Chapter 108 - Arc 7 - Ch 17: Tyson Smith's Day Off

Chapter 100

Arc 7 - Ch 17: Tyson Smith's Day Off

Date: Thursday, September 1, 2011.

Location: House of M, Manhattan, New York

Tyson stood over the fallen Chesme, scanning its crumpled form. The Fly-demon had once provided a challenge during his first ventures into Limbo with Illyana. Now, with Muse at his side and Magneto's power, slaying the demon proved effortless.

Behind Tyson waited a small army of blood constructs, each wielding a copy of Muse.

"How long can we actually stay here if you only have a day in the real world?"

"Between Victor and the Ancient One, I learned more about Limbo's nature. We thought time passed differently here, but we misunderstood." Illyana paused, collecting her thoughts. "Limbo exists beyond time. What we perceived as time passing was merely how my power interacts with this realm. Here, Limbo exists as a singular moment."

Tyson raised his eyebrows, his mind grappling with the concept. "A singular moment? But things change here. We move, we fight, we..."

"To us, change creates an illusion of passing time," Illyana explained, her voice adopting a scholarly tone. "But it remains just that, an illusion." She motioned to the landscape surrounding them.

Tyson nodded gradually, attempting to comprehend. "So when we visit this place, we never truly experience time?"

"Precisely," Illyana confirmed. "We experience change within a timeless moment. This explains why I can return us to Earth almost exactly when we left, regardless of our duration here."

Her eyes brightened with enthusiasm as she shared her knowledge. "The Ancient One described it this way. Imagine a book where each page represents a moment in Earth's timeline. Limbo resembles the space between those pages. It exists outside the narrative, outside time itself."

"So theoretically," Tyson contemplated, "we could remain here indefinitely without time passing on Earth?"

"In theory, yes. But there are complications."

"Of course there are," Tyson muttered.

"Our minds and bodies were not designed to exist outside time," Illyana clarified. "The longer we stay, the more strain we endure. Extended visits to Limbo can become disorienting."

"Victor compared it to deep-sea diving," Illyana continued. "The pressure here manifests not physically but temporally. Stay too long, and you risk temporal decompression sickness."

"You get time bends?" Tyson asked quietly.

"Exactly. But it's time that remains constant while we bend to accommodate a timeless space."

She gestured toward the fallen Chesme. "The demons thrive here because they're native to this timeless state. They avoid the strain we experience, allowing them to exist here perpetually."

"Would my healing protect me?"

"The strain of existing outside time manifests differently than wounds or illness. It affects something more fundamental." Tyson nodded, encouraging her to continue. "Consider this," Illyana said, gesturing with her hands. "Your healing factor repairs bodily damage. But what we discuss resembles damage to your very existence within time." She paused, searching for appropriate words. "Your cells remain intact. The challenge lies in your entire being struggling to exist in an unnatural state. Your healing factor might reduce some effects, but not all."

Tyson absorbed this information, his face displaying intense concentration. "At best, it might allow me more time before the effects begin?"

"Potentially," Illyana agreed. "But pushing too far carries significant risks. The demons bring a corrupting influence. We believe someone who spends excessive time here would eventually transform into a demon themselves."

"And how long can you stay in Limbo before it affects you?"

A shadow crossed Illyana's face, her eyes momentarily distant as if recalling painful memories. She inhaled deeply before continuing. "I spent years here as a child, Tyson. Years that passed in mere moments on Earth. It altered me in ways I still struggle to understand."

Illyana's hand moved unconsciously to her chest, where the Soulsword resided when not summoned. "My connection to Limbo differs from yours or anyone else's. I rule this realm. In many ways, I exist as part of it. I can withstand long stays without immediate effects. But still, the strain accumulates over time, in subtle ways."

"What kind of effects?"

Illyana's lips tightened. "Disorientation upon returning to Earth. Struggles readjusting to linear time. Sometimes nightmares. Memories that seem misplaced, as if I recall events that never happened, or occurred differently." She shook her head as if clearing it. "Always the risk exists of losing myself to this place. Of forgetting who I am beyond ruling Limbo. Of becoming more Darkchylde than human."

Tyson reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I apologize, Illyana. I never realized..."

She offered him a small, sad smile. "No need, Tyson. Darkchylde is a part of my identity. But it explains why I avoid lengthy stays here, despite my ability to endure them. The longer I remain, the harder leaving becomes. We can utilize Limbo, but relying on it too heavily is too risky."

Tyson's eyes grew distant and unfocused. He turned back to Illyana, his voice low and hesitant.

"How long will you let me stay?"

Illyana's eyebrows lifted with concern. She studied him for a long moment before responding. "You ask as if you don't want to go back."

Tyson remained silent. The quiet stretched between them, filled only by the eerie ambient sounds of Limbo. When he finally spoke, his voice carried fatigue and frustration. "It never ends," he said, "I just need time." He began pacing. "A group of Spider-Man's villains is gathering," Tyson continued, counting points on his fingers. "I still need to handle the Morlock refugees, the Brotherhood remnants, and then there's Sinister."

Illyana watched him, her face showing deep concern. She moved toward him but stopped short, gently saying, "I understand the pressure weighing on you, but—"

"Do you?" he cut in, sharply. Immediately, regret registered on his face, but he continued. "I killed and absorbed two people, Lyana. The Ancient One pointed out that Magneto's psyche is affecting me, and I hadn't noticed. Jubilee is dead, and I can't even think about it."

His voice broke on the final words, and he turned away.

Illyana moved closer, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I understand more than you realize, Tyson. Limbo can appear as an escape. A place where time loses meaning and you exist without the weight of everything pressing upon you."

Tyson nodded without turning. "Exactly. Here, I don't need to be the hero, the leader, or the one with all the answers. I can simply exist."

Illyana gently turned him to face her, her blue eyes meeting his mismatched ones. "But that's not who you truly are. You never run from responsibilities or pain. You confront them directly." Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Trust me, I know this truth. Hiding in Limbo offers no real solution. It will not bring Jubilee back. It cannot undo what happened with Magneto. And it solves none of the problems awaiting you."

Tyson looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. "What if I can't manage everything? What if I'm not strong enough?"

Illyana's expression softened. "You are strong. You have proven it time and time again." She gestured around them. "This place... it can be a tool, a resource. We can use it to train, to plan, to prepare. But it can't be an escape. The longer you stay here, the harder it will be to go back."

Tyson nodded slowly, his posture straightening slightly. "You're right. I know you're right."

Illyana smiled, a hint of her usual mischief returning to her eyes. "That's what I'm here for. To kick your ass when you start feeling sorry for yourself."

Tyson's smile grew a bit wider. "Is that what this is? An ass-kicking?"

"Not yet. Consider it a friendly warning," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious.

"You never answered my question," he said, his voice firmer now. "How long can I stay?"

"It's not that simple. There's no fixed time limit I can give you. It's not like a countdown clock where I can say, 'You have exactly this many hours before things go wrong.' The effects of staying here... they're cumulative and unpredictable. What might be safe for one person could be dangerous for another."

"But you must have some idea. A ballpark figure, at least?"

Illyana sighed, visibly frustrated. "If you're pushing me for a number, I'd say... a few days, maybe a week at most, before the risks start to outweigh the benefits. But Tyson, that's not a guarantee. It could be less, it could be more."

"So, a week."

Illyana's eyebrows arched, but she let his words slide. "So, what's first?"

"If Nat were here, she'd tell me to prioritize."

"Nat?" Illyana tilted her head. "She's the redhead, yes?"

"Yeah, that's her," Tyson confirmed with a nod.

Illyana sighed softly, her tone carrying subtle exasperation at his numerous romantic partners. "What takes priority, then?"

Tyson met her gaze, his mismatched eyes serious. "You are." Surprise flashed across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words. He continued, "I haven't seen you in months, Lyana. I've used you as a taxi service, and you had to see the state I was in this morning." He paused, his expression growing more somber. "I know you're hurting too. I wasn't the only one who lost Jubilee."

Illyana's composure wavered briefly, pain flickering across her features. She turned slightly away. "I..." she started, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I didn't expect that."

Tyson stepped closer, careful not to invade her space but wanting to offer comfort. "I'm sorry, Lyana. I've been so caught up in my own problems, I haven't been a good friend to you."

"You've had a lot on your plate. I understand."

"That's no excuse," Tyson said, shaking his head. "You've always been there for me."

Illyana nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. "I appreciate that, Tyson. I really do." She took a deep breath, composing herself. "But what about everything else? The Brotherhood, Sinister, the Morlocks..."

"They can wait," Tyson said firmly. "For now, I want to focus on you. On us. On healing."

Illyana's eyes searched his face for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile. "Alright," she said softly. "Where shall we begin?"

Tyson glanced around at the eerie landscape of Limbo, then back at Illyana. "Well, we're in your domain. Why don't you show me around? Maybe we can find a quiet spot to talk, really talk, without any distractions or interruptions."

Illyana's smile grew a bit wider. "I think I know just the place." She extended her hand. "Come on, I'll show you."

— Rogue Redemption— 

Illyana gripped Tyson's hand as she opened a portal. They stepped through into a vast chamber that pulsed with energy. The walls breathed, shifting and undulating in a hypnotic rhythm. A massive crystalline structure occupied the center, glowing with internal fire, pulsing in harmony with the walls.

