded tense, and I sensed the upcoming message would bring new challenges.

"Yes, of course," I nodded.

"I think I've found Namor..." Johnny said. His voice was cautious, as if he feared being mistaken in his suspicions.

I froze at the news. Johnny's words settled in my mind like raindrops on parched ground.

"Well, damn," slipped out of me when Johnny showed a photo of a man whose face bore certain recognizable features — a proud chin, piercing eyes, and a unique, almost regal profile.

"Exactly. I didn't expect the hero of World War II to be a bum," Johnny continued, his voice filled with surprise and a hint of disappointment.

I couldn't hold back my comments, as I had been searching for Namor myself. I knew that something extraordinary had happened to Namor after World War II, turning him into a vagrant. Whether it was estrangement from his kingdom, memory loss, or something even darker and more mysterious.

I was looking for him to kill him in such a state, as the King of Atlantis posed an incredible problem.

It wasn't just that he would likely set his sights on Sue, but also that his presence would cause all sorts of problems for the surface dwellers. His royal demeanor, unyielding confidence, and penchant for dramatic gestures could easily lead to conflicts, igniting old and starting new disputes, whose sparks would spread far beyond his personal interests.

And that's not even mentioning his future conflicts with Wakanda. With its rich vibranium reserves and technological superiority, Wakanda was always a coveted ally or target for anyone seeking power. Namor, with his unyielding will for independence and protection of his underwater kingdom, could easily see Wakanda as both a threat and a potential adversary in the struggle for dominance.

"Wait for us," I tersely told Johnny, who was near Namor.

Sue's younger brother nodded, and I began preparing for a confrontation with the King of Atlantis.

= Johnny Storm =

"You seem familiar to me..." said the man who was presumably Namor, his voice cautious but with a note of recognition, as if distant memories were trying to break through the fog of oblivion.

Johnny had talked with Reed and returned to the place where Namor was at that very moment. The wind played with his hair, adding to his mysterious aura in the light of street lamps illuminating his scarred yet still noble face.

Sue's younger brother raised an eyebrow, looking at Namor in amazement, but after a few moments, he realized who he might be.

"Are you talking about the Human Torch who fought alongside you during World War II?" Johnny asked Namor, whose face was illuminated by the pale moonlight, making his features even more expressive.

Johnny remembered the school lessons that mentioned the heroes of World War II, including Captain America, Namor, and the Human Torch. Recalling those times was like a bridge connecting the past and present, heroic deeds, and current trials.

In many ways, Johnny was glad that his current superhero name was so similar to the name of the hero who fought in World War II. It gave him a sense of connection to a legendary past and a sense of duty to history.

Namor nodded but then grabbed his head. Pain flashed in his eyes, and he seemed lost between worlds — the present, where he was a vagrant, and the past, where he was a king and hero. It was a painful reminder that wars and battles leave scars not only on the body but also on the soul.

"Argh!" Namor cried out, his voice reflecting a sudden bout of pain or a surge of sudden anger. He grabbed the metal railing of a nearby fence, which, under the pressure of his hand, not only bent but broke in half as if it were made of wax and not strong metal. Sparks of metallic protest scattered into the night, illuminating Namor's face with a ghostly light.

At that moment, Johnny became even more convinced that the man before him was indeed Namor. The extraordinary strength with which the railing was broken was undeniable proof of his identity. This was more than just physical power; it was a reminder of who he really was — the King of Atlantis, endowed with powers beyond the wildest dreams of ordinary people.

"No, you are not him," Namor said. His voice was calm but filled with certainty. It was a statement that needed no proof. His gaze changed. If a few moments ago he seemed lost, like a wanderer caught in his memories and doubts, now his eyes held something only rulers possess — majesty, insight, and unshakable determination.

The moment was so sudden and powerful that Johnny momentarily lost the power of speech. He realized he was standing before a being that was more than just a man or a superhero. He was standing before a ruler, an embodiment of an element, whose power and strength were inextricably linked to the very depths of the ocean.

Then something darker appeared in Namor's eyes. It seemed he remembered something truly terrifying...

"Bastards..." Namor whispered, looking at the ocean.

A moment later, he shot up into the sky. Johnny didn't even have time to react before Namor disappeared.

