EmmaCruzader
patreon
SuperSoldier (SI-OC/MCU) 45: Jailbreak
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 04:58:52 +0000 UTC45: Jailbreak
"If this information is real, do you truly believe it is wise to continue maintaining our neutrality in this conflict, my King?"
The Great Hall of the Royal Council fell into a tense silence after Zuwena Amahle, Leader of the River Tribe, spoke.
Almost tentatively, the gazes of all the tribal leaders turned toward the imposing and magnificent dark throne at the center of the room.
Seated upon it in a relaxed posture, T’Chanda, King of Wakanda, softly drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat, caressing the intricate golden engravings that adorned the dark metal.
As if he had not heard what Zuwena had said, his gaze slowly drifted toward the enormous windows of the hall, whose glass panes reflected the vast expanse of his kingdom. Through them, he beheld the hills covered in vibrant green, the fertile fields stretching to the horizon, and the tranquil streams winding through the land.
But above all, what his eyes captured was his people: the homes built with dedication and effort, the roads connecting every corner of his domain, the lands worked by loyal hands, and the crops flourishing under his watch. Everything his kingdom represented, everything his ancestors had built and protected with their lives, lay before him, reminding him of the weight resting upon his shoulders—everything he had to protect.
His sharp eyes then settled on Zuwena with an intensity that made the man shudder.
"It seems you question my decision, Zuwena. I thought I had made it clear: Wakanda will not intervene in the conflicts of the white man."
“B-but my lord! They are playing with forces they cannot comprehend—if this continues, the world could face an unprecedented crisis!” Zuwena spoke again despite his inner fears.
"The outside world has always faced great crises, and none have ever affected Wakanda. Even if some of them have begun working with dark forces, while our people remain under the protection of the great goddess Bast, those vile demons will never be able to breach our borders," another tribal leader replied, looking at Zuwena as if he were a fool, slight disdain forming in his eyes.
"But!—"
"Enough!" T’Chanda exclaimed, plunging the hall into silence once more. Then, he spoke again, more softly.
"I have already discussed this with the Grand Shaman. As long as the great goddess Bast does not command otherwise, Wakanda will not intervene. That is final."
Zuwena Amahle could do nothing but sink into his seat, shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of the gazes of all the other tribal leaders upon him.
"I understand, my King…"
Letting out a long sigh, he could only resign himself.
‘I hope… this is the right decision.’
.
.
.
"Well? What's the verdict?" John asked, arms crossed as he watched Clea finish examining Charles and Cassandra.
The white-haired woman remained silent for a moment before responding, a slight uncertainty in her voice.
“Well, whatever they did to defeat the demon caused their minds to lock themselves away, in what I assume was an attempt to protect themselves. Maybe I can do something, but I’ve never dealt with anything like this before, so I can’t guarantee it will work.”
For the most part, mental sorcery focused more on protecting oneself from dark influences rather than treating others, so even her master would have difficulty handling this kind of "affliction" without some special means.
Not far from them, Janet slowly chewed her slice of pizza, her eyebrow twitching slightly at the mention of a demon. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something here, but she held back from asking for now, instead focusing on eating to recover more quickly.
"If you think it will help them, then do it. If it doesn’t work, we don’t lose anything by trying." It would be unfortunate to have to leave them behind if this didn’t work, but John couldn’t afford to wait too long.
Though there wasn’t an exact deadline breathing down his neck, he’d prefer not to wait more than a week or two before they started actively hunting down Red Skull.
With his permission granted, Clea got to work. Her hands moved gracefully, making intricate magical gestures while murmurs in an unknown dialect formed an enchantment from her lips.
Within moments, two mystical circles appeared above the Xavier siblings, glowing with that characteristic golden-orange light.
John stepped back, not wanting to interfere with whatever Clea was doing.
"Is that magic? Is she a witch?!" Janet tried to whisper to him, but her voice inevitably rose a little at the end.
