"You know...none of this would have happened if you didn't impregnate Jean...," Cable coughs.

Apocalypse's eyes bulge as he struggles to breathe, "Survival...of...the...f-f-fit--"

Apocalypse vanished into a pile of dust.

Cable, gone in a violent explosion of his own internal energies.

That's how it went down in the Fifth Dimension, a plane of existence beyond time and space, beyond mortal comprehension. These were the fatal final words of Cable and Apocalypse, two bitter enemies drawn together by destiny.

Nathan Summers was a mutant born with the abilities of telepathy and telekinesis. He possessed a gene, buried within his x-gene, which allowed him to become something more. In short, Cable could become a god. And he was...briefly.

For a few minutes, Cable was omnipotent. All-knowing. A moment in the Fifth Dimension, however, was like an eternity. Cable felt the pain of the universe and couldn't contain it. He held the heaviest burden of any of us...yet, he pushed on. He died for us. Saved the world, stopped the apocalypse.

Where countless hundreds of thousands died, he saved billions more.

But wait. What happens to gods when they die? They can't journey to the afterlife, can they? It's not the natural way of things. But they have to. For if gods die, then they are not immortal. They are just like the rest of us. Which means, they die like the rest of us.

Does that mean they live with us? For a god to die is to live here, with us. But now that cannot be, either. No one has seen a god before. No one has heard a true god.

What is a god?

What is a human?

What is a mutant? Are they all genetic freaks, or are they the median between man and god?

Are we all wondering at the cosmos, searching for who made us? Are we fighting wars with each other over which almighty creator sculpted us all from the earth? Are we trying to prove who's right? Does it even matter? In the end, we all die. It doesn't matter who made us.

We all die.

We don't get a second chance.

We can't. No matter how hard we try. The fiery glow of life burns on. It's like a fuse. It passes us by and expands to spread more life.

Death breeds life and vise versa.

It's a cycle. You cannot break it.

You cannot.

DON'T BREAK THE CYCLE!!! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!!! YOU'LL PAY!!!!!

"AHHHH!!!!!" a scream erupts from underneath the very rock and soil of the Xavier Estate. The ground shakes. Lightning flashes.

A fist punches through the ground, taking up plants and grass by their roots. The hand jerks open, expanding its palm. The second arm slices through the ground. Then, like a clamp, the two arms grip the ground and a head emerges, pulling itself out of the earth, covered in pure filth and mud. The eyes were bloodshot. Long hair and a beard drooped down from the face.

Breath rolls from his mouth as the cool night air gives it a cloudy visibility. Grunting and screaming, the man frantically pulls himself out of the ground as if he were buried alive.

He was naked.

He falls on his stomach and feels that he is gripping something in his hand. It was a medallion with a bird of some kind.

He feels the smooth metallic touch on his cheek and realizes his arm was made of metal, yet it was warm. He could feel his veins flowing through it. It was a part of him. He shrieks when a bolt of lightning startles him. The flash produced a massive shadow over him.

He looks around and sees a giant gravestone with a cross on top of it. He tries to read the inscription. Another flash of lightning, this one more far away, the thunder is less violently loud. He can now see the carving on the stone.
IN MEMORIUM
NATHAN SUMMERS
May he be remembered for his sacrifice that delivered us from evil.

{{Security alert!}} Cerebro blares, the automated mutant-tracking system, database, and computer system for the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning's Subbasement.

Cyclops, Scott Summers, walks up to the glowing computer screen in green boxers and a black button down shirt hanging open. He donned his ruby-quartz shades before rushing down the stairs from his bedroom on the upper level. "What the hell...?" he mutters. "It's two in the morning."

{{There appears to be a mutant in the cemetery area,}} Cerebro informs. {{High psionic energy readings.}}

Scott shakes his head, "I should have never given you sentience. You sound just like C-3P0."

{{It is not like I begin every sentence with "I am fluent in over six-million forms of communication,"}} Cerebro responds. The computer idles, {{Um...Scott?}}

Cyclops closes his eyes as he briefly rubs the mucous out of them, "What?"

