Marvelous Meditations

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. After Nathan's taunt, the students had argued—some indignantly, others with genuine concern—but ultimately, they were forced to accept the reality: he was dead serious.

Even Xavier, ever composed, watched with thinly veiled skepticism. A highly trained soldier or not, Nathan was still just a man—a man willingly trying to pick a fight with five mutants, some of whom had abilities capable of leveling entire buildings. Worse still, he had deliberately riled them up, poked at their egos, and practically dared them to come at him with everything they had.

Now, standing in the open white space of the Danger Room, a combat field deliberately set to neutral conditions so that no one had an advantage, Nathan frowned. The students just stood there, staring at him awkwardly, exchanging hesitant glances. He let out a slow, exaggerated sigh.

"If you're not coming at me," he said, his voice carrying just the right edge of impatience, "then I guess I'll have to make the first move."

And then he was running.

His acceleration was shocking—smoother than any sprinter, faster than any unenhanced human had a right to be. His boots barely seemed to touch the ground, his movements so refined they looked effortless. In the blink of an eye, he was closing in on Jean Grey.

The first to react was Bobby. "Remember, you asked for this!" he called out, dropping into a low stance. The air around him crackled, mist forming as the temperature plummeted.

With a thrust of his hands, a crystalline line of ice shot forward, racing across the ground toward Nathan's path. The floor beneath him frosted over instantly, and in another second, the surface would be nothing but slick, treacherous terrain.

Nathan barely spared it a glance. Without breaking stride, he jumped—high. The floater slipped from his hand, moving independently as if it had a mind of its own. In an instant, it morphed into a wide, flat disk, catching him midair like a floating stepping stone. His foot landed on it for just a fraction of a second before he pushed off again, propelling himself even higher, completely bypassing the ice.

And then, with a bamf and a cloud of sulfuric smoke, Kurt Wagner appeared behind him.

Nightcrawler had calculated his timing perfectly—Nathan was mid-jump, vulnerable in the air, with no way to dodge. He clenched his jaw and swung, his hand aimed in a precise chop at the back of Nathan's neck. He didn't intend to hurt him, just knock him out swiftly.

For a split second, it looked like Kurt's strike would land. His hand was a blur, the edge of his palm aimed with perfect precision at the back of Nathan's neck—

But then the floater moved.

With a sudden, mechanical snap, it shifted form, unfolding into a square shield that intercepted the strike just inches from its target. The impact sent a small shockwave rippling through the air, and before Kurt could fully process what had happened, the floater pushed forward—an unexpected counterattack that forced his arm back and threw off his balance mid-air.

His instincts kicked in immediately. Teleport!

With a loud bamf and a puff of sulfuric smoke, he disappeared, narrowly avoiding an uncontrolled fall. He reappeared several yards away, staggering as he hit the ground harder than expected. He barely had a moment to steady himself before he realized something—

The floater wasn't with Nathan anymore.

When he teleported, he had instinctively wrapped his tail around it, yanking it away mid-jump. The device now rested a few feet from him, flickering erratically as it recalibrated itself after dimensional travel.

That single opening was all Rogue needed.

She moved fast—a blur of motion, her gloves already yanked off and tossed aside. As Nathan landed, she was already on him, charging with superhuman speed, the raw force of her approach sending faint tremors through the floor. She wasn't holding back.

Her fist swung in a devastating arc, aimed straight for his ribs.

And then—

A hand caught hers. His hand.

Rogue's eyes widened in shock.

Nathan had caught her punch—cleanly, without so much as flinching.

She blinked, confused. That's not possible. She could bend steel, punch through concrete—if he was just a man, his arm should have snapped like a twig. Instead, he was standing there, calm as ever, gripping her fist like it was nothing. And more importantly—He wasn't affected by her touch.

Her heart pounded in confusion. 'He should be on the floor right now—dazed, unconscious, something! My powers don't just fail!' Yet, there he was, his grip firm but controlled, twisting her wrist slightly to the side, just enough to unbalance her but not enough to hurt her.

"What the hell…?" she breathed, disbelief clear in her voice.