Right. perhaps it would be better if he held a general meeting with the entire team about this later, so he wouldn’t have to keep explaining the same thing over and over again.
"Sorcery. I’ll explain later."
The magic display didn’t take long to conclude. Seeing that both Charles and Cassandra remained unconscious, John almost assumed Clea had failed—but the woman's next words changed that notion.
"I'm going to need help."
"What's going on?"
"As I said before, they are locked inside their own minds. You can think of it as if they were trapped in a labyrinth created by their own thoughts and memories—except this labyrinth has no end, causing them to ‘wander’ back and forth in an endless loop from which they cannot escape."
John couldn't help but frown. Clea’s explanation reminded him too much of the concept of dream imprisonment, which was clearly not a good sign.
"I tried to give them a way out, to create a beacon, so to speak, to guide them back to wakefulness, but their psychic powers are too strong and rejected me almost instantly. I could try forcing my way in, but that would only hurt them further and cause them to retaliate unconsciously."
Psychic powers—it was a fascinating concept for Clea, who until now had believed that any kind of "supernatural" ability had to be tied to the mystical.
Learning that a force like this came from "evolution," as John called it, was quite disconcerting in many ways.
"You said you needed help. Is there another sorcerer capable of fixing this?"
At his question, she shook her head.
"No—well, maybe my master, but she can’t come here for some reason."
Clea didn’t know exactly why. It would certainly make more sense for the Sorcerer Supreme to help deal with the Hydra problem. But it seemed there was something more important she needed to handle—or something like that. She hadn’t given her many explanations when she sent her to help in Warsaw, so she wasn’t entirely clear on it.
Of course, John knew the reason, but he chose not to mention it. If that woman had decided to keep that matter between the two of them, so be it.
"The help I’m referring to is different. Right now, the best option we have left is to do this the ‘gentle’ way, so to speak," Clea then began explaining her plan.
Since entering the minds of Charles or Cassandra by force was too risky, the best option was for ‘them’ to subconsciously allow them entry. Neither of the two knew Clea nor had any kind of bond with her, which was why their psychic powers rejected her immediately.
"But if someone they are familiar with—someone they share a strong bond with—tries, they might be able to enter and help them," she concluded, feeling fairly confident that this idea would work.
"I see. It sounds feasible… but we might have a problem with that."
"Why?" Clea blinked in confusion.
"Charles’ best friend just died. And Cassandra… I can't think of anyone close to that girl besides her brother."
There were their parents, of course, but they had no idea their children had joined the war. Bringing them in for this didn’t seem like a great idea.
"You're close to her."
Raven’s voice interrupted John’s thoughts, making him turn toward the entrance of the tent, where she stood casually.
When had she returned?
"I mean, since the liberation of Warsaw, you practically dragged her along with you on every mission—except when you went back to S.W.O.R.D.'s base. You're the only one she listens to without arguing—too much—and the only one she actually talks to, aside from Charles, without finding it annoying," Explained Raven, upon noticing how everyone in the room turned toward her.
God knew she had tried talking to the girl. She wouldn’t say they got along badly, but they clearly weren’t close enough for her to think the girl would let her into her mind. Therefore, the only viable option in her opinion, in the absence of her brother, was John.
"That’s perfect! The girl’s mind is in a much less chaotic state than the boy’s—it’ll be much easier to help her first, and then we can let her help him." Clea said as she began preparing to execute her plan.
"I thought mental spells didn’t work on me," John suddenly questioned, remembering clearly that Clea had told him that not too long ago. That was the reason he hadn’t even considered himself an option to help until now.
"And they still don’t. I won’t be using my sorcery for this—at least, not in the usual way. I said it before: they have to let you in. Their psychic powers need to act on their own and reach out to your mind, pulling your consciousness inside. I’ll just make the process easier."
Well, he didn’t fully understand it, but he got enough to see the feasibility. Still, there was one small problem left to resolve.
"That might work with Charles, but Cassandra doesn’t have the same powers as her brother. Will I really be able to enter her mind?"