{{The mutant is here...and right behind you.}}

"Damn!" Cyclops jerks to serious mode as he presses a button on his shades. They mechanically shift and click to form into his traditional black and red visor. He is ready to fire the neuro-psynaptic command to open the visor and deploy a defensive optic blast, but he stops himself.

Standing there was a man that stood well over two meters. His white hair fell past his shoulders and his beard was fully grown. He is naked and trembling from the cold. He has a metallic left arm and leg. He had a medallion of some sort hanging loosely around his neck. He's breathing hard, as if he had been holding his breath for hours.

If it smells, looks, and tastes like chicken...

"Nathan...?" Scott asks in awe.

Cable remains silent at the sound of the name. His hearing was muffled, even his telepathy couldn't read anything.

"Cerebro, can you run a scan on him?" Cyclops asks. "Make sure he's not a clone or something?"

{{One moment...}}

Cable looks silently at his father as if he didn't know him. Scott looks back at his son he's had to see leave beyond his control more times than a parent should count.

{{Well, genetically, he is Cable. Mentally, I'm not sure. He's supposedly been in the so-called Fifth Dimension ever since the Apocalypse ended.}}

Cyclops glares at the screen, "From what that twisted bitch Madelyne told us, he might have died. She also said he was just stuck in that higher reality. Glad she was wrong on both counts."

"No," Cable's gruff voice utters. "I died." He begins sobbing as he slumps to his knees. He growls, "I DIED, DAMN YOU!!!" He whimpers, shifting into the fetal position on the floor, "I...died."

"Okay...he's insane," Cyclops deduces.

{{He's your son.}}

"What am I trying to tell myself? This...this can't be him. It's impossible." Scott shakes his head.

{{You don't know that.}}

"No one I know has come back to life and don't give me that bull that went down in Dallas, either. That was just a whole bunch of magic. No one has just...willed themselves to be alive again," Cyclops explains. "Neither John or Ororo have walked through that door since..."

"I...," Cable whispers. "I don't know...h-how..."

{{This is beginning to frighten me. Well, this and the fact I can be frightened,}} Cerebro explains.

"What?" Cyclops asks.

{{Well, after analyzing my records, this body just simply appeared underground...in front of the Cable Memorial. It wasn't teleported, it just sort of came to be.}}

"That is pretty damn weird--"

"ARGH!!" Cable screams as his left arm takes on a swirling, spiky appearance. His left eye beams with light as the arm returns to its sleek form. He breathes calmly as millions of memories surface in his mind.

There is a pop in his ear drum as the dirt within it is telekinetically rejected through the earholes. Nate's telepathy also awakens. He gets to his feet and looks at his reflection in the monitor, "Good God...," he mutters, stroking his beard. "How long...?"

"What?" Cyclops asks calmly.

"How long have I been...gone?" Cable asks. "I remember seeing Apocalypse die...then I died. It hurt so bad...I saw the light tunnel..."

Cyclops exhales, it really was Cable. "Um...well. Uh, about a couple months." He swallows, "There's some things that happened..."

"Storm and Apollyon. I know. I'm sorry," he says calmly. "Jean's powerless, too. I know. I saw it all for a brief moment...saw everything. God damn it, Magneto killed Shatterstar. That son of a bitch...I'll kill him...once I get the time."

"Domino was killed along with Longshot," Cyclops explains. "But no one cared about Longshot."

Cable shakes his head, "Not Domino. She's still alive."

"How?"

"She just is."

"How do you--"

"I said I saw everything. And I saw Domino alive. It's just...knowing her, she doesn't stay in one place."

"Ah, right. Well...I suppose you want something to eat?" Scott asks.

"Sure. Could I get some clothes, first?"

"Yeah. I'll try to find something of Hank's. I don't think any of my clothes will fit you."

"Thanks."

"Pizza sound good?"

"Sure. You know I actually forgot how pizza tastes?"