What she didn't know was that Nathan's neuro-links had already adapted to the situation, generating a microscopic barrier over his skin—thin, imperceptible, but enough to prevent actual contact. The same network was working overdrive to provide him with a controlled burst of telekinetic reinforcement, allowing him to withstand her strength just long enough to counter.

Nathan tilted his head, meeting her stunned gaze with an almost lazy smirk.

"Expecting something different?" he asked, voice dry, though he could basically hear his joints groaning in protest against the pressure.

Rogue's shock flickered into frustration, and she tried to yank her arm free, but his grip held firm.

Nathan exhaled sharply. "Yeah. That's not happening."

With a sudden twist, he used her own momentum against her, pivoting and throwing her off balance. Nathan barely had time to breathe before the next attack was already in motion.

A pair of hands—Kitty Pryde's—phased up from the floor beneath him, reaching for his ankles like ghosts emerging from the underworld. At the same time, another wave of crystalline ice shot toward him, sharp and jagged, courtesy of Iceman. The temperature in the room plummeted as the ice raced forward, eager to encase him in a frozen tomb.

'They're getting coordinated,' Nathan noted, slightly impressed despite himself. But they weren't fast enough.

By the time he had dealt with Rogue, the floater had already recalibrated, whirling back into his grasp. He jumped, pushing off the ground, and just as Kitty's fingers closed around where his legs should have been, he was already airborne. The floater shifted beneath his boots, forming a solid platform mid-air, keeping him just out of reach of both the ice and Kitty's grasp.

But his reprieve was short-lived as Kurt took another shot at him. The moment Nathan left the ground, Nightcrawler vanished in a swirl of smoke.

At the same time, Rogue—now recovered—launched herself toward him with force, her trajectory precise and her eyes locked onto her target.

This time, the floater didn't move.

But Nathan did.

Mid-jump, he twisted sharply, his body contorting in a way that seemed almost unnatural for someone of his build. He pivoted in the air, and by the time Kurt materialized, Nathan was already facing him.

Kurt barely had time to process what was happening before Nathan's hand slammed into his torso with pinpoint accuracy, redirecting his momentum entirely.

Kurt's vision blurred as he suddenly found himself flying backward—not just anywhere, but straight toward Rogue.

Both of them panicked.

Kurt tried to teleport away, his instincts screaming at him to escape—

But it was already too late. Rogue had reacted on impulse, reaching out to catch him and the moment her bare skin touched his, her power activated.

A surge of energy ran through her as Kurt let out a strangled cry. His body seized as his abilities were wrenched from him, his teleportation immediately short-circuiting.

Both of them came crashing toward the ground in a tangled mess, completely disoriented.

Jean Grey's eyes widened.

She had been watching the fight closely, choosing not to intervene up until now. Despite Nathan establishing that he was dead serious about this exercise, she had hesitated to use her powers. He was, at the end of the day, a human. A highly skilled one, sure, but still—she knew just how dangerous her mental powers could be. If she wasn't careful, she could seriously hurt him.

But now?

Now, two of her teammates were plummeting toward the ground, and she had no choice.

Her hands flashed with telekinetic energy, and before Rogue and Kurt could hit the floor, an invisible force caught them mid-air, halting their fall just in time. She exhaled sharply, lowering them carefully to the ground, her mind already shifting gears.

She had been reluctant to engage, but it was clear now Nathan wasn't just toying with them. He had targeted her, drawing her out, forcing her hand.

He clearly wanted a fight, and Jean would give him one.

Jean hovered above the battlefield, her red hair lifting in the invisible currents of power radiating off her. She leveled a sharp gaze at the others and said with quiet authority:

"Stay back. I'll handle this."

The confidence in her voice left little room for argument. The other students hesitated, glancing between each other, but ultimately obeyed. Even Iceman, who had been raring to go, took a step back, watching intently.

Nathan remained where he was, standing atop his floating platform, completely at ease. He tilted his head slightly, almost amused.