At his words, Clea looked at him strangely before turning toward Cassandra, examining her once more with careful attention. Then she nodded to herself before facing him again with confidence.
"She will. I don’t fully understand how these ‘metahuman’ powers work, but I can feel the same mental energy coming from both of them. Maybe the girl didn’t know she could do it, but she definitely must have the same capability as her brother—or at least something very similar."
'So, besides being telekinetic, she’s also a telepath?'
It seemed his decision to offer Cassandra a place on the team so long ago had been the right one—her potential appeared to be even greater than Charles’s.
"Alright. If there’s no other way, then let’s do it."
With his decision made, preparations soon began. Cassandra was moved, along with her stretcher, to the center of the tent, and beside her was placed another empty stretcher where John would lie while he was ‘inside’ the girl.
"Completely relax your mind. The cosmic energies within you will try to resist the invasion of her psychic power, but you must prevent that from happening. Don’t fight it, or everything will be in vain," Clea reminded him multiple times as she further explained the process.
"Once inside, you must find her and bring her back to herself. Time flows at different rates between reality and the mental space, so don’t worry if you feel like you’ve been there for too long."
"What happens if I can’t find her or help her?" If possible, John would rather not get stuck inside someone else’s mind.
Clea smiled confidently, giving his shoulder a reassuring pat.
"You’d probably get trapped along with her, but don’t worry—I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. If necessary, I’ll drag you back myself." That wouldn’t be ideal, but the option was there.
Knowing he had an alternative escape plan erased any lingering doubts from John’s mind.
"Great. Then I’ll trust you on that." With his concerns resolved, John turned to Raven.
"I need you to stand guard. I’d rather not have any interruptions," he ordered but quickly added, "If Peggy or Howard come by, just tell them I’ll speak with them later. If James returns and I haven’t resolved this, simply explain the situation to him—he’ll understand."
Originally, his plan had been to leave this temporary base soon, but since there was now a chance to wake Cassandra and Charles, John was willing to delay his departure for as long as necessary.
He then looked at Janet and Erik.
"Help her if needed. I’ll be back soon."
He didn’t need to repeat himself in different languages for both to understand—thanks to Clea, who had a convenient universal translation spell, Erik could now comprehend everything being said despite not speaking English.
Lying down on the stretcher, John took a deep breath, preparing to begin.
"Alright, close your eyes, relax, and leave the rest to me."
With Clea’s soft voice falling over him, John felt a slight sensation of vertigo as something touched his consciousness.
It was very similar to how it had felt the first time he met Charles and the boy had tried to read his mind—except this time, unlike then, John fought against his instinct to resist.
His newfound cosmic power also stirred, but he kept it in check as best as he could. Soon, it felt like sinking into a deep sleep, his normally sharp senses dulling until, eventually, he lost all perception of the outside world, and everything turned dark.
.
.
.
‘Where?’
John blinked. He felt the fresh grass scrape against his skin and his face resting on the earth. Slowly, he began to feel his surroundings again in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
‘It’s like being just human again,’ he thought with a hint of nostalgia as he pushed himself up and looked at himself.
He was still him—only without his characteristic suit. Instead, he was wearing the clothes he used to wear during training before being injected with Dr. Erskine’s serum: a simple white shirt, green military pants, and a matching pair of boots.
Even his dog tags were hanging around his neck.
‘Back to the old days, huh?’ He didn’t even remember where he had left these things in reality. After all, he had never intended to die, so he had never seen much use for them.
Shaking his head, he decided now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. Instead, he focused on the almost invisible golden thread tied around his waist.
Following the path of the thread, he saw it extend beyond the tree leaves surrounding him and disappear into the blue sky.
‘This must be Clea’s doing.’ He just hoped the “dragging” part wasn’t meant to be literal.
It was probably best to hurry up so he wouldn’t have to find out. Turning his attention back to his surroundings, he began trying to orient himself.
‘If this is a labyrinth of memories, Cassandra must have been in this place at some point.’