"No, I did not," Cyclops replies gruffly as he begins to walk to the elevator to the upper level. He reaches into a cabinet and tosses Nate a towel to wrap around his waist.

"I remember eating it, but I can't remember the taste...isn't that weird?" Cable asks.

"You gonna keep the long hair and beard, Santa?" Cyclops jokes.

"I was going to...until you called me that. Can we get lots of beer?" Cable asks as they walk onto the elevator. Scott presses the "1" for the first floor, the upper level.

"Sure, we got plenty of beer," Scott smirks as the elevator door closes.

"Weird thing...I forgot how beer tastes, too."

"Amazing."

Greymalkin II.
Earth's Orbit.

A massive ship, equipped with futuristic and alien technologies and no one can see it. It's cloaked from the rest of the world. Prosh, a sentient computer originally built by the godlike race known as the Celestials, is in control of the station's systems. Including the so-called "bodyslide" program. Bodysliding is a futuristic term used to describe the teleportation of organic material to preprogrammed coordinates. Being located in Earth's orbit allows Prosh to bodyslide anyone to anywhere on the planet.

Well, Cable could also mentally access the program...

There is a loud ripping noise as blue energy appears within the viewing deck. The energy condenses into a man who has shaved his head military style. It was Cable, clean-shaven and dressed in a gray T-shirt that had the letters XIHL on it -- standing for Xavier Institute of Higher Learning -- and a pair of blue jeans. A green face appears on the computer screen.

{{My word...Nathan?}}

Cable smiles, "Hello, Prosh. It's been awhile, but...apparently, I was dead."

{{You...are a ghost?}}

"No, I'm alive...somehow. I really don't know how...or why," Nate explains. "I remember watching Apocalypse die...then I...was burning. Then I woke up buried under layers of dirt in front of my own memorial."

{{That is--}}

"Impossible, I know," Nate nods. He scratches his head, "Can you locate Rachel for me?"

{{She's currently stopping an uprising in Peru. The Shining Path.}}

"The terrorist organization?" Cable asks as he grips his techno-organic arm. Strange how it seemed stronger than usual. His powers usually kept it in check easily.

{{Yes,}} Prosh smiles. {{Your sister has sort of taken your place these past few months. She's also stopped some al-Qaida cells.}}

"Well, I figured she wouldn't just sit around and let oppression reign after all that's happened," Nate chuckles to himself.

{{She has also began training young psi-talents the Askani philosophy.}}

"Hm, interesting," Cable nods. "How's Irene?"

{{Well, she finished your biography, obviously now she will have to start again. She's been doing well at the Daily Bugle, all things concerned.}}

"Is she...seeing anyone?" Cable asks. He pauses and looks out through the window at Earth.

{{Actually, no. She took your absence the hardest.}}

"Then I guess going to her would do more damage...what about Rachel? She's going to find out sooner or later. What if she thinks I'm...?"

{{Stryfe?}}

"Well, yeah. He has a way of showing up...I haven't told anyone that time he showed up in Latveria. It was me...at least, my Vice persona. Everyone, even I, thought it was Stryfe." *

(* As revealed in issue 8 -- Brad)

{{Well, then it is safe to assume your psychotic clone is dead, right?}}

"Yeah," Cable says as he walks to a sliding door, "I'll be in my room, meditating. If Rachel bodyslides here...I'll...try to talk to her. Hopefully she won't freak out too much."

{{I highly doubt it,}} Prosh laughs. His lips fall back into a casual smile, {{It's good to have you back, old friend.}}

"Thanks. Well," Nathan sighs, "you know where I'll be."

New York.

"Hey, man, you don't look so good," a bum with a winter hat covering his head and raggedy clothes says. He rubs his hands together to produce some warmth. "You need some clothes?"

"Ungh," the man with long white hair and a beard grunts. He was naked and shivering from the night air. He notices they were in a dark alley of some sort.

"Sorry, this is all the clothes I got," the bum says, tugging at his shirt. "Maybe you should try a shelter...?"