—//—

"It was him," I said, my eyes fixed on the traces of destruction left by Namor. The metal railing, bent and torn in half, testified to the superhuman strength that could only come from the King of Atlantis.

The data provided by the U.S. government gave me a certain understanding of who he really was. The information, flickering on numerous screens around me, was just the tip of the iceberg. It allowed me to fully grasp the scale of Namor McKenzie's power, the hero of World War II and the greatest defender of Atlantis.

My friends, gathered in the Fantastic Four building, listened intently to my words, trying to catch the underlying meaning. The screens around us came to life with footage extracted from the device in Johnny's suit, showing the world evidence of the great warrior's presence among us.

Benjamin Grimm, the giant with stone skin and a heart capable of loving the entire planet, expressed bewilderment, genuinely unable to comprehend how Namor's return could be anything but a sign of hope.

"Yeah, brainiac, isn't it good news? The hero of World War II who fought on the side of the Allies is alive!" exclaimed Johnny, his eyes burning with enthusiasm and indomitable optimism.

However, I couldn't share their unwavering belief in the best. Their gazes were filled with hope, but my heart was inclined towards realism, towards understanding the deep emotions and turmoil experienced by Namor.

"Sure, the fact that the hero is alive is good news, but why do you think he would be happy to see us?" My words hung in the air like a heavy mist, enveloping their minds with doubts.

Susan, the eternal light of our group, looked at me questioningly, her eyes seeking answers.

I allowed them to look deeper, showing detailed footage of Namor's face at the moment of his full recollection, as well as his appearance when he met Johnny. These images were like a mirror of his soul—turbulent and restless, like the sea waves during a storm.

"What do you think a hero who fought for people would feel when rewarded with such a fate?" My words weighed heavily on the hearts of my friends.

The screen flickered with images of Namor's treatment, each one like a blow to our consciences.

"I wouldn't count on him forgetting something like that," I concluded, and the room grew silent, like the sea before a storm, foreshadowing the inevitable.

After sharing my concerns and analysis, a spark of understanding lit up in my friends' eyes, and they quickly sank into thought. Each of them, in their own world of thoughts, weighed the words that had just been spoken.

"I hate it when you're right, stretch," Ben said, his voice low and gruff as always, but this time tinged with disappointment. His words conveyed a reluctance to acknowledge the complexity of the situation the team was facing.

Johnny smirked, his smile genuine but shadowed by sadness. He nodded, acknowledging my point not with words, but with a gesture that spoke louder than any speech.

"In moments like these, I don't like being right either," I said, my voice calm and restrained, but each word resonated with the unyielding weight of the responsibility I felt for my friends and the world. My fingers gently glided over the control panel, activating the next monitoring functions.

Before my friends, a panorama of surveillance unfolded, images captured by my devices positioned in orbit high above the Earth. These devices had witnessed countless events, but what they recorded now was something exceptional.

"However, I believe I'm right," I concluded. "Given the historical enmity between Atlantis and the surface world," I began, trying to make my speech as clear as possible, "it can be assumed that Namor, having regained his memory and realizing himself as king, felt the obligation to protect his people and his lands."

My words hung in the air as I looked at my teammates, wanting to ensure they grasped the gravity of the moment.

"Additionally, let's not forget about the pollution of the oceans," I continued, "which inevitably leads to conflicts between our world and the underwater kingdom. Namor could see this as a direct threat to his people and decide on drastic actions to prevent further harmful impact."

In Susan's and Ben's eyes, I saw a reflection of understanding; they began to realize that Namor's motives might be deeper and more complex than a simple desire for revenge or power.

"And lastly, but not less important," I concluded, "is the matter of pride and honor. Namor is not only a ruler but also a warrior. He may see his actions as a way to restore lost respect and dominance over the seas, which, in his opinion, were desecrated by the actions of the surface world."

At that moment, the screen displayed a figure piercing the night with incredible movement. Namor shot out from the shadows of New York's alleys and, like an arrow, dove into the dark waters, leaving only a shimmering trail behind.

His movement in the water was graceful and powerful, reminiscent of the unstoppable force of ocean waves. The speed with which he navigated the aquatic realm was astonishing, and only my algorithms could construct an approximate route of his movement, allowing us to keep track of him until he vanished into the abyss.

"I believe he went to prepare for battle," I concluded, as if putting the final touches on our understanding of the situation.

