Marvel: Protagonists Template

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At precisely eleven o'clock in the evening, the x-jet slowly ascended from the private lawn of the secluded villa. The soft hum of its engines reverberated faintly across the grass before the vehicle quickly activated its cloaking system and vanished completely into the night sky.

Inside one of the upstairs bedrooms, Wanda leaned against the window frame, her small hands gripping the edge of the pane as she gazed longingly at the disappearing silhouette of the jet. Turning her head, she looked toward the woman standing beside her, an older female mutant known for her immense psychic and telekinetic abilities. With curiosity in her voice, Wanda asked,

"Professor Jean, where is Mark going?"

Jean gently reached out and stroked the child's hair, a soft smile warming her expression. "Mark and the others are going to confront some very nasty people,"

she explained in a calm and comforting tone. "But don't worry. They'll be back very soon."

A flicker of admiration sparkled in Wanda's eyes. She clenched her small fists with a youthful resolve and said determinedly,

"When I grow up, I want to fight bad guys with Mark too!"

Though her words were firm, the motivation behind them wasn't so much about defeating evil. It was the desire to remain close to Mark, to accompany him wherever he went. Jean smiled warmly at this innocent proclamation. Squatting down to meet the girl's gaze more directly, she said,

"Then you must keep working hard. I heard your abilities involve moving objects with your mind. That's the same as me."

Wanda nodded shyly. "But right now, I can only move very small things. Like… a cup."

As she spoke, both her palms began to glow softly with a faint crimson hue. With focused concentration, she extended her hands, and a nearby cup on the table slowly levitated and floated into her waiting grasp. Though the feat seemed simple, it was executed with considerable effort.

Jean looked at her with gentle encouragement and reassurance.

"Not everyone is as naturally gifted as Mark," she said patiently.

"But through time and training, you'll grow stronger. And when you're ready, you can also become a member of the X-Men, one of the heroes who help people in need."

Had Mark been present to hear this conversation, he likely would have choked. A wielder of the Phoenix Force and a host of chaotic, reality-bending energy discussing innate talent in such modest terms would have seemed almost comical. Who could possibly rival the natural gifts of these two individuals?

Wanda, however, seemed unaware of the irony. She nodded again, this time more firmly. "I'll train really hard," she promised with youthful sincerity. Then, turning her gaze back to the window, her expression grew more solemn as she whispered a silent prayer. "Mark, please come back safely."

Her eyes lingered on the empty sky, searching for any trace of the jet that had long since disappeared. Then, with a quiet sigh, she glanced over at her brother Pietro, who was at that very moment sprawled carelessly across his bed in a deep, untroubled sleep. The contrast could not have been more apparent. They were both her brothers, but why was there such a huge difference between them?

While Mark had bravely left with their mentors to confront dangerous enemies and protect the innocent, Pietro had spent dinner arguing over dessert, even going so far as to steal her favorite pudding. The disparity in their maturity was difficult to ignore.

Unbeknownst to Wanda, Mark, the very subject of her concern, was at that moment inside the aircraft, currently being assisted by Storm, as she helped him put on a customized X-Men combat uniform, which had been altered to fit his smaller frame.

"Professor Ororo," Mark said hesitantly, "I really don't think I need to wear this…"

Storm responded with a firm tone, her expression one of gentle authority.

"This suit is made from a specialized fabric I modified just this afternoon. It's designed to resist both physical and energy-based attacks. It's not a suggestion. It's for your safety. You must wear it."

Faced with such insistence, Mark had no choice but to nod. In truth, he had wanted to tell her that once he activated his template, his clothing would automatically change into a traditional martial arts uniform resembling that of the Turtle School, rendering any other outfit redundant. However, on second thought, he realized that having the protective gear after reverting from his transformation might actually be beneficial. So, he quietly dropped the subject.

"Umm… Professor Ororo, I can put it on myself," he added, trying to preserve some degree of independence.

But Storm shook her head. "This isn't an ordinary outfit. It can be difficult to wear correctly at first. I'll help you this time. You can observe and learn so you'll know how to do it next time."

She completely ignored Mark's protest, and he could only sigh inwardly. If only I'd grown up a little faster…

In his previous life, he had been what most would call a late bloomer. Perhaps it had been due to growing up in harsh conditions with no parental supervision, poor nutrition, and inadequate care. As a result, even at the age of eleven or twelve, his appearance was still quite small and unimposing, far from what one might expect from someone engaged in combat missions.