"This is the heart of Limbo," Illyana said.

Tyson's eyes widened as he absorbed the sight. "I can feel it," he murmured. And he could. The heart carried a distinct quality within the metal sense he had gained from Magneto. "Thank you for trusting me enough to show me this." He understood from what Illyana had admitted earlier about Victor that if anything happened to this place, Limbo could vanish forever. The weight of that trust resonated with him.

"You're one of the few people I trust completely, Tyson. I wanted you to see this, to understand."

They moved to a small alcove near the heart. Illyana took a deep breath, her gaze growing distant. "After graduation, Jubilee was so excited."

They talked, sharing stories and memories of Jubilee. As they spoke, the weight on Tyson's chest seemed to lighten, just a little. The pain lingered, but remembrance tempered it with warmth. As their conversation wound down, Tyson's expression grew thoughtful.

"Lyana..." he began, his voice hesitant. "I think I can bring her back."

"What?"

"No. I know I can. I don't know if I should..."

"Tyson, what are you talking about? How?"

"The Time Stone. I've been thinking about it ever since the Ancient One mentioned it."

Illyana's face paled. "Messing with time... It's dangerous. The consequences..."

"I know," he said. "But that's not the only way... I think the Reality Stone could bring her back. But it's only temporary."

"Temporary? What do you mean?"

"When Thanos used the Reality Stone, the effects only lasted while he was in the area. Using it to bring Jubilee back would mean she would be tied to my presence. It wouldn't be 'real'. But I have a theory. If two Infinity Stones could be used in conjunction, it might be possible to make it permanent."

"Which stones?"

"Reality and Time," Tyson replied, his fingers drumming against his knee as he spoke. "Or Reality and Power."

Understanding dawned on Illyana's face. "I get it," she said, nodding slowly. "Reality to bring her back, Power to boost Reality, make it permanent. Or Time for the same effect."

"Exactly, with the Reality Stone, we make it so Jubilee never died. But without something to anchor that reality, to make it permanent, it would fade."

Illyana stood up, pacing in front of the crystalline heart. Tyson watched her, hope and uncertainty blending in his expression. "That's the theory, at least. I've been turning it over in my mind ever since I spoke with the Ancient One."

Illyana stopped pacing, turning to face him with a troubled expression. "When you told me the story about the Power Stone, you said it took a whole group to hold it without being killed. Now you're talking about using two?" Her voice rose slightly, concern evident in her tone. "It sounds like suicide, Tyson."

"My healing might be enough?" he said, though his voice held a note of uncertainty.

She shook her head. "Might be? Tyson, we're talking about cosmic forces here. Your healing factor is impressive, but this..." She gestured around them, at the heart of Limbo. "This is on a whole different level."

Tyson stood up, moving to stand beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know it's dangerous, Lyana. But if there's even a chance we could bring her back..."

"I want her back too. More than anything. But not at the cost of losing you." Illyana's expression softened slightly, and there was a mix of concern and affection in her eyes. "Tyson," she said gently, "I understand why you want to do this. I do. But we need to think this through carefully."

His shoulders slumped slightly. "You're right, of course. It's just... I feel like I failed her."

She placed her hand on Tyson's arm. "You didn't fail her. What happened to Jubilee... it wasn't your fault."

Tyson looked up, meeting Illyana's gaze. The pain in his eyes was raw, unguarded. "Then why does it feel like it is?"

"Because you care. Because you always try to shoulder everyone's burdens. But Tyson, you can't save everyone all the time."

Tyson's expression hardened slightly. "Maybe not. But if there's a chance to save Jubilee, to bring her back... don't I owe it to her to try?"

Illyana sighed, her hand dropping from Tyson's arm. "You never give up, do you?" Illyana turned to face him, her expression serious once more. "Okay, let's say for a moment that we could find a way to use the stones safely. Where would we even get them? You said they were scattered across the universe."

"The Time Stone is on Earth, with the Ancient One. The Reality Stone appears with the Convergence. And the Power Stone... well, that's a whole other problem."

She added, "And getting our hands on them would be another challenge entirely."

"The Reality Stone shouldn't be too hard to intercept. The Power Stone is a different story. But for Jubilee, we'd find a way."

"Tyson, I want you to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me you won't do anything rash. That you won't go after the stones on your own against insurmountable odds to try to save her. Promise me that you'll do this carefully. With a plan."

"I can't promise that," he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry." Illyana's face fell. Her disappointment and worry etched lines across her forehead. Tyson continued, "If I try to grab an Infinity Stone, I know it won't be easy. Whatever I expect, it'll be worse. But for Jubilee..." He trailed off, his gaze distant.

Her expression hardened, a mix of frustration and concern in her blue eyes. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about it when you get to Kamar-Taj," she said.

"There's another way," he said suddenly.

"Another way?" She repeated in question.

"Cloning," he said, pressing on, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Jessica and I are clones," he explained. "She has all the memories from the person she was cloned from." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I have a blood sample of Jubilee's from after she was bitten by the vampire. If she were cloned, it'd still be her. She'd only have lost just the past two months' worth of memories."

Illyana remained silent. His face was twisted with uncertainty, and his internal struggle was evident in every line of his body. "I don't know if it's right," he admitted. "And the man or woman, or whatever Sinister is... who can create clones, I know they'd want something from me in return. And I have no idea what."

"This is a lot to consider. Are you sure about this?"

"Not at all. Sinister said he was the one who created me. But I still feel like cloning Jubilee would be wrong. What does that say about me? Or Jessica?"

Illyana's expression softened, compassion flooding her features. She moved closer, her hand sliding up to Tyson's shoulder. "It doesn't say anything about you or Jessica," she said firmly. "You're both real, both valid. Your experiences, your choices, they're what make you who you are."

The turmoil in his eyes was evident, a maelstrom of doubt, hope, and fear. "But if I'm willing to consider it for Jubilee, doesn't that mean I'm accepting what was done to us? And the fact that I don't want a clone of Jubilee because I'm not sure it would actually be her? What does that say about me?"

"It says that you're desperate to save someone you love. It means you're willing to consider every option, no matter how difficult." She paused. "But this isn't a decision to be made lightly."

Tyson nodded slowly, his expression still troubled. "I know," he said softly. "But I can't help thinking about it. About her. About the possibility of seeing her again, even if..." He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Illyana's hand moved from his shoulder to his face, gently turning him to look at her. "Even if it's not exactly the same Jubilee we lost," she finished for him. "I understand, Tyson. I do. But we need to think this through carefully."

"I'm afraid to create an illusion of her," he admitted. "I could do it, but when I see my own illusions, it's different. Like watching a phantom version of reality." He turned to face Illyana, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and fear. "It'd be like I conjured her ghost."

"I understand," she said softly. "It would be... difficult to see her like that."

They sat in silence, feeling the energy radiating from the promethium. After a long moment, Illyana broke the silence. "I feel a little better, thank you."

The weight of their earlier conversation still hung heavy in the air, but there was a sense of shared understanding between them now.

"What's the next priority?" she asked.

After a moment, he replied, "Next would be me, I suppose." Illyana raised an eyebrow in question, silently prompting him to elaborate. "I need to get control of the Magneto psyche within my head."

Illyana's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "I thought you couldn't get into your own head."

Tyson's expression darkened, a flash of anger crossing his features. "Turns out Xavier fucking locked me out of my subconscious back when we were at the institute." Illyana cursed in Russian, her blue eyes flashing with indignation on Tyson's behalf.

"But I feel like, now, after everything, I can get in," he added.

"How do you plan to do it?"

"When I was in there before, with Sabertooth, we fought," he explained. "Afterward, I was able to better control his influence. I imagine I'll have to do the same with Magneto."

"A mental battle," she mused. "It makes sense, given the nature of your powers."

Tyson's expression grew serious. "I just need to make sure I win."

"You will," she said firmly, her blue eyes meeting his broken, mismatched ones. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Tyson gave her a small, grateful smile. The air around them seemed to shift, the oppressive weight of their earlier conversation lifting slightly. In its place was a sense of purpose, of forward momentum.

"So," Illyana said, her tone lighter but still serious, "how do we prepare for this mental showdown?"

Tyson shrugged. "Hell if I know," he said, "Maybe it has to do with my sense of self, or confidence."

Illyana's laughter echoed through the small chamber. "You had a threesome last night," she said. "You killed Magneto, one of the most powerful mutants on the planet. How much more of a confidence boost do you need?"

Tyson couldn't stop a small smile from forming. "When you put it that way," he conceded, shaking his head.

"I mean, really, Tyson. What more could you possibly need? A parade in your honor? A key to the city? A statue erected in Times Square?"

Tyson chuckled. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I get your point."

The lighthearted moment seemed to lift some of the weight from Tyson's shoulders. "It's just... different when it comes to mental battles, you know?" he said, his tone growing more serious. "Physical fights, sure. But in here?" He tapped his temple. "It's a whole other ballgame."

Illyana nodded, her own expression sobering. "I understand," she said softly.

"How do you maintain control in your Darkchylde form?"

Illyana's gaze grew distant, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the arm of her seat. "It's not always easy," she admitted. "But I remember who I am. What I've been through, what I've overcome. That's my anchor."