With no clear direction, John started navigating north and soon realized where he was.
‘I guess it makes sense to start in the place where she lived the longest,’ he thought as he spotted the familiar mansion in the distance.
Though his conversations with Cassandra had never been particularly deep, she had shared a thing or two about her life with him.
One of those things was her lack of ‘freedom’ compared to her brother, who had been allowed to go wherever he wanted, while she had been kept much more restricted.
Sometimes, John forgot that he was still in the 1940s and that many of his acquaintances had actually grown up during the 1920s and 1930s.
‘Okay… If I were a girl who grew up in a wealthy and strict family during the Great Depression, where would I be?’
Given the cultural context of the time, the best places to check were probably the kitchen, her room, or some other similar area.
Deciding to start by searching inside the mansion, John began to move forward but quickly stopped when another concern crossed his mind.
‘I forgot to ask Clea if my actions in this place could affect her memories.’ Since he was inside Cassandra’s memories, perhaps if he did something he shouldn’t, it could complicate things.
It would be seriously messed up if he accidentally ruined one of her good childhood memories and made her even crazier or something.
‘Alright, time to channel my inner Solid Snake!’ he thought, spreading his arms expectantly—only to be disappointed when no large cardboard box appeared in front of him.
‘Looks like I don’t have imaginary powers… That sucks.’
This trip was turning out to be less fun than he had imagined.
With mild disappointment, John proceeded toward the mansion using classic military stealth. Eventually, he reached an open courtyard-like area where he could hear people talking.
“Come on, Charles! You can do it, catch it!”
From behind some bushes, John watched as a man in his 30s threw a baseball toward a very young Charles—a father and son playing together and, by the looks of it, having fun.
‘He must be about six or seven,’ John thought as he saw the boy barely managing to catch the ball thrown his way.
Not far from them, a woman who appeared slightly younger than the man clapped and smiled with excitement. Judging by the resemblance, she had to be the mother.
‘This must be one of her memories… but I don’t see Cassandra.’
Frowning, he started scanning the area until his eyes landed on a second-floor window. Through the glass, a vaguely familiar face peeked out for a brief moment before disappearing.
‘That must be little Cassandra.’
“A wonderful family bonding moment, don’t you think?”
John nearly jumped when the words were whispered into his ear.
“Shit! You—”
He almost started cursing, but when his eyes landed on the speaker, he was left completely stunned.
“Cassandra?!”
There, crouched beside her, was the familiar short-haired girl. Her outfit was a clean and polished version of the battle suit Howard had created for her after she joined SWORD.
“You look way more expressive than usual. I guess that means you’re not just another one of my hallucinations.” She examined him closely before reaching out and poking his cheek with one of her fingers.
Her usually sharp, expressive eyes seemed slightly clouded.
Feeling the edge of her fingernail against his skin, John snapped back to his senses and let out a relieved sigh.
Well, this had to be the easiest search he had ever been on. Who would’ve thought Cassandra would be the one to find him instead of the other way around?
“It’s great to see you. Listen, I came to help you. I need you to—” Before he could finish, Cassandra pressed a finger against his lips, cutting him off.
“Come on, it’s starting.”
With those cryptic words, she stood up and began walking toward the mansion.
“Hey! Wait!”
John rushed after her, but in the blink of an eye, her figure vanished right before his eyes, as if she had never been there in the first place.
‘Alright, I take that back. This is going to be complicated.’
Frowning, he scanned his surroundings until he spotted her again, stepping through one of the mansion’s doors.
Without hesitation, he followed. But every time he got close to catching up, her figure would fade away, only to reappear several meters ahead.
It was a frustrating game of cat and mouse, but it finally ended when they reached the second floor. There, he found Cassandra standing motionless in front of a door.
“Is there something interesting to see?” he asked, watching as she just stood there doing nothing, that lost look in her eyes becoming more and more evident. Then, she simply shrugged and opened the door.
“Just my life.”