"Training?" Ben sighed, and his voice carried a slight sense of inevitability. His words reflected readiness for what lay ahead, no matter how challenging it might be.

"Yes," I nodded, feeling the weight of each word, understanding that the upcoming battle could be a test that would determine the fate of not only Namor but the entire world.

= Inside Chronos =

"Chronos, send the data I've gathered on Namor to Fury," I said before sitting down to study the X-gene.

I had already developed a weapon against Namor since he had originally been my target. I just needed to start the creation of the necessary weapon at that moment.

Namor McKenzie, being an Atlantean, drew a significant part of his strength from water. If sufficiently dehydrated, dealing with him would be much easier.

After considering numerous options, I decided on the Osmosis Gun.

The core technology of the gun involves altering the osmotic pressure in the target's surrounding environment. It is necessary to achieve a change in osmotic pressure around the target to induce rapid but controlled dehydration.

Thanks to my previous development of weapons to deal with Magneto, part of the work was already done.

"Commencing tasks," Chronos announced.

Meanwhile, I was fully engaged with the samples of Max Eisenhardt. In my opinion, this direction needed to be prioritized.

SUY NGHĨ CỦA NGƯỜI SÁNG TẠO
Arcane_Eso

Stones for the God of Stones! Souls for the Throne of Souls!

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Chương 23: Chapter 23

"Nicholas Joseph Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., a veteran of countless secret operations and a man who has seen more mysteries and secrets than most people can imagine, stood in the dim light of his office, deeply lost in thought. In his one remaining eye, which had endured so many trials, there was a mixture of confusion and tension.

"How did we not find him?" The question lingered in the air like a barely audible whisper, but to Fury, it sounded like thunder.

Before him on the screen were the details about Namor McKenzie, the King of Atlantis, whose story of struggle and strength was legendary even among the heroes of World War II.

"A horrifying mistake," Fury thought, clenching his fists until they turned white. His brain worked at full capacity, analyzing every possible strategy and move that Namor might take. For a man accustomed to controlling the situation, admitting that the King of Atlantis had remained unnoticed for so many years was tantamount to a catastrophe.

Addressing Maria Hill, his trusted deputy and right hand, Fury spoke with unwavering firmness: "Prepare for battle." His voice was low and resolute, reflecting the seriousness of the upcoming confrontation. Understanding flickered in Maria Hill's eyes—the coming battle would not be just another skirmish; it would be a test of their readiness for the unknown. "We need to use the data Dr. Richards sent us."

Namor, whose actions and decisions were always full of contradictions, was never known for his kind nature. His return to the world's political arena could signal the beginning of a new era—one filled with storms and challenges. For Fury and his team, it was not just a warning but a call to action.

= Reed Richards =

"Dr. Richards, you have about a week left," said Chronos.

From the moment I began studying Max Eisenhardt's X-gene, each day of my research was filled with incredible discoveries and challenges. The lab became my second home, where I, immersed in countless experiments and analyses, strove to understand the essence of the mutation that endowed him with unique abilities. My hands, the unwilling executors of my will, tirelessly worked on various samples, tested hypotheses, and created prototypes.

When Chronos reminded me of the deadline, it added an extra vector of pressure to the already accumulated tension. But my determination did not allow me to retreat or slow down. I acknowledged his words with a nod, maintaining focus on my work.

"Thank you, Chronos," I replied briefly, but my tone conveyed the importance of every minute dedicated to this research.

My laboratory was filled with sparkling screens, flickering indicators, and pulsating lights of various devices, each playing its role in this complex process. Here, among glass beakers, pipettes, and reagents, I felt like a true wizard, wielding knowledge capable of changing the course of history.

The study of the X-gene became a quest of sorts, where each discovery brought me closer to the solution, to the possibility of implanting the mutation within myself without losing control over its manifestations. My notes, scribbled with formulas, graphs, and diagrams, bore witness to months of relentless work and unwavering confidence in success.

The difficulty did not lie in creating a clone—the process, although requiring high precision and deep knowledge in genetics, was already within my grasp. The true challenge was understanding the unique structure of the mutant organism, identifying and studying specific genetic markers responsible for its abilities. It was like trying to decipher an ancient code, each symbol of which revealed new horizons of possibilities.