Tyson nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "An anchor," he repeated, his voice thoughtful. "Maybe that's what I need."

"You already have one. Your experiences, your relationships, your choices. They're all part of who you are, Tyson. They're what make you... you. Clone or not. Regardless of the souls you keep inside you."

The promethium pulsed behind them, its rhythm seeming to underscore Illyana's words.

"You're right," he said, straightening his posture.

— Rogue Redemption —

Tyson found himself standing on the basketball court of the Xavier Institute. The concrete beneath his feet felt sun-warmed and solid, grounding him in this surreal space. Overhead, the sky showed a perfect blue with scattered clouds. This place had always served as the entrance to the deepest parts of his subconscious. Most recently, he confronted Professor Xavier himself in this very court. His gaze moved to the Institute's brick facade. There, nestled within the wall, stood the door. It contrasted starkly against its surroundings, both inviting and foreboding. Tyson understood that beyond it lay the deepest recesses of his psyche, where the absorbed essences of others waited.

With Xavier's meddling undone, Tyson felt confident. This was his mind. He ruled here.

He walked across the empty court toward the door with determination. Inhaling a steadying breath, he pushed it open.

The White Room.

Impossibly, it felt like it both had walls, yet extended in every direction endlessly, interrupted only by a small cluster of furniture arranged nearby like a living room adrift in an ocean of nothingness.

And there they waited. The others. Those whose lives he had ended with the terrifying absorption power inherited from Rogue. Tyson felt his heart quicken as he observed each figure, considering them carefully.

Magneto stood tall and dignified. His eyes, sharp and calculating, tracked Tyson. Healer appeared more restrained and showed a gentle manner. Yet strength existed there too, projecting the quiet resilience of someone who had witnessed death and suffering countless times. Sabretooth patrolled the edges of the furniture arrangement, as much beast as man. His lips curled back in a continuous snarl, fangs visible and threatening. Jason Stryker sat on a sofa. His gaze wandered without focus, lost in the maze of his own fractured mind. Even here, in Tyson's psyche, Jason seemed imprisoned within himself. And then Ann Marie, Rogue, stood apart from the others.

Tyson never truly understood Rogue's presence here, in the deepest corners of his mind. But Sinister's revelation changed everything. The puzzle pieces finally connected.

He was a clone. Created from Rogue.

The realization struck him anew. It explained so much. Not just the inherited powers. Jessica's experience proved that clones could carry the memories of their progenitors. This detail explained how Rogue's psyche ended up locked within his subconscious with the others.

Beyond this inner sanctum, Tyson knew more existed, the Hallway of Possibilities, as he called it. A corridor lined with doors that held echoes of every person he had ever touched. He had glimpsed it once, when Amora the Enchantress amplified his abilities. But looking around the White Room revealed no hints of its existence, though he knew it was still there, hidden.

Tyson faced the assembled psyches before him. Each one represented a piece of himself, a fragment of power and memory that he had absorbed. They became part of him now, for better or worse.

"Well, I guess we've got some things to sort out."

Magneto raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, we do. You may think you're in control here, boy," Magneto's voice resonated with authority, "but you're mistaken. I am the strongest among us. I should be the one calling the shots."

At Magneto's shoulder, Sabretooth lurked. Tyson looked between the two, meeting their eyes in turn. Their relationship continued as it existed in life. Sabretooth, the brutal enforcer who supported Magneto's grand aspirations.

Rogue backed away, her face showing conflicted emotions. Her gloved hands rubbed together nervously as she created distance from the brewing confrontation. Her eyes revealed fear but also profound sadness. Healer moved to join Rogue but allowed her space. He lifted his hands in a calming gesture, wanting no involvement in the impending clash.

"Violence begets only more violence," Healer intoned, his voice calm despite the surrounding tension. "Perhaps we can coexist here without resorting to conflict."

Jason Stryker remained seated on the sofa, seemingly unaware of the unfolding drama. His vacant stare was fixed on some point in the infinite whiteness.

Their positioning didn't go unnoticed. Tyson recognized that it revealed their attitudes and motivations. Rogue, intimately familiar with the burdens of her power, avoided conflict, as did Healer. Sabretooth, true to his nature, seemed to welcome the rising tension. At the center stood Magneto, the self-proclaimed master of magnetism.

"I've faced trials you couldn't begin to imagine. I've shaped the course of history. My will. My vision is what's needed to guide us." Magneto continued, his voice thick with disdain.

The pressure within this mental area grew overwhelming, as if the air contracted under Magneto's words. Tyson felt the weight of the older mutant's experiences, and the raw power of his convictions threatened to consume his sense of self.

"You're wrong," he said, "You're not the strongest here. You're just the loudest."

"I may not have your experience," Tyson shook his head, "No, that's not right. I do have all your experience. And I possess something you never will. I have all of you. Your strengths, knowledge, and powers, but I'm not bound by your limitations. Your hatred, your fear, your regrets do not define me."

"Perhaps you have inherited my oratory skills," Magneto said condescendingly, "but certainly not my intelligence. If you had, you would never have dared to venture here."

Before Tyson could react, Sabretooth launched forward, his claws sliced through Tyson's flesh and muscle. Yet the claws were stopped by Tyson's adamantium skeleton.

"We've already had this dance once before," Tyson growled, his own claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. "The outcome hasn't changed."

He struck, and unlike his attacker, thanks to the adamantium, Tyson's strike continued unimpeded into Sabertooth's soft organs.

But Magneto refused to let his minion fall so easily. With an almost casual gesture, he raised his hand.

Suddenly, Tyson's adamantium skeleton froze in place. Every joint and vertebra was locked solid under Magneto's control.

With another wrist movement, Magneto positioned Tyson in a cruel parody of crucifixion. His arms were stretched wide, his feet locked together, suspended in the whiteness of his mind.

Sabretooth's eyes shone with malicious pleasure as he approached again. He slashed at Tyson's helpless form. Each strike tore through flesh and muscle. Yet even as Sabretooth's assault continued, Tyson's body began to repair itself. The healing factor worked continuously, mending flesh only for it to tear apart again in an endless, excruciating cycle.

Magneto observed the gruesome spectacle with cold detachment. His cape swirled around him, ignoring physical laws in this mental realm. "You foolish child. Did you truly believe you could challenge me here? I, who have faced the worst humanity offers, and emerged stronger?" Another slash from Sabretooth punctuated Magneto's words. "You possess power, yes," Magneto continued, his tone almost professorial. "But power without purpose, without vision, proves worse than useless. It becomes dangerous."

The white expanse around them darkened, adopting shades of steel grey and ominous crimson. Tyson's pain and Magneto's growing dominance reshaped the mental landscape.

"History repeats itself. I have seen the future that awaits our kind," Magneto's voice rose. "I have fought against the tide of human fear and hatred. What have you done, boy? What battles have you won? What sacrifices have you made?" Sabretooth's claws raked across Tyson's chest once more. "You think because you've absorbed our powers, our memories, that you understand," Magneto scoffed. "I could reshape this mind of yours," he mused, "Mold you into the weapon you were always meant to be. Under my guidance, you could become the savior our kind needs. Or rather, should I say, I could become the savior. You would remain here. A prisoner in your own mind."

— Rogue Redemption —

Tyson's body hung suspended as Sabretooth's claws tore into his flesh. Rogue watched in horror, her gloved hands pressed against her mouth to stifle a scream. Beside her, the Healer's face showed his sadness as he silently watched the brutality before them.

Then...

Rogue heard a crunching sound just to her side. She looked over to see a bag of popcorn, tilted toward her in offering, held casually by...

Tyson?

She blinked, her mind struggling to process the impossibility. Her gaze darted between the Tyson offering snacks and the one suspended in Magneto's grip.

"How in tarnation...?" Her southern drawl was more pronounced with her confusion.

The Tyson holding the popcorn gave a wry smile. "I have all your powers. Including his," he explained, gesturing towards Jason Stryker, who remained motionless on the sofa. Understanding dawned in her eyes. He continued, "Let Magneto and Sabretooth play with my illusion for a while. I need to speak properly with both of you."

The scene before them took on a dreamlike quality. The suspended Tyson, Magneto, and Sabretooth seemed to recede, becoming distant and less substantial.

Tyson turned to Healer, inclining his head respectfully. "Thank you for allowing me to use your power. I saved many of the Morlocks. I apologize for things happening the way they did. I knew you were going to die," Tyson continued. "I hoped to use your gift to continue helping mutants. Several would have died without my intervention after your passing." He paused, meeting the Healer's gaze. "I know it's small consolation for your death."

The air around them shimmered, and for a moment, ghostly images of the Morlocks Tyson had saved with the Healer's power.

"Every life saved marks a victory, young one. I am glad my gift could continue to help our people, even after I was gone."

Rogue watched this exchange with trepidation. The popcorn bag in her hands felt surreal and out of place with the profound moment unfolding before her.

"Sugar," she whispered, "I don't rightly understand what's happening here, but how are you doing this? Controlling your powers like this?"

Tyson turned to her. He seemed far older and wearier, but also more centered than Rogue had seen him previously. "It's not about control, Rogue," he explained. "It's about acceptance. I spent so long fighting against your power and these fractured pieces of other people's psyches. But it's taken me a while to realize that they form part of me. All of you do."