Describing what John witnessed in that moment would be almost impossible. For an instant, it was like seeing different scenes from different moments in time overlapping and happening simultaneously.
He saw Cassandra at various stages of her life—her childhood, her preadolescence, her adolescence—and then back again in a dizzying, fleeting loop.
He had to blink several times to clear his confusion until only one scene remained before him: a girl of about 6 or 7 years old, sitting at a desk, trying to look out a window toward the mansion’s courtyard.
“Miss Cassandra, pay attention!”
The sharp crack of leather against wood echoed through the room. John watched as a woman, seemingly in her fifties or sixties, struck what looked like a riding crop against young Cassandra’s desk, making the girl nearly jump out of her seat.
“Remember, a lady must always sit with her back straight and her feet together. Do not slouch or get distracted!” At the harsh words, young Cassandra quickly adjusted her posture.
“Better. And your hands—always together on your lap or gently resting on the table. Never in your pockets or dangling at your sides like a little boy. A lady must always display class…”
“My old teacher, Mrs. Harriet. I always hated her—her and her stupid lessons.”
Cassandra spat out her words with clear disgust as she watched the lesson. Then, she stretched out her hand and clenched her fist—causing the older woman’s head to explode into a thousand pieces, splattering the entire room in red.
“Hey!” John scowled as he felt the warm droplets of red liquid splash onto his face.
The young Cassandra, sitting at the desk, opened her eyes in shock and disbelief, a silent scream trapped in her throat as she watched the headless corpse fall at her feet.
“As I grew older, I used to dream of different ways to get rid of her. When I turned fifteen and my powers started awakening, this fantasy played out in my mind more times than I can count—just looking at her and making her head burst so she’d finally shut up… But it never happened. In the end, she died of a heart attack a few months later.”
Cassandra spoke with clear disappointment before curling her lips into a smile.
“But here… here I can do whatever I want, Even if it’s not real, I can make it true, at least for a moment.”
“These are your memories, you know?” John sighed before stepping forward, entering the room and standing directly in front of young Cassandra, blocking her view of the corpse on the floor.
“You shouldn’t play around with them so carelessly.”
“Does it really matter? You’ve already seen it—all of this barely means anything,” Cassandra mocked.
“I’ve gone over every moment of my life, every day trapped in this Gilded cage , and no matter how much I see, it’s the same repetitive, depressing bullshit it’s always been. At least this way, I can make it more fun, even if it’s just for a moment.”
Okay... there were a lot of problems here.
It was a shame John wasn’t a damn psychologist or had any idea how the hell to even begin fixing any of this.
"Listen. No matter how fucked up your childhood was, the past is the past. And if life has taught me anything, it's that the best thing you can do with it is leave it behind and move forward." He didn’t say it lightly—he understood all too well what it was like to have a shitty childhood.
"You're not this girl anymore. You're not in this house. You don't live this life." His voice hardened. "You're part of my team now. You're a meta-human. A soldier. My soldier... and I need you back in the real world, not here killing imaginary old women and traumatizing yourself."
he said, pointing to the pool of crystalline liquid that was beginning to trickle from young Cassandra’s seat.
"Uh… that hadn't happened before." The twisted smile that had been on her face vanished, replaced by an expression of perplexity as she saw her younger self trembling in her chair.
For all the time she'd been trapped in her mind, she had played with these memories hundreds of times—destroying them, burning them, undoing and redoing moments—but no matter what she did, everything always reset to normal seconds later.
Or at least, that had been the case… until now.
The corpse was still there, along with the remains of brain matter and the bloodstains.
And the most unsettling part: her younger self was no longer oblivious to the situation like she used to be. She wasn’t static, unbothered by the changes. She was no longer trapped in the same empty loop. No.
The little Cassandra was scared.
Looking at her. With fear.
And she was clinging to John's pants, as if he were the only thing that could protect her… from herself.
Cassandra blinked, bewildered.
"What’s happening?" John asked when he noticed her expression.
"She never…" The words got stuck in her throat.