In my quest to implant Max Eisenhardt's mutation within myself, there lay not only a thirst for knowledge but also a deeply personal motivation—the desire to overcome my limitations and expand the boundaries of the possible.

= Some Time Later =

"Dr. Richards, code Blue," Chronos announced.

As soon as Chronos uttered "code Blue," the atmosphere in the lab instantly filled with a sense of tension and anticipation of the unknown. Code Blue always meant that events unfolding in the ocean depths were beyond the ordinary, and this time it involved Namor McKenzie himself.

"Display it on the screens," I said.

Immediately, the room was bathed in soft blue light, and a hologram of Earth materialized before me. The blue sphere rotated in the air, highlighting certain areas with glowing markers, indicating anomalous occurrences in the ocean. These markers were concentrated in one region, pointing to the location that had caught Chronos' attention.

The hologram allowed me to see not only the geographical position of the event but also various parameters associated with the anomaly: temperature readings, water movements, and unusual energy emissions. Each of these factors was crucial for understanding what exactly was happening in that part of the ocean that was now under our scrutiny.

My attention was riveted to the screens, where the data dynamically changed, providing an increasingly detailed picture of the events. I had to analyze this information to identify patterns and possibly predict Namor's next moves. Initial theories and hypotheses were already forming in my mind, each requiring thorough study and verification.

"Chronos, monitor this area," I said, pointing to the part of the ocean where disturbances were most likely to occur. "Notify me if fluctuations exceed 10% of the norm."

"Understood, Dr. Richards," Chronos replied.

Meanwhile, I proceeded to the final stage of my project.

= Norman Osborn =

Norman Osborn, standing on the threshold of unexplored possibilities, felt a mix of anxiety and excitement coursing through his veins alongside adrenaline. The air in the lab vibrated with tension, anticipating the moment that could rewrite human history and, undoubtedly, his own fate.

Who would have thought that the unfortunate accident that befell Peter Parker would open such paths before him? Yet, the incident had paved a new path, one leading him to greatness.

His gaze, piercing and determined, was fixed on the chemical compound whose effects were expected to be as revolutionary as they were uncharted. This green concoction promised to grant him powers he had previously only dreamed of, powers worthy of the next-generation supersoldier.

And all thanks to Peter Parker's blood... Norman smirked. His son had at least been of some use.

"Administer it," Norman ordered.

The green liquid, endowed with the potential to rewrite the laws of nature, began to slowly flow through the transparent tubes towards its destination.

Norman closed his eyes as the first drops of the grand elixir entered his veins. He felt every movement of the liquid through his body, each moment of transformation, as if time had slowed down just for him. And then, when the green light filled every corner of his consciousness, the world plunged into darkness.

"Rise, Norman..."

"Your subordinates must not see you like this..."

"Get dressed..."

"Kill..."

"Molten stone..."

The scientists observing the changes in Norman Osborn's body recorded data that were within normal limits. However, in an instant, Norman's body began to transform at an incredible speed. The observers didn't have time to react before the Goblin's eyes opened.

"Kill... Parker... Fatty acids can't grow... Burning eyes..." the monster with green skin whispered.

Then it smirked.

BAM

—//—

At dawn on the fifth day, bathed in the shimmering light of monitors and the silent rustle of my notes, I finally unraveled the mystery that had eluded me for months. The complex puzzle of Max Eisenhardt's X-gene, the magical key to incredible magnetic abilities, lay before me like an ancient manuscript ready to reveal its secrets only to the worthy.

Days and nights of endless checks lay ahead of me. I immersed myself in a world of experiments, where every observation, every analysis held immense significance. Virtual simulations, expertly crafted in laboratory conditions, allowed me to trace in detail the possible reactions of my body to the introduction of the foreign gene. These digital worlds, full of variables and constants, became my second dimension, where I could safely explore every potential outcome.

However, the real challenge awaited me in my practical experiments on clones. With each one, I walked on the thin ice of the unknown, expecting either a failure or a remarkable success at any moment. Watching these creatures, crafted by my own hand, subjected to the powerful gene, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was playing god, rewriting the laws of nature.

When the final research results formed before me, I couldn't help but feel a thrill.

"Probability of success is 99%," I whispered these words in the complete silence of my laboratory, sounding like an incantation foretelling a new era in my life. The data on the screens didn't lie, but every cell in my body tensely awaited the final step—the actual introduction of the gene into my own body.