The mental landscape around them flashed with memories. Rogue's, Healer's, Magneto's, Sabertooth's, and above them all, Tyson's, danced at the edges of their vision. Moments of joy, pain, triumph, and despair blended in a kaleidoscope of shared experience.

Tyson reached out, his hand hovered just above Rogue's gloves. "I know who I am at my core," he said. "By accepting these powers, these memories, as part of me, experiences to learn from, not identities to lose myself in, or choices to regret making. It's a journey. One that I'm still figuring out. But I refuse to run from who and what I am."

"You thought your power brought only death, that we could bring only death." His words carried the weight of their shared experience, of the burden her powers brought, one they both understood all too well.

Tyson gestured towards the Healer. "He was dying. We killed him. I killed him." His voice cracked slightly, the pain of that memory etched across his face. "But in doing so, I brought life." Suddenly they were surrounded by vivid illusions. Morlocks materialized before their eyes, each one a life he had saved. The images appeared crisp, tangible, and greater than the hazy memories that previously surrounded them.

Rogue watched as mutants she had never met but somehow recognized came to life before her. Children laughed and adults stood tall, all free from the pain that had plagued them. And then, the Angel appeared. His wings were damaged and he was crucified. But after Tyson's assistance, the wings unfurled, majestic and whole, radiant, and magnificent.

"This is our power," Tyson said. "This is what we can do. We don't just bring death. We can bring life. And we aren't alone anymore."

He reached out, taking Rogue's hands in his own. She flinched instinctively, her self-imposed isolation making even this simple touch feel dangerous. Tears welled up in her eyes, a storm of emotions she couldn't begin to untangle. Was it despair at the reminder of her curse? Sadness for a life she thought she could never have? Or a fragile, tentative joy at the possibility Tyson offered?

"I... I don't know if I can..."

Tyson's grip remained firm, anchoring her. Slowly, deliberately, he began to peel off her gloves.

"Don't! I'll hurt you!" she cried, trying to pull away.

But Tyson held fast. "Trust me, Ann Marie. Trust yourself."

The gloves fell away, leaving Rogue's hands bare and trembling.

Gently, Tyson took her bare hand and brought it to his face. Rogue squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the familiar, horrible pull of her power activating.

For the rush of memories,

The drain of life force,

The agony of absorption…

But nothing happened.

Rogue's eyes flew open in disbelief. Her palm rested against Tyson's cheek, skin to skin, and nothing. No pain, no drain, no stolen life force. Just the simple, profound warmth of human contact.

"How...?" she whispered.

Tyson smiled in understanding, compassion, and a depth of shared experience that transcended words.

"Your power is my power. Our power."

Tears flowed freely down Rogue's cheeks now, but they were tears of joy, of relief, hope she had long thought lost. Her hand trembled against Tyson's face, savoring the sensation of touch she had been denied for so long.

"I... I can touch someone," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I'm not killing you. I'm touching you."

The white expanse of the mental landscape around them responded to Rogue's emotions, blossoming with vibrant colors. The oppressive weight of fear and isolation that had clouded her portion of Tyson's psyche began to lift.

"This marks the beginning," Tyson said softly. "Your power, our power, it's not just destruction. It embodies potential. It represents life."

As Rogue embraced the possibility of controlling her power, the stark whiteness around her shifted. Colors bled into the void, like watercolors seeping across a blank canvas. Tyson watched in awe as the transformation unfolded.

"Look," he whispered, gesturing to the changing environment. "Your acceptance, your hope reshapes this space."

The sterile white room was fading away, replaced by something far more vibrant and alive. Tyson, sensing the shift, reached out with his mind. He tapped into the well of shared memories, seeking something familiar and comforting for Rogue. In a heartbeat, the abstract colors coalesced into a tangible form.

Her childhood bedroom in Caldecott County, Mississippi.

Every detail appeared perfect from the faded floral wallpaper to the worn quilt draped across her bed.

"Is this...?" Rogue's voice trailed off, choked with emotion.

"Your haven. A piece of home, right here."

Rogue stepped into the room, her fingers trailing over the familiar surfaces. As she moved, color seemed to flow from her touch, saturating the space with warmth and life. The room became more than just a memory. It was a sanctuary.

"It belongs to you," Tyson said, "A permanent refuge within my mind. Safe from Sabretooth, from Magneto, or anyone else."

Tears glistened in Rogue's eyes as she turned back to Tyson. "Thank you," she whispered, her Southern drawl thick with emotion. "I never thought I'd feel safe again..."

Tyson stepped forward, taking her bare hand in his. The touch remained harmless. "Your power isn't a curse."

He guided her to the threshold of her room, bringing her back to where Healer still awaited. The older mutant's form had begun streaming color around him as Tyson's illusion showed all the Morlocks he had healed. It was as if knowing his power still helped others had allowed Healer's essence to flow more freely within Tyson's psyche. Intrigued, he delved deeper into Healer's memories. Images flashed before him, a man with bandages wrapped around his head, his past a mystery even to himself. The bandages had become more than just a medical necessity or a stylistic choice. They reminded him of a life lost, forgotten, a constant physical representation of the void in his memory. Tyson concentrated on the fragments of memory flowing from Healer. He couldn't restore what was lost, but he could offer something in its place. Something to honor the man Healer had been and the one Tyson had become. The space around them expanded and lush greenery sprouted from nothingness, unfurling in a breathtaking display of life and vitality. Trees reached towards an illusory sky, their branches heavy with vibrant blossoms. Flowers of every hue carpeted the ground, their perfume filling the air with a sweet, heady scent.

Healer's eyes widened in recognition. "The botanical gardens," he breathed. "I used to walk there, finding peace among the plants."

Tyson nodded, solidifying the illusion within his mind. Just as he had done for Rogue, he created a permanent space for Healer. A sanctuary that reflected the essence of who he was.

"It belongs to you," Tyson said, gesturing to the sprawling garden. "A place of healing, of growth. Where you can tend to the plants and to yourself."

Healer's fingers brushed against a delicate orchid. "Thank you," he said simply.

Rogue watched this exchange from the doorway of her sanctuary. "Is this what our power can really do?" she asked. "Create safety, healing, hope?"

"It encompasses what we can do together."

Tyson stood at the edge of the newly created sanctuaries, the vibrant colors of Rogue's room and Healer's garden a stark contrast to the whiteness that existed where Sabertooth and Magneto tortured his illusion.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, his voice tinged with both determination and a hint of wry humor, "I have to speak with our local chapter of the Brotherhood." With a thought, Tyson dismissed the illusion of himself hanging under Magneto's power.

But only for Sabertooth.

The false Tyson flickered and vanished, leaving Magneto still lecturing and taunting him. But Sabretooth's feral senses caught the shift immediately. His head snapped towards Tyson, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing.

As Sabretooth's attention locked onto him, he reached out with his mind, manipulating the fabric of his psychic landscape. The sterile white room began to fade, replaced by a vista both beautiful and brutal. The Canadian wilderness unfurled around them, vast and untamed. Towering pines reached for a steel gray sky with branches heavy with snow. The air grew crisp and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke while a frozen lake glittered in the distance.

"This is where he found you," Tyson said, "The wilderness. Where you gave in to your mutation, let your feral nature take control. Where you stopped being Victor and started being Sabretooth."

A growl rumbled deep in Sabretooth's chest, but it wasn't entirely threatening. There was something almost pleased in the sound. His massive form seemed to relax slightly, as if the familiar terrain soothed some primal part of him.

"This," Sabretooth snarled, gesturing to the wild landscape around them, "this is what I wanted. To be free. To unleash who I really am, without the chains of society. To hunt. To kill." This was the core of Sabretooth's psyche. The raw, untamed ferocity that drove him.

Fighting against it had only led to more conflict and more pain.

"So go," Tyson said, spreading his arms wide.

As if summoned by his words, a massive grizzly bear appeared on a nearby ridge. It reared up on its hind legs, easily nine feet tall, and let out a roar. A challenge. A promise of violence. Sabretooth's entire demeanor changed in an instant. A feral grin spread across his face, and he roared, meeting the challenge, before launching himself towards his new prey. The two apex predators collided in a fury of claws and fangs with a brutality that was difficult to witness, but there was also an undeniable rightness to it. This was Sabretooth in his element, unleashing the full force of his nature in an environment that could withstand it. The mental construct of the wilderness absorbed the violence, containing it. Trees splintered under the force of thrown bodies, the snow turned crimson with spilled blood, but the damage didn't spread beyond this created space. It was catharsis given form, a release valve for the pent-up aggression that Tyson had been forced to keep at bay.

As the battle raged on, Rogue joined him at his side, her eyes wide as she watched the scene before them.

"Is this... is this the answer?" she asked. "Letting him loose like this?"

"Maybe not forever," he admitted. "But for now, it gives him what he needs without hurting anyone. And it gives us a chance to understand this part of ourselves without being consumed by it. Look." Tyson pointed. The wilderness construct solidified around them as Sabertooth spilled the illusory grizzly's blood.

Rogue nodded slowly, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "Like my room," she said. "And Healer's garden. It's not about getting rid of the difficult parts of us. It's about finding a place for them."

"Exactly," Tyson said.