Cassandra fell silent. She looked at her hands, then around the room. The walls seemed sharper, more real. Her mind, once numb, was beginning to react. Her vision wavered, and she almost stumbled.
"What did you do?" she asked in a low voice, bringing a hand to her head.
John didn’t know exactly what was happening, but when he saw the brightness returning to her eyes and that distant look that had dominated them since they first met beginning to fade, he figured it was a good sign. Maybe, finally, she was coming back to herself… or something close to it.
He wouldn’t say she was "regaining her sanity"—that was probably asking too much—but perhaps this was the closest thing to it.
"Normally, I admit to anything that's my fault, but this time I didn’t do anything… I think," he said, trying to step toward her. But before he could, the entire space began to tremble, and Cassandra vanished.
A sudden wave of extreme vertigo hit him, followed by a sharp headache, as if a million needles were trying to force their way into his brain.
“Argh!” he groaned, staggering, almost falling to his knees.
‘I-I’m being rejected.’ He didn’t know how he knew, but he could feel it—Cassandra’s power was attacking him, rejecting him, trying to push him out of her mind with all its strength.
Remembering the strange scene from earlier, he could only assume he had done something he shouldn’t have. But now it was too late to try and fix it.
‘No! I can’t leave without her!’
Resisting the repulsive force trying to hurl him away, John watched as everything around him began to crack—
or at least, it was trying to.
"Enough! I’m not leaving here!" he roared with all his strength. And as he did, he felt his connection to the cosmic energies within him flare up for a brief moment, giving him the push he needed to hold on and resist being expelled.
But as a consequence, the already fragile space finally collapsed, and the scenery of the room dissolved into darkness.
Without warning, weightlessness engulfed him.
In an instant, he was plummeting downward, as if someone had thrown him off a cliff.
‘Well, shit!’ John gritted his teeth, hoping the pain in this place wouldn’t be as bad as in reality.
“¡Aaaah!”
‘Double shit!’ he thought, following the sound of the scream and spotting the young Cassandra, still clinging to him.
Without a second thought, he reached for her, grabbing her by the arm. Then, adjusting his position, he wrapped her in his arms to better shield her from the potential impact.
Even though, in theory, she was just a past version of Cassandra, John wasn’t about to risk finding out what would happen to the real Cassandra if something bad happened to her.
CRASH!
The fall, which had seemed endless, finally came to an end when John’s back hit something solid and invisible.
The sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears.
His vision swam, blurry and unfocused, as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs in a sharp blow.
‘O-okay… the pain is exactly the same here.’
He shut his eyes for a moment, resisting the overwhelming urge to let out a loud scream.
The girl in his arms squirmed, moving with an unsettling agility until she straddled his chest. Then, completely unexpectedly, her small hand smacked him hard across the face, forcing his eyes open.
"Hey! What the hell?!" John shouted, glaring at her in anger and confusion. But when their eyes met, he couldn’t help but freeze for a moment.
The eyes that had once seemed, in some way, innocent were gone.
They had been replaced by a gaze that was all too familiar.
“Cassandra?”
The girl smirked mischievously—an expression that didn’t fit her childish face.
"More or less," she replied in a voice with an unsettlingly adult tone. She climbed off him gracefully, standing up as she dusted off the imaginary dirt from her white dress.
‘This is getting more and more fucking confusing,’ John thought as he tried to sit up, then his eyes widened in astonishment as he saw the place where they were.
The place was a vast, infinite dark expanse. But it wasn’t empty.
Throughout its immense reach, it was adorned with what could only be described as "moving paintings"—images of past moments, vividly displayed, as if someone had ripped fragments of reality and embedded them here for exhibition.
"Sorry, we haven’t had much time to organize this place," the young Cassandra said, drawing his attention back to her.
“We?”
“Yes, you know—her and me.”
The girl then pointed at one of the "paintings," where the image of the Cassandra he knew was visible.
"Of course… I guess you’re some kind of split personality or something like that?”
