You didn’t have time to scream. One second you were fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with the X-Men, trying to hold the collapsing wormhole apart long enough for civilians to escape; the next, the ground wasn’t ground anymore, and the screaming wind of the void swallowed you whole.

It wasn’t death. At least, not yet.

When you opened your eyes, the universe was wrong. Black skies that weren’t skies, shattered spines of stone hanging in midair, a horizon that shimmered and flexed like liquid mercury. You had no idea if you were in the depths of space, another dimension, or hell itself. All you knew was that the air cut like glass when you tried to breathe and your lungs seized.

Then something slammed into you—no, wrapped around you. An arm, broad and bracing. A chest, rising and falling with a steady rhythm. And a voice, rough but calm. “Don’t breathe yet. I’ve got you.”

Armando's skin was already shifting, like molten metal under flesh, mottling into something darker, denser, as if his body itself was rewriting the code of existence to match this environment. You clung instinctively, terrified of letting go.

“I—Darwin—what is this place—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes glowing faintly as his body adjusted again, your chest burning as if on fire. “What matters is you’re alive. Hold on.”

A shock ran through him. You felt it happen—felt the tug of his evolution pulling at you. You gasped so violently you nearly choked. His arms stayed locked around you.

“Better?” he asked, voice tighter now.

You nodded, shivering even though he was warm. His warmth was all that kept the terror from sinking its teeth into your bones.

But the environment wasn’t done.

One of the floating rock-spires groaned and twisted, an avalanche of black crystal breaking free and tumbling toward you. You froze. He didn’t.

His skin shifted again—bones thickening, muscles hardening, eyes glazing over like an animal’s. He threw himself over you, body covering yours as the shards crashed down, sparking like glass against his back. None touched you.

“See?” he said, voice strained but determined, “Whatever this place throws at us, I’ll match it.”

You swallowed hard. His face was inches from yours, his body caging you in, heavy but protective. He wasn’t showing off—he was dead serious. This was the only reason you were still breathing.

The rockslide subsided. Slowly, Darwin lifted himself up, his form shifting back toward something more human, though his skin still shimmered oddly in the unreal light. “We’ll make it out,” he muttered. “Even if I have to become something I’ve never been before.”