Marvel: gojo of the seven sets

It all felt too real.

The world was red.

Not a warm red of sunsets or gentle flames but something violent, chaotic—alive. Tendrils of mystical energy surged in wild arcs, coiling and thrashing through the air, trying to bend space itself. It pulsed with raw power, distorting the sky, cracking the earth beneath it. Something fractured, an irreparable damage.

A house—small, modest, but once filled with warmth—stood at the center of it all. Or what remained of it. The walls cracked like brittle glass, splintering under the weight of the storm. Windows shattered, shards of glass suspended mid-air as if frozen, trembling against the force holding them there. The garden outside was gone, scorched black, while the trees twisted into unnatural shapes, branches curling inward as though recoiling from the energy.

And at the heart of the storm—A little red headed girl.

Her hair, wild as the energy surging around her, whipped violently in the wind. Tears streamed down her face, burning trails against pale cheeks as she screamed through the maelstrom, voice raw with fear and desperation.

"Brother! Help me!"

Beyond the chaos, a white haired boy stood frozen. His hair disheveled, his pale blue eyes wide with disbelief, horror, fear and

helplessness.

His body was frozen in fear and yet he still tried to move.

The first step forward was met with a surge of red energy, slamming into his chest like a tidal wave. He stumbled back, landing hard on the fractured ground, breath stolen from his lungs. But he didn't stay down. He couldn't.

"WANDA!"

He forced himself to rise, fighting against the force, against the blinding crimson light. The air itself felt like it was pressing down, crushing, bending. His vision blurred, yet he pushed forward, step by step.

She reached for him—one trembling hand, pale fingers extended, pleading.

For a moment, their fingertips nearly touched.

But the storm lashed out.

A surge of scarlet energy struck Pietro, hurling him back with a cry of pain. Wanda's eyes widened in horror as he disappeared behind the blinding light.

"PIETRO!"

The chaos consumed her.

And everything—

Shattered.

---

Wanda woke with a start.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, lungs burning as if she had been suffocating. Her heart hammered wildly against her chest, racing faster than her thoughts could catch up. Sweat drenched her delicate skin, the sheets tangled around her limbs as she bolted upright in her bed.

The room was...in disarray.

Furniture lay overturned. The wooden chair she kept by her desk had been reduced to splinters. The mirror was shattered, cracks spider-webbing across its surface, distorted like her reflection. Red wisps of lingering mystical energy curled along the walls, the very fabric of reality still flickering and unstable.

She clutched her head, trembling.

"It won't stop…why wouldn't it just stop?" she whispered, voice barely audible, as she stared down at her trembling hands.

A soft knock.

The door creaked open, and Mystique stepped inside. Her usually sharp, calculating gaze softened slightly at the sight of Wanda's distress, though she masked it well.

Standing just behind her, leaning quietly against the doorframe, was Irene.

Mystique approached cautiously, eyes sweeping the damaged room before resting on Wanda.

"What won't stop, dear?"

Wanda swallowed hard, voice shaky. "The memory. It keeps coming back... the house... Pietro... I lost him... it's my fault..."

Mystique knelt beside her, gently taking Wanda's trembling hands in her own. "No," she said firmly, her voice calm yet strong. "It was never your fault. What you have... is a gift. A gift most wouldn't even begin to understand."

Wanda's face twisted in pain. "Is that why I was locked up? Forgotten? Left in that place like some... monster?"

Scarlet light flickered in her irises, just for a moment.

Mystique's grip tightened, steadying her. "You were a child," she whispered, "A child with power most couldn't comprehend. They feared you because they couldn't control you. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you extraordinary."

Wanda's breath caught, hands clenching tighter against Mystique's. "Then why did no one come for me?"

Mystique's expression softened further. "I did."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

"And..." Mystique continued, voice quiet but certain, "I know where your brother is."

Silence.

Wanda's red-rimmed eyes snapped up to meet hers, hope flickering past the pain. "Pietro? He—he's alright?"

Mystique nodded. "Yes."

The storm inside Wanda calmed, her energy no longer pressing against the edges of reality. "I—I want to see him. I need to see him. Now."

Mystique exhaled softly but shook her head. "Not yet. For now, you need to rest."

"Why?" Wanda demanded, voice sharper.

Mystique gave a meaningful glance at the devastation around them. "Control, Wanda. If you don't find peace within yourself, your powers will respond to your pain. I won't risk you hurting yourself... or him."

Wanda's gaze dropped, the truth stinging more than she cared to admit. Her hands curled into fists, shame replacing anger. "I… understand."

Mystique stood, brushing dust from her gloves.

As she reached the door, Wanda's voice stopped her.

"Thank you... for taking me away from that place."

Mystique turned back, offering a rare, genuine smile. "Of course, dear."

And then she was gone.

---

Outside the door, Irene remained silent, her pale, unseeing eyes gazing forward yet beyond.

Mystique paused beside her. "Watch over her."

Irene tilted her head slightly, lips parting as a whisper escaped—soft yet ominous, her voice carrying the weight of prophecy:

"The storm brews… a flame within a vessel too fragile. To hold it is to keep ember in dry leaves…It may burn the hand… or the forest."

Mystique narrowed her eyes. "Do you see something?"

A bitter irony, asking a blind woman if she 'saw.'

Irene's head inclined. "Order and chaos dance. One will shatter. One will bend. But a void will remain…seeking… searching… until all is consumed."

Mystique's lips pressed into a thin line. "What does that mean?"

Irene's voice softened further, turning almost distant. "You will see… in time."

Mystique turned away, her footsteps echoing as she made her way down the corridor.

Left alone, Irene whispered into the shadows once more:

"The void awakens. And when it calls… not even chaos will be enough to stop it."