The world's ashes burned fiercely, war engulfing every corner.
An unrelenting darkness pressed in from all sides, swallowing the last flickers of light.
O great creators…
Do you see now?
PONG!!
A crisp gunshot shattered the silence.
The lizard-like mutant snarling atop Sam had its head blown apart in an instant—this time, there would be no regeneration. Its spasming body collapsed lifelessly beside him.
Startled, Sam turned around—and there, at the entrance of the lab, stood Agent Peggy Carter. Her arm was wounded, but her stance was firm, her grip on a custom handgun unwavering.
Panting heavily, Sam scrambled to his feet. Carter gave him a nod—and in that instant, he understood: he and Dean were not fighting alone.
"You bastards! Get your hands off my friends!"
With a roaring engine, Howard Stark burst in, piloting his prototype anti-grav car. With a thunderous crash, he rammed straight into the rock-skinned mutant, sending it flying.
The stone grip around Dean's neck loosened, and he hit the ground hard. As he looked up at the man who had no powers, no weapons—yet still risked his life to save him—something surged through Dean: strength, purpose.
The Dark Watcher had underestimated this world... and the resolve of its people.
Though the world was tainted, those who lived in it still fought to find even a single spark of hope in the endless dark.
They were never alone.
Reinforcements had arrived. Humanity would be magnificent again.
"Agent Dean, the fight isn't over! We don't have time to rest."
Howard leapt from the totaled vehicle and ran to Dean, extending a hand.
"I know. What, you tired already?"
Dean grinned, took his hand, and pulled himself up.
Sam and Carter joined them, weapons at the ready. The four stood side by side, facing the oncoming enemy charge.
All around them, mutants were closing in. They carried no weapons—because they themselves were weapons.
"I've been dying to fight these freaks," Dean muttered, handing his rifle to Howard. Then slowly, he unsheathed Valkyrie's sword from his belt.
Everyone knew this battle would change the course of history. They were mere mortals, standing against superhuman mutants. They had no chance of winning.
But none of them stepped back.
In this pivotal moment, each of them made their choice.
"CHAAARGE!!"
"AAAAHHHH!!"
"Why?"
The Dark Watcher stared at Logan—Wolverine—who had risen to his feet once more, battered and bleeding.
Confusion flashed in the Watcher's eyes, as if he couldn't fathom why the old wolf refused to stay down.
"Why does he keep getting up?"
The countdown had reached zero.
The End Never Came.
The Dark Watcher's eyes flew wide open, unable to believe what he was witnessing.
In the future he had seen—one shrouded in absolute darkness—Logan was supposed to die here. After that, no one would be left to stop Magneto and his army of mutants. The world would fall, and finally embrace its so-called "freedom."
But...
He stood up.
Wolverine, Logan—stood back up.
(Countdown: -1 second.)
James clambered to his feet, swaying as blood pooled beneath him. His face was smeared with crimson, his body shredded and bruised.
(-7 seconds.)
His adamantium claws still glinted with deadly resolve.
"Don't you get it yet?"
It was Alex who finally broke the silence.
"This story… it's not about salvation. I'm not their savior. And neither are you."
"This story is about people—people trapped in a hopeless world—fighting for their own redemption, by their own hands."
"Redemption… by themselves?"
The Dark Watcher blinked in confusion, as if the very concept was foreign. Then, the battlefield shifted again.
Seeing Logan, bloodied but unbowed, the Juggernaut beside Magneto could no longer restrain himself. With a thunderous step, he hurled his mountain-sized body straight at Wolverine.
This time, Magneto didn't stop him. He knew the curtain on this act was ready to fall.
As the Juggernaut's massive boots hit the ground, the earth quaked. Mutants on both sides instinctively moved aside, clearing a path for the unstoppable force.
James clenched his teeth so tightly blood dripped from his gums. He heard the earth's groan. He saw the giant charging toward him.
He wanted to dodge. But his body was broken. Just staying on his feet had taken everything he had left.
There was no way to avoid the blow. All he could do was face it head-on.
The Juggernaut roared and raised a fist, a wrecking ball of flesh and fury, bringing it down with all his power toward Logan's skull.
CLANG—!!!
A sound like a cathedral bell being struck echoed across the battlefield.
A terrifying quake tore through the battlefield in an instant. The shockwave blasted outward with brutal force, hurling nearby mutants like rag dolls into the crowd behind them.
(November 7th, 1942.)