“We’re not that crazy,” the girl huffed, frowning, and John had to resist the urge to scoff in response.
"I’m what you might call her subconscious. You can call me Cassie if that makes it easier, though, in essence, we’re still the same."
Well, that made a little more sense, though imagining Cassandra’s subconscious being her 7-year-old self was a strange concept.
"Alright, Cassie. Do you have any idea how I can get your other self back to reality?"
The girl nodded.
"It's easy," she replied, "but I can't let that happen just yet."
"What do you mean?" John frowned, sensing trouble.
Cassie stared at him, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to glow with a light of their own.
"I told you, I'm her subconscious. I represent her deepest thoughts, desires, and feelings. She might deny it sometimes, but I know what she truly wants. And I can't let her wake up without at least trying to make it happen. That's why I brought you here."
Cassie then gestured toward the dark space filled with memories.
"Tell me, what do you see?"
John was tempted to respond with the obvious answer, but he didn’t want to delay things any further. So, he looked around carefully, focusing on the ‘paintings’ filled with memories.
He still didn’t know what Cassie wanted from him, but as long as it helped wake Cassandra up, he would do it.
"It's… very monotonous." Almost all the memories contained similar things.
Cassandra in her room, spending time alone practicing with her powers. Cassandra in the study, sitting stiffly as she endured etiquette lessons that made her feel more like a mannequin than a person. Cassandra in the family dining room, where conversations were as cold as the food left untouched on their plates. Cassandra in her bathroom—
Ahem! Well, some things were better left unmentioned.
Overall, everything followed a pattern—too similar, monotonous, and predictable. It was as if her life had been stuck in an endless loop, with only a few moments of change—like when she and Charles gained their powers or when they trained together from time to time. But those moments were few and far between.
Until the day he met her and she joined Sword alongside her brother.
That was when things began to change more consistently—new sights, new people, new emotions.
It was like going from a long, flat, grayscale road to riding a swirling rainbow. If that rainbow happened to pass through an extremely bloody and violent war.
And while those memories seemed the most vivid of all, they actually took up only a fraction of the entire space.
"If there's one thing we truly regret, it's not taking control of our own life sooner. It's pretty frustrating, you know? Living with the knowledge that a huge part of you was never really yours."
Actually… John could relate to that.
"I get it," he said sincerely. "It's certainly overwhelming, but the past is the past, and we can't change it. It's better to focus on the present and enjoy it as much as possible."
"I wish I could agree, but I can't—or rather, I refuse to. Maybe it's just stubbornness or an irrational childish tantrum, but a big part of me feels a deep disdain for what I once was and wants to fix it.” Cassie furrowed her brows, her eyes glaring at those monotonous memories with intensity and disgust.
"Is that why Cassandra played with her memories like that?" John asked, recalling what the girl had told him when she ‘killed’ her old teacher.
"In her own way, she tried to fulfill our desires, even if she failed. Still, it wasn’t all in vain—it helped us better understand our limitations."
"So far, every change we've tried to make has been useless. Our power seems to have some sort of 'lock'—a self-preservation mechanism that prevents our psyche from being drastically altered, even when that's exactly what we want."
"It's frustrating... knowing that an essential part of you refuses to listen. We almost resigned ourselves to leaving it as it was... until you showed up." Cassie then looked at him seriously.
“Somehow, you managed to resist the power of our mind. Overcome it. Even that fire demon was expelled by us in an instant, but you… you weren’t.”
Silence settled between them. John didn’t need to be a genius to understand where this was going. But just because he understood it didn’t mean he liked it.
"I'm not going to help you manipulate your memories."
"Oh, but you will. If you want us to return to reality, you'll have to help us, or we'll stay here as long as necessary until we find another way to do it. Your choice, John. One way or another, we'll get what we want."
Of course, there had to be a threat. At this point, it didn’t even surprise him.
He wondered if it would've been easier to try with Charles first…
'No. If there's one thing I'm even worse at than dealing with insane women, it's handling depressed men.'
