The Comprehensive Evolution of American Comics

Hyperion hung limply, like clothes on a rack, his limbs dangling as Magneto suspended him in the air.

Hyperion could swear he hadn't felt this helpless since he was a baby.

The weakness from insufficient blood flow to the brain was something no being could defy, not even one powerful enough to shatter asteroids; he couldn't resist this physiological frailty.

Though weakened, it wasn't enough to make Hyperion pass out; he was still searching for a chance to turn the tables.

"Color me surprised," Magneto said, looking Hyperion up and down. "You really didn't bring any teammates, and you're not even wearing a communicator or any kind of signaling device."

Straining to open his eyes was all Hyperion could manage; his muscles were useless to help him speak.

The longer it went on, the more Hyperion's consciousness slipped. He figured he was close to passing out; he was even hallucinating.

Hyperion saw a thick, red hand materialize on Magneto's slender one, looking like some kind of armored gauntlet.

Hyperion slowly shifted his gaze, astonished to find a phantom red giant looming behind Magneto, over three meters tall, enveloping Magneto within its form.

"This is the first time I've revealed my true form to an outsider," said Magneto—no, Onslaught—as the psychic manifestation of his being solidified, the massive figure in red armor his true self.

"Feel honored. As the first to witness my standing upon the earth, you have the right to become my servant, to offer me your loyalty!"

As Onslaught spoke, his body twisted, and immense psychic energy surged like a tsunami into Hyperion's brain, forcibly rewriting his mind.

"Ugh, aaaaaaah!"

The process was undeniably agonizing, like a drill boring into Hyperion's brain. Even this iron-willed man couldn't help but cry out.

"Resistance is useless," Onslaught whispered, coaxing. "You have no mental or spiritual defenses. Your futile resistance only amuses me."

As Onslaught finished speaking, Hyperion's cries faded, and after another five or six seconds, he fell silent like a corpse.

If Hyperion weren't still breathing, anyone would have thought him dead.

Onslaught released his hand from Hyperion's face, and without the magnetic grip, Hyperion fell to the ground.

"Thud."

Surprisingly, Hyperion didn't collapse; he stood firmly on the soft sand, opening his eyes as soon as his feet touched the ground.

"Good evening, superhero. How are you feeling?" Onslaught asked, as if chatting with an old friend. It was hard to believe they'd been locked in combat just minutes before, even sinking an island.

"Never been better," Hyperion nodded. "Thank you for opening my eyes to the world."

"In that case, go back," Onslaught waved dismissively. "It's getting late; your princess will worry if you stay out any longer."

"Yes," Hyperion nodded obediently and flew away.

Watching Hyperion vanish from sight in the blink of an eye, Onslaught stretched out his hands, savoring the touch of the real world with his true form for the first time in ages, before slowly retracting his essence.

"Not yet," Onslaught murmured. "I still need to be patient. My current strength isn't enough to step into the spotlight."

Onslaught extended his right hand, and a tiny, infinitely compressed black dot appeared in his palm—clearly, a black hole.

Humans would consider a black hole an extremely dangerous thing, but this incredibly hazardous object rested quietly in his hand, as docile as a hamster ball.

"Not enough!" Onslaught clenched his fist, and the black hole in his hand dissipated. "This little bit of power is nothing compared to…"

At that, Onslaught shuddered, his mind involuntarily recalling the immense energy he had sensed a few days prior. He knew instinctively that the source of that energy could kill him without effort.

Moreover, Onslaught had since sensed several other powerful energies. He was immensely grateful that he was a new lifeform born from the fusion of Charles and Magneto; their abilities allowed him to sense energy fluctuations across the globe.

When the first surge of power erupted, Onslaught was terrified and retreated deep into Magneto's mind. The subsequent waves of power dissuaded him from revealing his true form.

For the first time since his birth, Onslaught recognized his own inadequacy. He realized that there were beings beyond beings, heavens beyond heavens. It seemed that to achieve his goals, the abilities of the mutants on the island wouldn't suffice.

He needed more mutants, which was why he agreed to the Power Princess's request for cooperation. He also anticipated that Hyperion would naively reject her terms, prompting his request for a one-on-one meeting.

If it had been before, Onslaught wouldn't have cared about Hyperion's life or death, as long as he provided a steady stream of mutants. But knowing that beings of such power existed, Onslaught had to be cautious.

To that end, he needed a target to stand in front of him and draw fire. Hyperion was a good choice—powerful enough, noticeable enough. If he created some explosive events, he'd be the perfect shield.

Unfortunately, Hyperion's character wouldn't allow it, forcing Onslaught to reveal his true form and risk being discovered by those powerful beings to subdue Hyperion.

Great risks always bring greater rewards. Onslaught felt that tonight's efforts would secure a better future.

"Once I absorb the abilities of all the mutants, that power will no longer be a threat."

Onslaught clenched his fist confidently, casually pulling the sunken island from the seabed and flying back toward the mutant island with it.

…

"Where are you?" Yang Le frantically tapped his communicator. "Where the hell are you? Main body? You're not even in the 9527 universe? Where are you?!"

Yang Le felt like he was going to faint. He had sneaked out with great difficulty, like a thief, just to tip off the main body, only to call and find out the other party was out of service?!

"I'm breaking down," Yang Le groaned, clutching his head. He glanced at the time and realized it had been a while, so he reluctantly composed a message for Gwen and sent it.