As they watched, the furious combat began to slow. Both Sabretooth and the bear were bloodied and panting, but a gleam of satisfaction appeared in Sabretooth's eyes that hadn't existed before. The raw edge of his fury seemed, not gone, but tempered.

Tyson squeezed Rogue's hand reassuringly before letting it go and stepping forward.

He took the place of his illusion, which was still being held by Magneto. His body was suspended in mid-air. The illusion of torture that had fooled the Master of Magnetism became real once more.

"When does it end, Erik?" Tyson asked, interrupting whatever speech he'd been giving.

"End? My dear boy, this marks only the beginning. Your power, your potential, remain wasted on Charles's foolish dreams of coexistence. Under my guidance, you… We… I could reshape the world!"

Tyson allowed himself a small, sad smile. "That's not what I meant, old friend."

The familiar term caught Magneto off guard. His concentration wavered, and the psychic construct of the torture flickered.

"When does the cycle of violence end?" Tyson pressed on. "How many more must suffer before you find satisfaction? Before the world that you're trying to build crumbles under the weight of its own brutality?"

Anger flashed in Magneto's eyes. "You speak of things you cannot understand, child. I have seen the depths of human cruelty and felt the sting of their fear and hatred. Our survival depends on our strength and our willingness to do what's necessary!"

As Magneto's fury grew, the white room began to shift. Shadows of concentration camps stretched across the walls, and echoes of screams filled the air. The horrors that had shaped Erik Lehnsherr into Magneto bled into the fabric of Tyson's mindscape.

But Tyson didn't flinch. "I understand more than you know, Erik," he said softly. "I carry your memories, your pain. But I also carry hope."

Tyson lowered himself to the ground under his own power to stand on equal footing with Magneto. "I've seen your pain. I've felt it. But let me show you something else."

With a thought, the grim scene shifted. The barbed wire and watchtowers melted away, replaced by bustling city streets. Modern skyscrapers rose where guard towers had stood. People of all kinds walked side by side, their faces were absent the fear and hatred that had defined Magneto's experiences.

"For one year," Tyson explained, "people forgot mutants existed. It wasn't perfect, far from it. But things improved. It gave us a chance to start fresh, without the stigma." Tyson pressed on, the illusions shifting to show glimpses of his own life during that year. "I wasn't attacked a single time, Erik. No discrimination. Sure, I faced challenges and got into fights. But none of it happened because of what I am, what we are."

The scenes changed again, this time revealing House of M, once a theater, now a shelter, a safe space for mutants who had been forgotten or driven from society.

"This is what I've done with your legacy," Tyson said. "I'm helping the Morlocks, healing them. Giving them a chance at life out of the shadows."

"You've done well, but—"

Tyson cut him off. "You fought long and hard, Erik. You've seen suffering. But it's time for you to rest. Let me take up your mantle now." He stepped closer. "You see Charles in me, don't you? But you haven't looked deep enough. Yes, I learned from him briefly. But am I truly like him?"

"Or am I more like you?"

The illusions appeared around them once more, this time showing Tyson in action. His brutal takedown of the Abomination, where he'd ripped out its heart. The cold calculation as he captured the Marauders. Hamstringing the Green Goblin and spearing Kraven through his legs. The quick disposal of the Sabertooth clone. The army that he swept beneath his psychic fury when they attacked the Xavier Institute.

"I'm not a kitten, Erik," Tyson said, his voice low and intense. "I'm a Sabertooth. And I'll fight against discrimination, for us to be equals in society."

Magneto watched the displays of power with growing interest, and a hint of his old fire returned to his eyes.

"And if I can't do that through peaceful means? I'll make damn sure we're respected and protected." He paused, letting his next words sink in. "I control the Sentinels. The Inhibitor collars. They're mine. They will not control me, and they will not control us."

For a long moment, Magneto was silent, processing everything he'd seen and heard. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "You speak of peace, yet prepare for war. You heal, yet you do not hesitate to destroy your enemies." He smiled ruefully. "Perhaps you are more like me than I realized."

Tyson felt the weight of Magneto's scrutiny. "I'm forging a path of my own. One that combines the best of both your ideals, but tempered by the realities of our world."

Magneto reached out, placing a hand on Tyson's shoulder. "You bear a heavy burden, young one. But perhaps you are the one we've been waiting for. The bridge between Charles's dream and my vision."

As Magneto's acceptance washed over him, Tyson felt a shift within his psyche. The absorbed essence of the older mutant began to integrate more fully, not as a conquered foe, but as a partner, a mentor.

"I won't let you down," Tyson promised.

"See that you don't. The fate of our people may well rest in your hands."

Tyson closed his eyes, delving deep into Magneto's memories. He sifted through the pain and struggle, searching for times of genuine peace and happiness.

Suddenly, he found it.

When Tyson opened his eyes, he and Magneto stood before a modest but charming house.

"This is..."

"Your home in the Carpathian Mountains in Poland," Tyson finished softly. "With Magda and Anya."

They walked up the short path to the front door. Sounds of a child's laughter drifted through an open window, accompanied by the gentle humming of a woman's voice.

Tyson turned to Magneto, whose eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I can't bring them back," he said gently. "But here, in this space, you can remember the good times. The life you had, however briefly."

Magneto reached out to touch the wooden door frame. "I had almost forgotten," he whispered. "The feel of this place, the simple joy of coming home to my family."

Inside, they could see glimpses of a cozy living room with a child's drawings decorating the walls. It was a sight that Erik Lehnsherr had thought lost to him forever.

"This was before," Magneto said, his voice thick with emotion. "Before they took her from me. We were just happy."

"And now you have it again, in a way. A place to rest, to remember why you started fighting in the first place. Not just against something, but for something."

The mental construct of the house seemed to pulse with warmth and life. It wasn't just a memory, but a reminder of the humanity that still existed within Magneto. As he stepped towards the house, towards a moment of long lost peace, Tyson felt as another fragment of his psyche settled into place. He turned back toward the white room.

There was just one left.

Tyson stood before Jason within the last bastion of white emptiness. The White Room had seemed normal before, but now it felt wrong, discordant with the rest of his mind. Jason still sat motionless on a couch with that perpetually vacant.

Rogue joined him, standing at his side. "What happened to him to make him like this?"

"It's not a pretty story. Jason was an incredibly gifted psychic, specializing in illusions. He attended Xavier's school, just like me." As Tyson spoke, ghostly images flickered around them of a younger Jason, smiling and carefree, walking the halls of the Institute. "His father wanted him 'cured' of being a mutant," Tyson continued, his voice hardening. "But that's not something Xavier could do. Or would do, even if he could."

"His father didn't want him to be a mutant," she whispered. "I know what that's like. I didn't want to be a mutant either."

Tyson nodded, acknowledging her pain. "After Jason left the Institute, things got worse. His illusions drove his mother to commit suicide." Rogue gasped. "His father ambushed him. Lobotomized him. Used him as a tool while harvesting his cerebral spinal fluid as a mind control serum. His father was the worst kind of person. The kind Magneto would use as a cautionary tale to recruit mutants."

"That's horrible. How could anyone do that to their own child?"

Tyson's expression slightly softened as he turned to her. "His story is tragic, Rogue. His father loathed him from the moment his power manifested. And after his mother's death, that loathing multiplied tenfold. He didn't see Jason as his son anymore. He was just the mutant that killed his wife."

They both stared at Jason's unmoving form. Finally, Rogue hopefully asked, "Can you help him?"

Tyson pursed his lips, considering. He held out his hand, channeling Healer's power. Golden light flowed from his fingertips, enveloping Jason's still form. He worked to undo the damage Stryker had inflicted. Long moments passed before, finally, he lowered his hand. "There's not much left. The physical damage is repaired. But the psychological trauma, the years of abuse and neglect left deep scars. And the lobotomy left little personality and fractured memories."

Tyson closed his eyes, delving deeper into what remained of Jason's memories. Flashes of a lonely childhood, of fear and rejection, played out around them like a fractured film reel.

"There wasn't any positivity at home," Tyson explained. "The closest thing to happiness I can find is his time as a minor prankster at the institute."

As he spoke, new images formed of Jason using his powers for harmless tricks, the laughter of his fellow students. For a brief moment, the oppressive whiteness of this part of Tyson's psyche lifted. The stark white void around them began to shift and blur, colors bleeding into the emptiness.

Tyson closed his eyes, concentrating on his memories from his time at Xavier's Institute. When he opened them again, the familiar lounge of the school had materialized around them. Warm wood paneling lined the walls, interspersed with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the grounds of the estate. Comfortable sofas and armchairs were arranged in inviting clusters. A crackling fireplace cast a warm glow across the room. He couldn't help but think of Jubilee; she loved lounging here when she wasn't gaming.

The couch Jason had been sitting on morphed seamlessly into one of the lounge's plush sofas. His rigid posture softened as the familiar surroundings enveloped him.

Rogue's fingers trailed over the back of a nearby armchair. "It's not just my memories," he explained. "It's Jason's too. This place meant something to him."

They both turned their attention to Jason, who remained motionless on the sofa. His vacant stare was fixed on the fireplace, but there was no indication that he truly saw it.

"Come on, Jason," Tyson said softly, kneeling before him. "This is your space now. A place where you're safe. Where you can be yourself."