Letting out a long sigh, John rubbed the bridge of his nose before nodding hesitantly.
"I can… help you make some changes. But if it means altering something truly essential in your mind, then I won’t do it." He needed to set some boundaries.
Seeing that he was starting to give in, Cassie smiled.
"Don’t worry. I know that changing too much could have disastrous consequences. As much as I hate what I was, and as much as a part of me wants to erase it completely, I understand that it's also part of what made me who I am now, and I don’t want to change that… entirely"
Well, that didn’t exactly bring him much relief, but John supposed it was better than nothing.
"Alright, where do we start?"
"That… is a good question." Cassie blinked, looking at the vast sea of memories without knowing which one to pick.
"I guess… I’d like to start with the time I accidentally killed my cat." She had never been a big fan of animals, but that cat had something special that made it tolerable. If possible, she would prefer her last memory of it not be the moment when she broke its neck by tripping over it while holding it in her arms.
"The Great Captain America, savior of imaginary cats, this will probably be the best part of my epic," John commented sarcastically, causing her to roll her eyes.
Then Cassie took his hand and started walking, dragging him with her toward the memory fragment she wanted to change.
"Come on. After this, I want to go back to the day my father tried to introduce me to the son of one of his friends. That pompous idiot talked too much and had bad breath. I’m going to love seeing you kick him in the balls for me," The devilish grin that spread across her face as she said that was definitely not something that should be on a little girl’s face!
John prayed that poor guy never ran into Cassandra again in reality.
.
.
.
Note:
I’m sorry for the long wait; I didn’t expect to end up getting sick these past few days. It’s nothing serious, just a persistent cold that refuses to go away. Writing was a bit difficult, but I finally managed to finish the chapter.
I admit I got carried away by extending it so much, and I probably could have shortened it if I were in my right mind. Still, it was quite interesting to write about this. I probably won’t delve into the “mental” topic so deeply in the future.
With that said, I’d like to address another matter. Some people have privately asked me if I will ever tackle the “political and social” topics more extensively in the story.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it in the future: I hate politics, I don’t like it. I know this story lends itself to delving into it a lot, but honestly, I’ve never wanted to take things down that path. I know this might disappoint some people who want to see more of the ‘military/political/social’ side of the story and how John’s existence and actions have been affecting such matters in the world, but I’d rather not get involved in those things.
That doesn’t mean I won’t touch on some of those topics from time to time, but it will never be in a really deep or completely accurate way.
I hope you all can understand. Now, a bit about Wakanda: the situation with them is quite different from other countries because, in addition to being much more technologically advanced than the rest of the world, they are also mystically advanced. They know their gods exist, and they even have shamans, "sorcerers," capable of using mystical arts, contacting the spirits of their ancestors, and directly communicating with their main goddess if necessary.
Honestly, considering all of that, I thought a lot about whether to have them participate more actively in the war or not, but in the end, I decided not to rush it. They’ll have their moment, but not yet.
I think that’s all. I’m going to take my medicine and pass out for a few hours. I look forward to your comments, critiques, and suggestions. You know I like to hear your opinions.
Comments
Chan Myae Aung
Thanks for the chapter..... Waiting for SD chapters....
Sin Vergil
At first, I thought John was going in both Xaviers' minds and I was like, "NO, NO, NO, DO NOT TRUST Charles WITH YOUR MIND!" but, things seem like they will turn out okay now. Really looking forward to where things go from here especially since now Charles and Cassandra have had that feeling of invincibility shattered and now have to face thar they live in a world where they can bleed and die just as well as everyone else.
couzon123
Thx for the chapter, gws
EmmaCruzader
I don't know yet, I've had some thoughts (like the idea for a different Invincible fic SI-OC) but nothing really concrete
Oceanus Thetitan
Oh well wakanda is riding on tiger back . Cant exactly come down either
genny
With the new season of *Invincible* coming out, are you going to start writing your Invincible fanfic again?
pablo miguel
I like
