Marvel's New Magneto

For the young students of Xavier's Academy, this morning was the toughest they had ever endured. Since dawn, they had been relentlessly drilled by Erik, who had taken on the role of a merciless taskmaster. He pushed them through grueling physical training, driving them to exhaustion. Just as they thought the ordeal was over, another wave of torment began—games disguised as exercises, each more punishing than the last. By the end, they were utterly drained, their bodies aching, their spirits frayed.

Each student had their own personality—some were impatient and restless, others were calm and reserved—but after hours of non-stop drills, everyone was on edge.

"I swear, I want to kill him," John muttered, sweat dripping from his forehead, flames flickering faintly around his body. "Did you hear what he called me? 'Brain-dead John'! Even the old hag who kicked me out of my house never insulted me like that. She called me an idiot, sure, but at least she didn't make it sound like I was the reigning champion of the 'World's Dumbest Mutant' contest!"

Because of his resistance to training, John had made multiple mistakes and received repeated punishments, until Erik had pushed him to the point of vomiting from exhaustion.

His teammates, Peter and Bobby, had suffered the same fate. Erik believed that if one member of a group made a mistake, the entire team should be held accountable. So, they had all run the extra laps, all endured the same punishments, and now they were equally miserable.

If not for the presence of the girls, the boys might have collapsed right there on the grass. But the girls had it just as rough. Erik hadn't gone easy on them just because of their gender. While he didn't push them as hard in pure strength training, he compensated by setting higher standards for their precision and teamwork. He forced them to think strategically, requiring them to work together in perfect coordination rather than simply following repetitive drills.

Even though this was only the beginning, the training was already brutal—physically exhausting, mentally draining.

By the time the morning session ended, the students no longer saw Erik and Selene as instructors. To them, Erik had become a venomous serpent, spitting poison with every word, and Selene was a smiling demon, delighting in their suffering.

"I hope today's training helped you understand your own weaknesses," Erik said, standing before the exhausted group. He hadn't even broken a sweat. "From now on, I'll make sure to strengthen your weakest points. No need to thank me—this is my job as your instructor."

"Thank you?!" John scoffed, still catching his breath. "Why don't you just kill us already? Thanks to you, I feel like I'm dying!"

Bobby and Peter didn't say anything, but their frustration was clear.

"I know this training was sudden," Erik continued, "but you all have to go through it eventually. So what difference does it make if it's today or a month from now? Instead of complaining, you'd be better off adapting, because this is just the beginning. I have no interest in slow, drawn-out lessons. My goal is for you to improve quickly and efficiently."

"Our lessons aren't slow, sir," Bobby said, forcing himself to stand straight. "Professor Xavier and Mr. Summers carefully designed our training. I admit that your methods are effective, but we're not machines. We can't just keep going without rest."

His words resonated with the others. They had all reached their limits, and Erik's announcement of even harsher training filled them with dread. If this continued, they might have no choice but to resist.

But Erik wasn't about to let them rebel. He looked at them, unimpressed.

"You know, the Professor once told me that you are the future of mutants. He's said the same thing to many others, and everyone believes it. But I think he's wrong.

"You're not the future. You're spoiled children, too afraid to move forward. To you, this school is nothing more than a safe haven. You talk about breaking free, about fighting for your rights, but the moment things get tough, you retreat like scared turtles. Tell me, who do you think you're training for? Me? The Professor?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"At Stryker's base, I showed you rows of empty cages—cages made of solid steel bars an inch thick. Those weren't rusted from water; they were stained with blood. Blood from the mutants who once occupied them. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of those cages.

"And where are those mutants now? Do you think they escaped? That they just dissolved into thin air and found their freedom?

"You should feel lucky to be here. Nothing in this world comes for free. Even regular humans have to struggle to survive. Take Chris Gardner, a man from San Francisco. He was a salesman trying to support his wife and son. Then one day, he lost his job. His wife couldn't handle the poverty and left him, abandoning their child in his care. From that moment on, he was alone, jobless, and responsible for his son's survival.

"If you were him, what would you do?

"Would you give up and wallow in despair? Or would you fight to change your fate?"

Erik looked at them sharply.

"Chris chose to fight, and in the end, he succeeded. But a man who chooses to stay in the mud will never rise. Every day, you have a choice—endure the pain of training or the pain of regret.

"Training is hard. You want to run from it. But whether on the battlefield or in life, short-term suffering leads to long-term rewards. You can't wait until the last moment to prepare. You can't afford to waste time and then regret it later.

"Selene and I have designed this training specifically for your abilities. If you can't handle it, you can walk away right now. No one will stop you.

"But if you choose to stay, you will not be given another chance to quit. I will push you to your limits, again and again, until you are strong enough."

The students hesitated. Erik's words stung, but they rang true.

"How do we become strong?"

It was Peter who spoke. Unlike his friend John, Peter was naturally kind-hearted. Beneath his steel-like body was the soul of an artist. He preferred sketching portraits of his teammates over fighting. But that didn't mean he lacked courage.

At Stryker's base, he had been defeated in battle despite his strength. That loss had haunted him. If another war came, would he be able to protect his friends? Would he even be able to protect himself?

The question had been weighing on him ever since. Now, faced with a choice, he wanted answers.

Erik nodded. "First, you must be resilient. Learn to endure. Then, you must truly understand your own strengths and weaknesses."

He turned to John.

"Take you, for example. You can control fire, but you can't generate it. This makes you dependent on external sources. That's why you always carry a lighter. That's smart. But controlling fire means you have a unique connection to heat. You can direct it. So why not take it further? Why not refine your control, compressing the flames into something more powerful?"

He glanced at Rogue.

"And Rogue—your power allows you to absorb others' abilities. People fear you for it. But if Kitty can extend her phasing ability to others, why can't you control your absorption? Maybe, with training, you could redirect an absorbed ability to someone else. Imagine giving another person Logan's healing factor, or my magnetic control."

The students exchanged glances. Erik's ideas were bold—unconventional, even—but they made sense.

"Instead of using your powers like blunt weapons, you should be refining them into precise tools."

Slowly, the students' resistance faded. Their exhaustion remained, but their minds were now filled with new possibilities.

One by one, they stayed.

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