Children in better conditions, by contrast, often appeared more mature at the same age. Adding to this, his hybrid DNA, which now included the traits of a powerful alien warrior race that still looked like kids at the same age, seemed to have further slowed his development. Combined with the monkey-like tail that extended from his lower back, he often gave off the impression of being completely harmless.

From his seat nearby, Logan was smoking a cigar while watching the exchange. The sight of Mark's awkward struggle visibly amused him. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a grin, the kind of smirk more difficult to control than the recoil on a heavy rifle.

But the lighthearted moment was interrupted by a sharp rebuke. "Logan, I told you not to smoke inside the aircraft!" Mark snapped trying to get Logan in trouble. "There's a kid here, you know!"

Storm immediately turned toward Wolverine, her eyes narrowing with disapproval.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right… you're still a kid," Logan muttered as he reluctantly extinguished the cigar by pressing its burning tip into his calloused palm.

Three hours later, the aircraft reached its destination, soaring above the icy landscape surrounding Alkali Lake in northern Canada. Activating its stealth mode, the jet descended quietly into a snow-covered area just outside a massive hydroelectric dam. Once landed, the team began strategizing how best to infiltrate the enemy facility hidden within.

"The entire dam has only one spillway that leads inside," Storm explained, activating a holographic projection of the structure. "The problem is, the moment we're detected, Stryker can open the floodgates and drown us all."

She turned toward the group, her tone grave.

"Kurt, can you teleport us inside?" she asked, looking at Nightcrawler.

The blue-skinned mutant shook his head vigorously.

"Nein!. Unless it's a place I've already been or I can see directly, I can't teleport safely. I might materialize inside a wall."

As the team weighed their options, Logan stepped forward. "I'll go," he said.

"Stryker can't kill me."

Magneto raised an eyebrow and replied with sarcasm. "Survival is merely the first step. What truly matters is reaching the control room and disabling the gate controls. Do you intend to carve through steel with those claws of yours, or shall we entrust this to someone whose skills are... far more refined?"

Logan's eyes narrowed in defiance. "At least I'm willing to take a risk."

"I prefer not to risk anything at all," Magneto countered coolly, turning toward Mystique.

"Raven. The task is yours. Adaptability is our greatest weapon, use it."

Without another word, Mystique transformed into an exact replica of Wolverine. Her shape-shifting abilities were flawless.

Mark, watching the transformation, couldn't help but admire it. That power really is useful…

In truth, if Mystique weren't committed to Magneto's more extreme ideals of mutant revolution, she would likely be one of the few mutants who could live safely and anonymously among humans. With her infiltration skills, she could blend into society with ease.

Recognizing her unique talents, the group quickly agreed to Magneto's plan. Mystique would enter the dam posing as Wolverine.

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Roughly twenty minutes later, her voice came through the communicator with casual confidence. "The controls are disabled. You're clear to enter."

The rear hatch of the aircraft opened. Mark silently put on a pair of cartoonishly oversized sunglasses and followed the team toward the dam's entrance. He glanced at the large, glowing moon above and muttered to himself

"Let's hope I don't have to transform"

As they approached the spillway, they were met by a heavily armed squad of human soldiers, Stryker's elite guards.

"Fragile and so very arrogant" Magneto scoffed, shaking his head.

With a flick of his wrist, the air itself seemed to tremble. The soldiers barely had time to register the danger before their grenades clicked in unison, pins spiraling away like discarded thoughts. Their rifles wrenched free from desperate grips, barrels twisting midair to stare back at them with cold, metallic judgment.

Then, chaos.

Grenades detonated in a symphony of fire and shrapnel, bodies flung like broken dolls. Rifles barked in cruel retaliation, bullets finding homes in the flesh of those who were poised to fire them moments before. The snow, once pristine, drank deep crimson as the echoes of screams were swallowed by the roar of destruction.

And then.....silence.

The wind howled over the scorched earth, carrying the stench of gunpowder and iron. Dozens of corpses littered the ground, some still twitching, their warmth melting the snow beneath them. Magneto stood untouched, his gaze lingering on the carnage with the cold satisfaction of a man who had merely corrected an imbalance.

"Pathetic" he murmured, stepping over a smoldering helmet. "They never learn."

(T/N: I added my own spin here, wanted to show how ruthless Magneto can be to non-mutants, and I hope I did that well)

Mark, witnessing the ruthless efficiency of Magneto's power, swallowed hard. No wonder people call him terrifying.

Indeed, Magneto's mastery over magnetic fields made him the bane of modern warfare. With his signature helmet preventing psychic intrusion, there were few forces that could stand against him.