Then the time came to implement the X-gene into my system.

= Two Days Later =

The transformation of my body took a day, and I slept for the next 15 hours. Such radical changes were incredibly energy-consuming for the body.

But it was worth it. When I woke up, my perception of the world had changed on a fundamental level.

I now saw the world on a higher plane than before. Electromagnetic waves—one of the fundamental forces of the Universe—were now under my control.

"Chronos, bring up the training dummies," I said.

Metallic mannequins appeared before me. I didn't expect to reach Magneto's level of mastery in one night, but it was necessary to start striving to surpass Max Eisenhardt.

The mannequins that advanced toward me were bent into spheres with incredible ease.

"This will be an interesting training session," I whispered, reveling in this newfound power.

Understanding how to exert coarse magnetic force proved not too difficult.

= Namor McKenzie =

The King of Atlantis sat on his throne, bathed in the mysterious light emitted by bioluminescent plants and animals that adorned the majestic underwater hall. The water around him was cool and calm, creating a sense of isolation from the outside world. The throne, carved from coral reefs covered with centuries-old growths, served not only as a place of governance but also as a symbol of Namor's eternal connection to his underwater kingdom.

After years of his absence, Atlantis had found a new ruler who, unfortunately for him, did not understand that there could only be one true king.

"You managed to fall so low in my absence?" Namor's words cut through the water, reaching every corner of the hall where the Atlanteans had gathered. Their faces were hidden behind masks of surprise and concern.

"Y-Your Majesty..." muttered one of the Atlanteans, an elder with hair the color of sea foam and eyes reminiscent of the ocean depths. His voice sounded weak in this mighty assembly, like a drop in the ocean.

At that moment, Namor struck the ground with his trident, and his action created a powerful shockwave that spread throughout the hall, causing the water to vibrate and creating the impression of an underwater earthquake. The trident, a symbol of royal power and authority, emitted a cold light, illuminating the hall with shimmering reflections bouncing off the walls and ceiling adorned with mosaics of shells and mother-of-pearl.

The Atlanteans surrounding the throne felt small and powerless before the might of their king, who, like the very element, reminded them of his right to rule. The water around them shimmered with new colors, reflecting the power and grandeur of the true ruler of Atlantis, who had returned to restore order in his underwater realm.

"Apparently, you have forgotten what it means to have a King of Atlantis," Namor said, looking at the Atlantean.

After surveying the surrounding space, he added, "Have you all forgotten that we are Atlanteans?!"

It disgusted Namor to see them cowering in fear under the weight of his words. He hadn't expected his people to become so... weak...

= Reed Richards =

I emerged from Kronos just as the satellites detected strange movements underwater in the Atlantic Ocean. These movements, initially seeming no more than anomalies, soon turned into underwater tremors felt even on distant shores.

"It's a tsunami," I whispered, my eyes glued to the monitoring screens showing a massive body of water inexorably moving towards New York. This water colossus, like a giant awakened from an ancient slumber, was heading towards the city's shores, bringing destruction. "This disturbance caused a tsunami..."

"What are we going to do, stretch?" Ben asked me in his rocky form.

"We're going to solve this problem," I replied.

"Sounds easy enough," Johnny said, standing nearby with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. His fiery eyes sparkled with a challenge, and his hair, playing with shades of flame, highlighted his readiness to confront the element at any moment.

"Has Fury contacted us?" I asked Ben, pondering the plan of action. It was important for me to know how seriously the authorities perceived the threat and what measures were already being taken at the highest level.

Ben nodded, confirming the contact with Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., who, as always, was aware of the situation and awaited our proposals to minimize the impending catastrophe's consequences.

"He said that S.H.I.E.L.D. would work with the Fantastic Four to solve this problem," Susan said.

I sighed and decided to ask just in case, "Has Namor reached out?"

She shook her head.

At that moment, my satellites, the orbital sentinels invisibly hovering in the skies, detected the presence of Namor McKenzie, the king of the underwater world, at the center of the massive body of water moving towards New York. His power and might, even visible through satellite images, were impossible to ignore.

"In a way, I'm almost glad I'll get to punch him," I thought, clenching my fists. The muscles in my arms tensed like steel cables, ready for battle.