Marvelous Pals #59

Two days had passed, and I found myself once again in the Danger Room, the sterile, high-tech environment now oddly familiar. The air was charged with a sense of focus and determination, not just from me, but from the entire space itself.

The room had become a second home, a place where I could push the boundaries of what I could do, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what those boundaries were yet.

I stood still, levitating a small white sphere in front of me, its smooth surface catching the light as it hovered effortlessly in the air. My brow furrowed in concentration as I focused on the mannequin standing about a hundred meters away.

With a deep breath, I closed my outstretched hand, willing the sphere to move. Slowly, it began its journey toward the mannequin, gliding through the air at a deliberate pace. I could feel the strain of maintaining its steady flight, the effort of balancing power and precision.

The sphere never wavered, never veered off course. It was almost hypnotic, the way it cut through the space between us, getting closer and closer to its target.

A meter away now, and I felt a surge of satisfaction. It was on the right path, a straight line to the bullseye on the mannequin’s face. But then, just as it was about to hit, something faltered. The sphere lost momentum, its speed dwindling as if some invisible force was pulling it down.

I couldn't help but grunt in frustration as it dropped half a meter short, striking the mannequin’s chest with a dull thud before tumbling to the ground, lifeless and anticlimactic.

I sighed, the sound echoing in the vast room. Frustration gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I pushed it aside. There was no time for that. I needed to try again. Without hesitation, I levitated another sphere.

This time, I didn’t bother with the slow approach. With a sharp wave of my hand, the sphere shot forward, faster than a bullet, a white blur cutting through the air. My focus narrowed to a pinpoint, every fiber of my being honed in on that single, decisive moment.

The sphere reached its target in the blink of an eye, slamming into the mannequin’s face with a force that exceeded my expectations. The impact was explosive, the target obliterated in an instant. Pieces of the mannequin's head scattered like confetti, dissolving into pixels as they hit the ground.

After two days of relentless practice, I had achieved a level of control over my telekinetic abilities that I hadn’t thought possible. The progress was undeniable; my improved cognitive functions and newfound ability to perceive psychic energy had accelerated my learning curve.

I could now guide objects with precision, direct them with intent, and stop them on a dime. And yet, two problems still nagged at the back of my mind: the weight limit of what I could lift and the range of my telekinetic reach.

The first issue was my range. Despite my best efforts, my telekinesis only extended just short of 100 meters. In theory, I could compensate for this limitation by imbuing more kinetic energy into the objects I controlled, effectively throwing them harder to reach distant targets.

But that solution was far from ideal. In a heated battle, that limited range could cost me valuable seconds, force me into a position where I’d have to expend more energy, and ultimately make me less versatile.

Then there was the issue of weight. I’d reached a threshold of around 550 pounds—approximately 256 kilograms. While that was more than enough to lift most objects, it still had its limitations. I could easily lift a motorcycle, sure, but if I needed to stop a car, bus or, God forbid, something heavier, I might tear the metaphorical brain muscles... or maybe I'd get an aneurysm?

I guess I should ask Xavier about the right term later... or maybe not. Yeah, better not.

It wasn’t something to complain about, but I couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated knowing that I'd encountered the limits of my power so quickly. The human brain might be remarkable, especially mine, but it wasn’t limitless.

In any case, it seems that stubbornly staying here and trying to improve my powers won't work, and I don't want to overstay my welcome. Additionally, I'll need to test these new powers of mine in a real fight, so it might just be the time for me to leave the X-mansion.

...

The elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Tony Stark’s lab in all its chaotic glory. The room was a sprawling mess of machinery, tools, and half-finished projects—every inch of the space seemed to be occupied by some device or gadget, all humming or whirring with life.

My eyes scanned the area, taking in the myriad of blinking lights and mechanical arms moving with precise, almost robotic grace. In the middle of it all stood Stark himself, hunched over a strange mechanism that seemed to command his complete attention.

Tony was peering through a magnifying glass, his expression one of intense focus. He didn’t notice me enter—or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. His fingers danced across a console, pushing a few buttons with the kind of practiced ease that only came from years of experience.

A mechanical arm responded to his commands, extending toward a small paldium fragment no bigger than a pinky nail. The arm delicately picked up the fragment and placed it into a small, transparent container with the precision of a jeweler setting a gemstone.

I took a few cautious steps closer, the faint hum of the machinery filling the silence between us. Just as I was about to say something, Stark’s hand shot up in a silencing gesture, his eyes never leaving his work.

“Shh! Busy,” he muttered, his voice clipped with concentration.

I raised an eyebrow, bemused by the abrupt dismissal. Crossing my arms, I resigned myself to wait and observe, curious to see what he was up to. I’d learned quickly that trying to get Stark’s attention when he was in ‘work mode’ was an exercise in futility. So, I watched, leaning against a nearby table, as Stark continued his meticulous operation.

He nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied with the placement of the paldium fragment. His fingers moved over the console again, and another mechanical arm whirred to life, extending toward the container.

This arm was different, though—it hovered above the fragment, emitting a strange, bluish light that bathed the small shard in an eerie glow. The fragment began to vibrate, the tremors intensifying with each passing second until it was practically shaking apart.

I frowned, watching the shard with growing apprehension. The vibrations were so intense it seemed like the fragment might shatter at any moment. But before I could voice any concern, the shard suddenly burst into flames—a bright, almost blinding flare that filled the container.

The flames lingered for a few seconds, flickering wildly as if they were alive, and then, just as abruptly as they had appeared, they vanished, leaving nothing behind but empty air.

Stark finally straightened, his expression one of triumph as he set the magnifying glass aside. He turned to face me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he was already anticipating whatever reaction I was about to have.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his tone now casual, almost conversational. “Had to make sure it wouldn’t blow up in my face.”

I blinked, still trying to process what I’d just seen. “What exactly did you just do?”

“Just a little experiment,” Stark replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Trying to see what kind of energy types I can get out of this shiny little miracle stone you gave me... you know, the usual. Paldum is a horrible name by the way..."

I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath, “Says the guy who invented a new element and called it Badassium.”

Stark’s head snapped up, a frown creasing his forehead. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I quickly shook my head, waving it off. “And for the record, I didn’t come up with the name, so complaining to me about it isn’t going to change anything.”

Stark gave me a side glance, his frown deepening as he studied me. “Why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy? What’s got you in a bad mood?”

I rolled my eyes, exhaling sharply. “It’s nothing, just… a lot on my mind.” I pointed at the machine he’d been working on, eager to change the subject. “How far have you gone with testing the Paldium I gave you?”

Stark’s expression shifted instantly, the frown replaced by a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “I haven’t been doing anything else recently. The results? They’re damned miraculous.”

His enthusiasm caught my attention. “Miraculous? What do you mean?”

Stark paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as if deliberating how to answer. It was a rare moment for him—Tony Stark usually had a snappy comeback or a clever retort ready to go, but this time, he seemed almost… reflective.

Finally, he looked at me, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “You know what the definition of energy is, right?”