(Agent Carter and Howard Stark foiled a mutant squad's conspiracy.)
Juggernaut froze mid-punch. He felt it—solid metal had caught his blow. The unstoppable force had finally met an immovable object.
A streak of blue entered his field of vision. The massive fist had been stopped cold... by a circular shield.
He stared in disbelief as the figure slowly lowered their arm, revealing a man in uniform, jaw set firm, standing between Juggernaut and Wolverine.
(November 7th, 1942.)
(The first time Captain America raised his shield.)
"That's impossible!"
Juggernaut shouted in shock, eyes locked onto the man standing tall with the shield—the one who had dared to stand in his way.
("Nothing is impossible.")
Suddenly, the air was filled with the thunderous roar of turbines. A deep mechanical voice echoed from the sky above—amplified through loudspeakers.
The mutants turned their heads skyward.
A colossal structure hovered into view—a Helicarrier, gliding like a floating fortress above the battlefield.
(Erik Lehnsherr. Magneto.)
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Nick Fury stood gripping a mic, his voice ringing with authority.
"You've incited war, Magneto. Stand down—now."
Behind him, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood in formation—three ranks deep—with Maria Hill and Phil Coulson at the front, all gazing grimly at the scorched ruins of New York below.
This wasn't just a battle anymore. It was history.
And yet, history had always been built on tragedy. The story of it all began on a stormy night in 1839, when a drunken groundskeeper named Thomas Logan stormed the Howlett estate and gunned down the lord of the manor, John Howlett.
And in that moment of trauma and confusion, a young boy named James—Logan—unleashed his bone claws for the first time, unknowingly killing his own biological father.
That was the origin of Wolverine.
And this… was the moment the world changed again.
History returned to its rightful course.
Previously, because of the deaths of Dr. Erskine, Agent Carter, and Howard Stark, Captain America—and the generation of heroes who would have followed—never appeared.
As a result, the people of this world had never seen the rise of superpowered heroes. In their eyes, there were only mutants—beings who wielded uncontrollable power and ran rampant. They were hated, hunted, and shunned, treated as threats to be eliminated.
But this time… the people had seen something else. They had witnessed heroes.
They had seen them end wars, save lives, and protect the innocent. These heroes ignited the flames of hope and peace, spreading light that burned away the shadows blanketing the world.
At the edge of the ruined World War II Museum, an elderly Black man collapsed to the ground after taking down the last of the thugs.
"It's not over yet, Eli."
The voice snapped him out of his daze.
Opening his blurry eyes, Eli Bradley saw the frail, beaten old man who had been mugged earlier now standing tall before him.
Only this time, there was no despair in his expression.
"Cap needs our help."
The old man fastened his watch, and with a gesture, a red cloak flew through the air from somewhere unseen. It soared in a wide arc before settling across his shoulders.
Eli's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"...Mr. Strange?"
The old man smiled and nodded, reaching out a hand.
"It's time to go, Patriot."
—
"What the hell is going on?!" Magneto shouted, eyes locked on the scene before him, still unable to process what had just happened. But he knew one thing: this had humans written all over it.
Those damned humans—once again standing in his way with their absurd inventions and interventions.
Clenching his fists, Magneto glared furiously at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier floating high above.
"S.H.I.E.L.D., huh? Fine. Let's end this today. Anyone who stands in my way dies."
But before he could finish his sentence—
BOOM.
A deafening explosion erupted three blocks away. Rubble flew skyward as something massive broke through the earth like a monster waking from its slumber.
A gargantuan silver head rose from the debris.
Then a metal torso. Then a full, towering body emerged—its size rivaling even the ferocity of Wild Sentinel-class constructs.
"Hahahahahahaha!!"
The colossal figure climbed to its feet with a thunderous laugh that shook the battlefield.
"I'm back! I'm finally BACK!!"
It was none other than Hank Pym—the original Ant-Man—now towering over the battlefield, his laughter booming like rolling thunder, sending shivers through the ranks of the mutant army.
At the same moment, James Howlett—Logan—finally realized he'd been saved. He squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them.
Through the haze, he saw a figure in a blue suit standing before him.
"You... you're…"
"Sorry."
The man spoke gently.
"Logan, we're late."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Logan smiled.
A real smile.
Not since the last of the X-Men had fallen had he felt anything like this.
"Late…"
He let out a hoarse laugh.
"Better late than never."
...
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