Jean could end this in seconds if she wanted to. With a flick of her wrist, she could rip him out of the air and slam him into the ground until he stayed down. But that wasn't her style, and more importantly, she wasn't about to risk seriously injuring him. He was still human, no matter how skilled.

She needed a clean solution. A safer one. She would end this with her mind.

Jean closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, then reached out with her telepathy.

Nathan Cross was a mystery—his thoughts unreadable, his presence in her mind a wall of static whenever she'd tried to glance at him earlier. That alone was strange. Even people with some natural resistance to telepathy still gave off something—feelings, instincts, surface-level thoughts. But Nathan? Nothing. Like he didn't even exist.

But that wasn't going to stop her. She just had to dig deeper.

She concentrated, locking onto him, weaving her mind into his. The moment her consciousness slipped past the static and into his psyche, she felt it—

Nathan's eyes flicked up to meet hers. Not in panic. Not in distress. But with calm as if this exact moment was something he had been waiting for.

As if he had lured her in.

A sharp sense of unease prickled at the back of her skull. She had no time to react before the floodgates opened.

Images—raw, visceral—slammed into her mind like a collapsing dam.

Fire. Blood. Smoke thick in the air. Screams of men torn apart by unseen forces. A city reduced to rubble, bodies scattered across the ruins, their faces frozen in terror. Explosions. Shouts in different languages. Alien weapons reducing soldiers to ash in an instant. The sickening crunch of bone beneath a boot.

Jean gasped, the sheer weight of it forcing her breath out of her lungs. She stumbled mid-air, her body trembling. But the visions didn't stop.

They got worse.

She saw battlefields drenched in mud and blood. Felt the heat of a building burning around her, saw soldiers scrambling for cover as something massive descended from the sky, its shadow blotting out the sun.

Jean clutched her head, trying to shove the invading memories out, but they kept pouring in, faster than she could process. She wasn't just seeing them—she was living them. Every gunshot. Every scream. Every breath drawn in a world that reeked of blood and burning flesh.

Then the worst came.

The images shifted. And suddenly, she was him.

Surrounded by fire.

The heat was everywhere, crawling up her skin like living serpents of agony. The flames licked at her arms, her chest—devouring her flesh, her nerves screaming. The air thick with acrid smoke, suffocating, filling her lungs with poison.

Her skin blistered. Split open. The pain was unreal. She could smell herself burning.

Jean let out a ragged, choked cry, her body convulsing. Her fingers clawed at her temples, but there was no escape—no waking up.

This was no illusion. No nightmare.

This was real.

This was Nathan Cross's life.

The last thing she heard was her own voice screaming before darkness took her.

The other students stood frozen, too stunned to react. They didn't understand what had happened—Jean had been completely fine one second, then suddenly… a scream and she was falling toward the ground.

But Nathan moved.

His body shot forward in an instant, faster than any normal human should be able to move. He caught Jean's unconscious form just before she hit the ground, cradling her effortlessly in his arms. As he landed, he shifted her weight against him, one arm supporting her back while the other secured her around the neck.

His voice was eerily calm. "And just like that, you kids lost."

For a moment, silence. Then—"I don't know what you did, but kicking Jean's ass hardly counts as a win when the rest of us are still standing," Iceman said, shaking off his shock and stepping forward.

His hands clenched into fists, ice already forming along his arms.

Nathan turned his gaze to him, unreadable.

"I have the life of your teammate in my hands." He tightened his grip ever so slightly, as if to prove a point. "If that's not defeat, then I don't know what is."

Iceman opened his mouth to argue, but found himself hesitating. The weight of those words settled over the battlefield like a heavy fog.

Then Rogue spoke up, her brows furrowing. "Yeah, this hardly seems fair... I mean, in the first place, you didn't explain the rules to us." She crossed her arms, stepping forward. "How do we even win or lose?"

Kitty nodded, folding her arms as well. "That's right... you also told us you didn't have any powers and that you'd only be using that floating thingy."

She glanced at Rogue before looking back at Nathan, her expression shifting to something more suspicious. "But you took one of Rogue's punches. A regular guy would've had his arm broken at the very least."

...

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