Body smaller. Chair harder. Air thick with chalk dust.
Johan's consciousness slammed into his new reality like a misfired spell. One second, he'd been staring into the abyss of God's judgment; the next, he was hunched at a school desk, his teenage spine protesting as a woman's voice cut through the fog.
"Johan? Is something wrong?"
He jerked upright. A teacher—Miss Richards, his borrowed memories supplied—frowned down at him. Around them, a classroom hummed with the mundane chaos of high school: whispered gossip, squeaking sneakers, the click-click of a clock counting seconds he'd already lost.
America. Not India. Thank fuck.
Johan: "No, Miss. Everything's fine."
The lie tasted bitter. Nothing was fine. His hands were too smooth, his shirt too tight, and—
A neon-green panel flared in his vision:
[ SYSTEM ONLINE ]
[ DAILY SPIN: READY ]
[ WELCOME,SIR JOHAN ]
Johan's breath hitched. It's real.
Then his hair stood on his neck. Someone was watching.
He turned to his right.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes sharp enough to draw blood. A girl his age—no, the girl—pretending not to study him from two desks away.
Emma Frost.
Sixteen. Human. For now.
Her pencil tapped a Morse code of boredom, but her gaze burned with something hungrier.
The system blinked, impatient:
[ SPIN NOW? Y/N ]
Johan hesitated. Wait—can she—
Johan (mental): System, can anyone read my thoughts?
[ RESPONSE: NEGATIVE. ]
[ NO ENTITY IN THIS UNIVERSE CAN PENETRATE USER'S MENTAL SHIELDS. ]
[ ADDENDUM: THEY MAY STILL GUESS. ]
Johan almost laughed. Guess all you want, Frost.
He slammed Y.
The panel whirred like a slot machine—then locked with a ding:
[ ABILITY: "TRUTH ECHO" (24HR) ]
[ NEXT LIE SPOKEN NEAR YOU WILL REPEAT IN YOUR MIND. ]
Across the room, Emma's pencil snapped.
She didn't look up.
But her shadow stretched too long in the afternoon sun.
EMMA FROST POV -:
The first breath was fire.
Emma gasped awake to the assault of sensation - cheap polyester against her arms, a zit forming on her chin, the acidic tang of adolescent hormones flooding her bloodstream. Her telepathy, usually a scalpel, screamed outward in a shockwave:
(Teacher's headache. Girl's period cramps. Boy's masturbation guilt.)
She recoiled, slamming her shields up with a force that should have shattered windows.
Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.
Her hands - smooth, unmarked, child's hands - shook as she pressed them to the desk.
Sixteen years old.
No diamond armor.
No Hellfire throne.
Just a fucking high school ID card clipped to her blazer: "EMMA FROST, SOPHOMORE."
For the first time in twenty years, Emma Frost panicked.
She exhaled through her nose (too small, wrong) and methodically:
Ruled out telepathic attack (No foe could cage her mind like this)
Dismissed illusion (The zit hurt too much to be fake)
Checked the date
A psychic tendril flicked to the teacher's desk calendar.
October 12, 2004
Oh.
Her stomach dropped.
Not just young. Not just powerless.
Early.
Before the Hellfire Club. Before the X-Men. Before Shaw's blood painted her diamonds red.
The timeline had reset - and she was trapped in its weakest iteration.
She was halfway through planning how to reclaim her empire decades early when she heard it:
[ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: PRIMARY USER JOHAN PATEL HAS BEEN INITIALIZED ]
Emma's head snapped up.
The voice wasn't psychic. Wasn't human. It slithered through her telepathy like oil on water, bypassing every defense.
Across the room, a brown-skinned boy jolted awake at his desk - Johan Patel - his eyes wide with the same terror she'd just conquered.
The system continued, oblivious to her eavesdropping:
[ DAILY SPIN ACTIVATED. ROLLING... ]
[ ABILITY GRANTED: "TRUTH ECHO" (24HR) ]
Emma's lips parted.
Oh, she realized with dawning glee.
You're cheating.
And now... so am I.
JOHAN POV-:
Seconds after accepting Truth echo
he system's text glitched crimson as the message appeared:
[ MESSAGE FROM GOD: ACCEPT? Y/N ]
Johan barely hesitated before mentally snarling Yes.
The voice that answered was lighter this time—amused, like a kid burning ants with a magnifying glass:
"Hope you like this world! I messed some stuff up so I could have fun watching you. Here—three beginner rewards from your favorite god."
Messed the world up a bit? Fuck you mean messed it up a bit--
A new menu exploded in Johan's vision:
REWARD OPTIONS:
Iron Body – Skin hard as steel (improves with training)
Eye of the Truthseeker – Liars glow red for 10s
Custom AI – Programmable, embeddable in objects
Johan's grin turned feral.
No fucking contest.
"I'll take the AI."
"Ooooh, interesting choice!" God crooned. "It's yours. Go nuts."
A glowing blue marble materialized in Johan's pocket, its surface swirling like liquid code. He whispered:
"Marble—initialize."
The AI's voice chimed in his ear, genderless and eager:
"Awaiting programming parameters! Suggested uses: Espionage, sabotage, or—"
Johan cut it off, thumb stroking the orb. "We're gonna have so much fun."
EMMA FROST POV -:
Emma's pencil tip snapped the moment Johan's lips curled into that smile.
Not a normal smile—no. This was the grin of a child who'd found a loaded gun.
Pathetic.
She kept her face blank, her breathing even, but her telepathy clawed at the empty space around him, searching for cracks in whatever shield made his mind nothingness instead of meat.
Then—
His hand dipped into his pocket. His fingers twitched, stroking something small. Caressing.
Emma's nostrils flared.
Three Facts:
His pocket had been empty when he walked in.
He hadn't left his seat.
Now he was whispering to whatever wasn't there.
Her diamond form prickled under her skin—useless in this weak body, but the instinct remained.
What are you hiding, little liar?
A psychic tendril skimmed the memories of the boy beside Johan ("Dude's been zoning out all period—weirdo") and the teacher ("Must be trauma. Poor kid.").
No answers.
Then Johan's head tilted, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. His thumb rubbed slow circles against the hidden object in his pocket.
Emma's molars ground hard enough to fracture enamel.
System. Rewards. Gifts.
The words assembled themselves in her mind like a noose.
He was getting stronger.
She was not.
For the first time in her existence, Emma Frost felt the icy drip of fear—not for Johan, but for the thing that favored him.
The thing that had stolen her timeline and left her to rot in this plastic adolescence while he played with divine toys.
Her notebook page tore under her nails.
Fine.
If God wanted to stack the deck, she'd burn the table down