At first, nothing happened. The crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of Tyson and Rogue were the only sounds in the room.

Then, a tiny butterfly materialized near Jason's hand. Its wings were an impossible swirl of colors, shifting and changing as it fluttered in place.

"Is that...?" Rogue began, her voice filled with wonder. Tyson nodded, not daring to speak for fear of breaking the fragile moment.

The butterfly was soon joined by another, then another. They danced through the air in intricate patterns, leaving trails of sparkling light in their wake. As they watched, breathless, more illusions began to form. A miniature carousel sprouted from the coffee table, its painted horses prancing to an unheard melody. The flames in the fireplace twisted into the shapes of mythical creatures, dragons and phoenixes swooping and soaring.

"It's beautiful," Rogue breathed.

Tyson smiled, relief and hope washing over him. "This is who Jason really is," he said softly. "Not the weapon his father tried to make him, but an artist. A creator." The illusions continued to grow more complex.

The walls of the lounge seemed to melt away, replaced by sweeping vistas of impossible landscapes. Mountains of crystal rose in the distance, their peaks brushing against clouds that rained starlight. Forests of silver trees swayed in a breeze.

Through it all, Jason remained motionless on the sofa. But there was a subtle change in his expression, a softening around his eyes that hinted at the mental exertion and… joy, behind the fantastical display.

Tyson turned to Rogue and spread his arm wide, gesturing to the completely transformed mindscape. "Do you see? This is what our powers can be. Not just a weapon, not just something to fear. They form extensions of who we are, expressions of our truest selves."

Rogue reached out, her bare hand hovering near one of the illusory butterflies, and it landed on her finger. "I never thought..." she whispered. "I always saw my power as a curse. As something that only hurts people."

Tyson placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know. Believe me, if anyone understands, it's me. I lived it. But look at what Jason is creating, even after everything he's been through. There's beauty in our gifts, Rogue. We just have to learn how to see it." As they spoke, the illusions around them shifted once more.

The fantastic landscapes faded, replaced by scenes from the Institute. Students laughed and played, using their powers freely and joyfully. A younger Ororo created a miniature rainbow, while Scott Summers carefully carved an ice sculpture with his eye beams.

"These are Jason's memories," Tyson explained, "The good times, the moments of acceptance and belonging. He held onto them, even through everything else."

Rogue watched the scenes unfold with longing and hope. "Do you think I could ever use my power like that? To create something beautiful, instead of just taking?"

"I know you can. Your power isn't just about absorption. It's about connection, about understanding others in a way no one else can. That represents a gift, even if it doesn't always feel like one."

Ann Marie smiled tentatively. For the first time since her powers had manifested, she allowed herself hope. To see a future where fear and isolation didn't define her. They stood there, surrounded by the swirling beauty of Jason's illusions and the warmth of shared understanding.

And the final piece of Tyson's fragmented psyche settled into place.

— Rogue Redemption —

Tyson's eyes fluttered open, his consciousness returning fully to his body after the intense inner journey. He uncrossed his legs, stretching muscles that felt like they'd been still for far longer than he anticipated. As he regained his bearings, his attention was immediately drawn to a nearby clearing. Illyana wielded her Soulsword as she moved through a complex kata. Each motion appeared precise, speaking of her year of training. Tyson approached slowly, careful not to disturb her concentration.

As Illyana completed the final form, bringing her Soulsword to rest at her side, Tyson spoke softly. "You've gotten better," he said. "Azazel wouldn't stand a chance now."

Illyana bowed her head slightly. "How was your meditation?" she asked.

"It went better than expected," he replied. "But you look wholly unsurprised. You weren't worried Magneto might win and take over my body?"

Illyana's eyebrows raised slightly, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. "I had no doubts," she said.

"Why's that?" Tyson asked.

"It's been about ten days," Illyana replied with a casual shrug. "If you were going to give up, it wouldn't have taken this long."

Tyson's eyes widened in surprise. "Ten days? But you told me I only had a week."

"I know you were interrupted at the Institute by Xavier. I didn't want that to happen again."

"That was really thoughtful," he said softly. "Thank you."

"How do you feel?"

Tyson took a moment to assess himself. "Good," he said finally. "Relieved. Like I'm myself for the first time. I feel whole." He hesitated for a moment. "You've done so much for me. Can I ask one more favor?"

"Of course," Illyana replied without hesitation.

Tyson concentrated, and the thin steel nanosheet that served as his second skin began to move. It streamed away from his body, coalescing into a large, shimmering ball that hovered behind him. He held out his bare hand to Illyana.

"Truly?" she whispered.

"Only one way to find out."

She hesitated for just a moment before placing her cheek against Tyson's outstretched hand. Illyana braced for the drain of Tyson's power, for the sensation of her life force being pulled away.

But nothing happened.

There was only the warmth of Tyson's skin against hers.

She looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of illusion or deception. What she saw took her breath away.

Tyson's eyes had changed.

Gone were the mismatched blue and green that had marked him since Alkali Lake. In their place were eyes of an almost silver gray, with thin rings of blue on the inside and green on the outside of each iris.

"Your eyes… They're not broken anymore. True control?"

"Not sure if I have full control," he admitted, "but I can turn it off." A small laugh escaped Illyana's lips, even as tears welled up in her eyes. It was a sound of pure relief, of a burden lifted after so long. His expression grew serious, though his eyes remained soft. "May I try?"

Illyana nodded, trust evident in her gaze.

A soft glow emanated from Tyson's hand where it rested against Illyana's cheek. Five seconds, then the glow faded away.

"How do you feel?" Tyson asked.

"I feel fine," she said. "It didn't hurt." The tears that had been threatening now spilled over, but they were tears of joy, of relief, of hope for a future that had once seemed impossible.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she reached up and pulled Tyson down to her. They stood there, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath and the enormity of the moment. For Tyson, it was a culmination of months of struggle. Now, feeling her so close without the ever-present fear of harming her, he felt truly whole for the first time. Illyana's mind raced with conflicting emotions. The love she felt for Tyson had never wavered, but she had built walls around her heart out of necessity. And yet, standing here with him, feeling his touch, those walls were crumbling.

"I know things have been complicated between us," Tyson whispered.

Illyana pulled back slightly. "Tyson," she began, but he gently cut her off.

"Please, let me say this," he said softly. "I need you to know that even when we were apart, my feelings for you never changed."

Part of her wanted to run, to retreat behind the safety of her emotional barriers. But a larger part urged her to stay, to embrace this moment. "I know," she said finally. "And I've never stopped loving you, Tyson. But it's not that simple. We've both changed so much. It'll be months before you come to Kamar Taj..."

"I'm not asking for anything, Illyana. Natasha told me I should try being more honest about how I feel." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You were there for me with Magneto, and when I was mind controlled by Stryker. And now, here you are again, supporting me through this. Without you, I don't know if I'd have been able to learn control. I just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me. I don't know if I ever really expressed it before."

Though Tyson had said he wasn't looking for anything from her, Illyana's face became a battlefield of conflicting emotions. She let out a frustrated sigh. "You couldn't just make it easy, could you?" she said with a hint of exasperation. "You have to go and say something like that."

Tyson's expression shifted to one of confusion, not quite understanding her reaction.

Illyana didn't elaborate. Instead, she reached out and pulled him close once more, until their foreheads touched again. "You know you're trapped here until I let you go," she whispered, her breath warm against Tyson's skin. Technically, he had absorbed her power and could use it to leave Limbo, but he held his tongue. She smiled and continued, "A part of me wants to be petty and be your first, now that you have control, like I always intended. But more of me isn't sure you deserve it after being such a slut."

The tension broke as they both laughed, though Illyana's eyes still glistened with unshed tears. Her tone was teasing, but he had her memories and knew she was using it to mask her genuine hurt. She pulled away, creating a small distance between them as she collected herself.

"Before I left Kamar Taj, the Ancient One said something that stuck with me. 'You never truly know someone until you fight them.'"

"I realized we've never really fought. Not with any true intent. There was that scuffle at the institute on the basketball court, and you attacked me when you were mind-controlled by Stryker. But we've never had a match, at our best."

"You want to fight me?" he asked incredulously.

"When we first started hunting here, you said I was stronger than you. Do you still believe that?"

Tyson hesitated. "I'm not sure..."

A small, challenging smile curved Illyana's lips. "Then we will fight, here, where I'm strongest."

"Are you sure that the Ancient One didn't watch the Matrix as this week's Sanctum movie night?" Tyson asked, still trying to understand her sudden shift. "Why do you want to fight?"

"Because I want to know if I learn anything about you." She paused, then added with a hint of her earlier playfulness, "Oh. And don't hold back. I'll know if you do."

"I meant what I said."

Illyana's expression softened for a moment. But it was quickly replaced by a hardened mask. "I know. And that's why we need to do this. I need to know who you are now, not just who you were or who I want you to be."

Tyson nodded slowly in understanding. This wasn't just about testing their strength or settling old scores. It was Illyana's way of truly seeing him, of understanding the man he had become through all his trials.

"Alright," he said, squaring his shoulders. "If this is what you need, I'm ready."

Illyana's Soulsword materialized in her hand. "Remember. Don't hold back. Show me everything you've become."

Tyson held up his hand. "Wait. I still have your power. It wouldn't be a fair fight." He paused, considering. "Five-minute prep period? I won't use your knowledge of Limbo or magic."

Illyana agreed, "Fine."

With a gesture from Tyson, the adamantium suit around Illyana began to stream off her body. She raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged in reply. "Unless you want me to toss you around like a ping pong ball."

"You can have it back afterward. I promise."

The adamantium flowed towards Tyson, forming around him in a protective layer. He pulled more from the nearby block, adding a breastplate, pauldrons, and plating sections on his legs and feet. The process took barely a minute.

In his second minute, Tyson formed a spear and a sword from the adamantium and other materials at his disposal. He also crafted a heavy shield out of steel.

Illyana watched his preparations with amusement. "Are you trying to slay me, or a dragon?" she quipped at his heavy medieval-looking armaments.

"Oh, I'll win. And maybe I'll slay you after. If you're lucky."

"You wish," Illyana retorted, her own competitive spirit rising to meet his.

As Tyson finished his preparations, Illyana began casting spells. Golden spell forms settled upon her skin. Tyson, true to his word, didn't cast any spells himself, but he recognized what Illyana was doing. She was enhancing her speed and strength.

With one minute left in their preparation time, Tyson suddenly teleported away. Illyana, momentarily confused, reached out with her senses. She could feel his presence still within Limbo and followed, appearing across from him in the center of a vast, barren plain.

As Illyana materialized, she began casting her final prepared spell. This one was different, more intense. As she chanted, her form began to change. Her skin took on an ashen hue, and horns sprouted from her head. The transformation was beautiful. Illyana entered her Darkchylde form, embracing the full extent of her power in this realm.

Tyson's eyes widened slightly, realizing just how seriously Illyana was taking this confrontation. The last spell she cast was Sheltered Vitality. He recognized it would protect her from his absorption abilities. Even if he managed to touch her, he wouldn't gain her powers.

"Clever choice," Tyson acknowledged, nodding his approval.

Illyana's voice now carried an echo in her Darkchylde form. She asked, "Why did you bring us here?"

Tyson gestured to the barren landscape around them. "It's away from all the metal. Makes it a more even playing field."

With that, Tyson tossed aside his heavy shield and spear. He brandished the adamantium sword in one hand and Muse, his Uru dagger, in the other. With a final thought, he pulled some adamantium from his pauldron and attached it to Muse, creating a crossguard. Given Illyana's skill with a sword and her ability to teleport, Muse would serve better as a parrying dagger in this fight.

As Tyson finished his preparations, he felt his connection to Limbo fade, along with the arcane knowledge he had borrowed from Illyana. He was now truly on his own, facing her at the height of her power in her domain.

Tyson nodded, signaling that he was ready.

"Three," she shouted.

"Two," Tyson continued, his muscles tensing in anticipation.

"One," Illyana finished, her Soulsword materializing in her hand.

In that moment, as they stood poised on the brink of battle, time seemed to slow.

Tyson's mind raced, not with tactics or strategies, but with the weight of everything that had led them to this point. The months of separation, their other relationships, and the growth they had both undergone all crystallized in this single instant.

He looked at Illyana, truly looked at her. Beyond the demonic form of the Darkchylde, he saw the woman he loved. The girl who had suffered horrors as a child, who had forged herself into a weapon and a sorceress. The friend who had stood by him through his darkest moments.

Illyana, for her part, saw Tyson not just as he was now, a man in control of his abilities, armored and ready for battle, but as the sum of all he had been. The young mutant who struggled with powers he couldn't control. The determined fighter who had faced down threats that would have broken lesser men. The lover who had sought connection with others, even as his heart remained tied to her, even distantly.

In that frozen moment, they both knew that this fight was about more than just testing their strength. It was a chance to see each other, stripped of pretense and fear. To understand not just who they had been, but who they had become.

As the last echoes of "one" faded, the stillness shattered.

Illyana moved first, her Soulsword leaving a trail of arcane energy as she slashed towards Tyson. He parried with Muse, the clashing of blades sent sparks flying.

Tyson countered with a thrust of his adamantium sword, but Illyana teleported away in a burst of light, reappearing behind him. He spun, barely blocking her next attack with his makeshift parrying dagger.

They were a whirlwind of steel that danced across the barren plain. Illyana's magically-enhanced speed and strength made her a match for Tyson's physique, and her training at Kamar Taj had honed her swordsmanship. Tyson matched her, and his year of instruction under Colleen allowed him to recognize that he was the better trained between them; he was the superior swordsman.

As they fought, memories flashed between them. Each clash of their blades seemed to bring forth a shared moment from their past.

The first time they met, just two schoolkids exchanging banter that led to a confrontation.

Fighting together against Azazel and other demons.

The pain of separation, when Tyson was captured, when she left for Kamar Taj.

Making love with illusions and without.

Reunions tinged with hesitation, neither quite sure how to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

With each exchange, they learned something new about each other. Tyson saw the depth of Illyana's resilience, the way she had taken the horrors of her past and forged them into strength. Illyana witnessed Tyson's growth, the control and purpose he had found despite the isolation forced by his abilities.

Their battle ranged across the plain. Illyana's Soulsword clashed with Tyson's adamantium defenses. Her mastery of teleportation and her senses within Limbo allowed her to stay one step ahead, but with each clash, it seemed Tyson was getting better at anticipating her teleportation.

As the fight continued, they pushed each other to their limits, holding nothing back.

They broke apart, and Illyana's chest heaved from exertion. She looked into Tyson's ringed eyes, curiosity replacing the fierce concentration of battle. "How are you able to adjust for my teleportation so fast?"

Tyson's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "Not everything is as it seems, mistress," he replied cryptically.

Without warning, Tyson launched himself at Illyana, with his adamantium sword raised high.

"Nice try," Illyana said smugly.

In a flash, she teleported, narrowly avoiding the real Tyson's sneak attack from behind. The first attack was nothing more than an illusion.

"Your illusion is convincing," she admitted, "but I can feel you within Limbo. That shard of me that's inside of you. You can't fake that."

Tyson lowered his head, acknowledging her insight. "You'd think I should have known better than to try and fool the ruler of Limbo."

The sarcasm in his tone gave Illyana pause. She narrowed her eyes.

He was up to something.

Tyson let go of his sword and Muse. The dagger attached itself to his hip and his sword to his back. He reached out, and the heavy shield flew into his hand along with the adamantium spear. Tyson chucked the spear at Illyana. She watched its approach, shaking her head.

"Too slow!" Illyana called out. "And you think you can block me with that slab of metal?" She teleported behind him, avoiding the spear.

But as she appeared, the shield exploded.

Not in the sense of a chemical explosion, but in a burst of shrapnel heading for her. She immediately teleported away again.

As she reoriented on him, Tyson's figure had grown hazy. The shield was nowhere to be found. His spear lay discarded across the plain. The haze in the air signaled he was using illusions, but she could sense that piece of Limbo within him. Despite the illusion, he was there, exactly where he appeared to be. Wary of closing the distance with the haze of illusion surrounding them, she settled on using a magic spell.

"Crimson Bands of Cyttorak!" she shouted. Brilliant scarlet energy erupted from Illyana's fingertips, swirling through the air like liquid fire. The serpentine bands materialized around Tyson. They coiled around his limbs, tightening with a resonant hum.

His eyes widened as the crimson restraints locked into place, pulling him inexorably to the ground. Where the magical energy touched the earth, small fractures of ruby light spread outward, anchoring him in place. The spell's power was unmistakable; he remembered the same spell had been used by Dr. Strange to restrain Thanos.

Illyana approached in a slow walk, savoring her victory. "It seems you don't have a counter for magic yet."

As she walked through the mist of his illusion, the air felt thick, like it clung to her. But she wasn't worried; she could feel through Limbo that he was still where he appeared to be. Her spell had tied him down. This was no illusion.

"Any last words?" she asked as she stood over him, her Soulsword raised for the killing blow. But to her surprise, Tyson's lips curved into a small smile.

"I win."

Suddenly, her Soulsword was wrenched from her hand and flew into Tyson's grasp. Muse spun from his waist, the blade circling him, cutting through the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Illyana went to step backward but found she was stuck and unable to move.

Tyson lunged forward, stabbing her through the shoulder with her Soulsword.

Illyana cried out in pain. Worse, the weapon mitigated her ability to teleport. She was forced to her knees by an invisible pull too strong for her to resist.

Adamantium streamed from Tyson's breastplate, wrapping around her neck, forming a collar. He declared, "Your teleportation is disabled. Your Soulsword, the weapon of Limbo's ruler, is mine. And my adamantium collar could sever your head from your neck with a thought. Submit."

"I submit."

She defiantly demanded, "Now tell me how you did that."

Tyson's expression softened slightly. He stepped back, allowing the adamantium collar to loosen slightly, though he didn't remove it. He withdrew the Soulsword from her shoulder and held his free hand over the wound. Using his power from the Healer, its golden glow mended the injury.

"It wasn't just one thing," Tyson began explaining. "It was a combination of tactics, each building on the other."

Illyana listened intently. She was still in her demonic form, but it was less intimidating now that she was kneeling and collared.

"First, the illusions. Since the fighting began, I've been projecting a subtle illusion over my pauldrons and arms. But also used bigger, more obvious ones that you'd notice, to mask the subtle ones."

Illyana's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "The haziness I saw..."

Tyson nodded. "Exactly. The obvious illusion was me sneaking around to attack you while my illusion attacked directly. It was intended to make you cognizant that you could sense me through Limbo, but it also served to lull you into a false sense of security and make you overlook illusions as dangerous. But that was just the start."

He gestured to the discarded spear. "The spear was a misdirection. I could make it fly faster with my magnetism, but I didn't. I wanted to give you an opening, where I didn't have a weapon, so you'd engage up close again. You were comfortable with melee, so I gave you what you wanted."

"But the shield explosion," Illyana interjected, "that wasn't just shrapnel, was it?"

Tyson's lips curved into a smile. "No, it wasn't. It was the trap. When the shield 'exploded,' I thinned out all the shrapnel into tiny threads. I had practice, thanks to the nanosheets I was using to cover my body. But in the middle of the battle, I didn't have the time to make them so small they were invisible. So, instead, I hid them within the illusionary mist and saturated the area around us with them."

Illyana's expression shifted from curiosity to grudging admiration. "The thickness in the air... I thought it was just part of your illusion."

"The steel microthreads served two purposes," Tyson continued. "First, they allowed me to track your movements more precisely, even if you teleported. Second, they began to accumulate on your skin and clothing, creating a thin layer of metal that I could control."

Illyana glanced down at her arms, noticing for the first time the faint metallic sheen on her skin. "That's how you were able to restrain me," she said, realization dawning in her voice.

Tyson nodded. "I was able to wrench the Soulsword from your grasp using a similar technique applied in a different way. I actually had control of the Soulsword first, but held back because taking it didn't guarantee victory on its own," he explained.

"The crossguard I added to Muse before the fight, and the adamantium sword were another hidden trap. Every time our weapons met, I leeched a little adamantium onto the Soulsword. It didn't take long to have the whole blade covered. I used another subtle illusion so that you wouldn't notice the adamantium on the Soulsword, or when I was pulling from my armor to replenish what was transferred from my weapon. You never even considered it because when you attacked Magneto the first time, he couldn't control your weapon, and you assumed, I couldn't either."

"You used the knowledge from the first time I saved you against me." She accused.

Her competitive spirit rose, even in defeat. "But the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. How did you break free from them without using a stronger spell?" She pressed.

Tyson's expression turned slightly sheepish. "That... was a bit of a gamble. I assumed, during the fight, you would use a spell at some point. I just wasn't sure what kind you would use. Anything projectile-based, I would have sensed moving through the metal and been able to dodge. A debuff wouldn't have hurt too badly since I relied on my powers more than my physical attributes. You using the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak was plain dumb luck, but also a mistake on your part because I knew something you didn't. At the battle in Times Square, the massive man I stabbed in the eye was Cyttorak's avatar, the Juggernaut. My adamantium claws couldn't pierce his skin… but Muse could. Since the magic dagger hurt the Juggernaut, I believed it could cut through the magical bindings powered by the same source it bypassed previously.

"You let the spell capture you, so I'd approach, thinking I'd already won, with my defenses down." Illyana shook her head in frustration. "And you knew that the Soulsword could negate my teleportation because I used it that way on you, when you absorbed Azazel."

Finally, she asked, "Why the adamantium collar?"

"The adamantium collar wasn't necessary. There's enough metal around your body to kill you easily enough. I just wanted to see a demoness kneeling and collared at my feet. It's a greater sight than I imagined."

Illyana rolled her eyes but remained silent for a moment, processing everything Tyson had revealed. When she spoke, her voice carried respect, frustration, and a hint of pride. "You've grown more than I realized. Your control, your strategy... It wasn't even close."

"I understand now," she whispered. Illyana looked up at Tyson, her eyes searching his face. "So," she said, a hint of her earlier challenge returning to her voice, "What now? You've captured a demoness and have her collared and kneeling before you. What do you intend to do with your prize?"

— Rogue Redemption— 

Author's Note

If you're reading this on one of the public sites (Webnovel, FanFiction, Scribble Hub, Royal Road), you might be thinking that the ending would've been a good spot for an explicit scene. And you'd be right, there's one there, but it's only available to those supporting this story. This isn't meant to be done as a punishment to free readers but as a thank-you to those contributing to keep this story going. We're somewhere around 3/4 of a million words at this point, and the story wouldn't have gone on this long otherwise. There will be additional exclusive explicit scenes in the future, but I'll strive to continue the trend of the sexy-times being skippable and not affecting the story.

Behind the Scenes

- Back when I finished Arc 3, I thought, Hey, you should figure out how Tyson is going to get control of his power since that's the driving internal conflict of the overall story up to that point. I came up with a list of ways for Tyson to control his power.

Mastering the reason he doesn't have control (the conflicting psyches within his mind, particularly Rogue and her trauma) Sage's Jump-Start power (Tyson doesn't know about this. Sage isn't part of his meta-knowledge because I didn't know about her until I started researching for this story.) Absorbing a Complete Body Control power ala Mr. Sinister or Apocalypse, or another power that could change his skin into a non-organic material. Absorbing a Skrull Mutant like Z'Cann. Items or characters that suppress superpowers, mutant powers, or life absorption specifically. (Like the Ancient One's magic or the inhibitor collars). Items or characters powerful enough to warp reality. (Seige Perilous, Reality Stone, etc)

The White Room was introduced in Arc 2, Chapter 1 (Chapter 13). This served as a basis for why Tyson couldn't control Rogue's power because she was in his head. And like in comics, she had unresolved psychological trauma from putting her first kiss into a coma. In that same chapter, I had Xavier lock Tyson out of his mind. Readers immediately picked up on Xavier's fuckery. I designated him as the mentor character trope, but also a hidden villain. Not hidden from readers, but hidden from Tyson. With his subconscious locked, Tyson couldn't return without help.

The first time Tyson has 'control' of Rogue's power is back in Arc 3 when the Ancient One casts the spells on him and then gives him the artifact that allows him to touch Illyana (5). Tyson acquired the Mutation Inhibitor Collar at the beginning of this Arc, but because he knows he's going to be attacked, he hands it off to Jean. Because using it makes her life better, and it doesn't really help him. In his hands with an incoming ambush, it's a liability to carry your own weakness in your pocket (5). Then, when he gains Magneto's power, he uses the full-body invisible metal condom trick (3). And finally, we see Tyson gaining full control here, in this chapter (1).

It was always my intention for the White Room to lead to Tyson controlling Rogue's power for good. However, the way I'd planned it initially was a little different. I always intended it to happen during The Avenger's Arc when Tyson inevitably encounters the Mind Stone within Loki's Scepter. The Mind Stone would enhance his psionics and allow him to enter the White Room, since he'd been locked out. This was all planned far before I conceived the confrontation between Xavier and Tyson over Magneto. The confrontation with Magneto only went down the way it did because of the way supporters voted in Tyson's power poll.

Jean's interference in Tyson's showdown with Xavier is important. Tyson would not have come out of that intact otherwise. Xavier is just too powerful. But her unlocking the door seemed in character, and made this chapter inevitable.

As I started in on the White Room portion of this chapter, I thought, what is Tyson's goal here? When he'd had the encounter with Sabertooth in his mind in Arc 2, he managed to control his violent urges. I had still intended to make the Mind Stone the avenue for controlling Rogue's power. But then I looked at all the pieces Tyson had in his head, then at his journey so far, and I was forced to reevaluate. It really felt like he had all the pieces he needed. I also realized it was Chapter 100 during drafting, so I was like, goddamn, that's a coincidence… Okay, this is happening.

The color seeping into the white room was something inspired by a section I wrote when I was editing Chapter 79, the scene where Jubilee describes waking up as a vampire and everything is black and white but becomes color when she has Tyson's blood. "I feel so alive now," she replied, her voice laced with wonder. "I don't mean metaphorically. It was like living in a black-and-white show when I woke up. All that mattered was the hunger. The only color was the red of the blood in your veins. But now it's like all the color returned to the world. I feel normal. Stronger." It's a subtle reference, but it served as inspiration for Tyson's transformation.

For those of you who've been reading from the start, I hope that you found this resolution satisfying.

- I tried to make Arc 7 a callback to Arc 1. Well, Arcs 1-3 (In my head, I consider them all one combined Arc). We see some plot points repeated, and others mirrored: Tyson, Jean, and Jubilee attending classes, Magneto hunting Tyson, Xavier messing around in Tyson's head, Logan fighting Sabertooth, Tyson and Illyana confronting each other and becoming lovers, Illyana stabbing Tyson with the Soulsword, meeting with the Ancient One, and ultimately (since she's only here for the day) Illyana leaving for Kamar-Taj.

- I intersperse lots of Naruto bits throughout this story. Tyson's new eyes are inspired by the Rinnegan. Just imagine two rings, no tomoe, and with the blue and green rings representing Jason's eyes over the gray representing Magneto.

The Matrix quote and the fight between Tyson and Illyana were meant to be reminiscent of some battles where they had conversations or flashbacks while their bodies were fighting. I didn't go back to watch the exact moments where this happened, but I think it happened during Naruto v Sasuke, but I distinctly remember it during Obito v Kakashi.