The man rises to his feet. His left eye glows as the bum grips his chest, slumping over onto the pavement.

"Who am I?" the man asks as he begins to transfer the dead bum's clothes onto his body.

He begins walking out of the alley, towards the commotion of the Manhattan late night traffic. The setting looks totally unfamiliar to the mysterious man. As he turns the corner onto the sidewalk, he bumps into a woman, causing her to fall and drop her purse.

"Who am I?" the man asks again.

The woman brushes her reddish-brown hair out of her eyes. She was Irene Merryweather, top-knotch reporter for the Daily Bugle, as well as the author of Cable's complete biography. She reaches for her purse, which had a taser in it. When she gets a good look at the man who knocked her down, her eyes widen, "...Nate?"

The man turns his head to the side in confusion, "Nate. Is that my name? It sounds familiar."

Irene smiles with a look of shock in her eyes, "Yeah...Nathan Summers. You're...you're Cable. Don't you remember?"

"No," his gruff voice utters. "I died." He begins sobbing as he slumps to his knees. He growls, "I DIED, DAMN YOU!!!" He whimpers, shifting into the fetal position on the ground, "I...died."

Irene tries to hold in her cries of happiness and sadness, she kneels on the sidewalk and buries her head into the man's chest, "I thought I lost you...I love you, Nathan...I never got to tell you. The whole Apocalypse thing...oh, God."

The man suddenly stops his tearful bout of psychosis, "Apocalypse...love? I...don't remember love."

Irene wipes her nose as she stands up, helping the man up as well, "We better go to Rachel. She can help you remember."

"Okay...," Nathan whimpers. "What's your name?"

"Irene. You chose me to chronicle your adventures...it sort of evolved into your entire biography," Irene says as she takes Cable's hand. She notices something strange. The left hand was flesh, not techno-organic.

Her heart skips a beat as her cheeks flush with blood. Oh God...it's his clone or something. Can't be Stryfe, can it? He doesn't remember everything. Wait, Nate always told me the Fifth Force caused his techno-virus to become dormant...maybe it's been finally purged from his system?

"What is it?" Nathan asks.

"I, uh," Irene begins, "it's nothing. Let's go. You should rest. You can stay at my apartment. We'll call your sister in the morning."

"I have a sister...?"

Siberia.

The tundra is one of the driest places on Earth. It's cold, but the combined volume of water from melted down snow is about the same amount of precipitation a desert gets. Amidst the blinding snow blowing off mounds of ice, there sits a temple which looks almost alien in nature. No known architect could come up with a design like that.

However, in two-thousand years, the world of architecture will advance to this level. But what is it doing here in 21st century Russia?

Inside, there stand hundreds of hooded and cloaked females, all facing a woman sitting on a throne of sorts. The woman sitting on the throne is wearing a golden orange bodysuit, draped with a purple cloth. Her brown hair is held up by two gold hair picks. Her name was Tanya Trask, also known as Sanctity, one of the founders of the Askani Sisterhood 2000 years from now.

Sanctity's father, Bolivar, created the first mutant-hunting machines known as Sentinels. She and her brother, Larry, were both mutants. One day, Tanya's time-traveling powers slingshotted her into the timestream. A timelost girl like herself named Rachel Summers eventually met up with her. Together, the girls were drawn to the 40th century. That was where they formed the Askani with the gnomish and enigmatic Blaquesmith. The Askani would raise a young Nathan Summers and train him in their unique psionic arts and teach him about his mission to defeat Apocalypse.

Up until now, Sanctity had been willing to destroy Apocalypse, however, it appears her true motives have finally surfaced.

"You are all Dukani," she begins. "I brought you all here from the future because there is a new mission for us. We have been dedicated to destroying Apocalypse, going back to when I was leading the Askani. I even trained Stryfe as an Askani in case the Askani'Son failed. I had hoped by programming the identities of the Twelve into the Mastermold unit, it would destroy Apocalypse in the present, but it looks like I was misinformed about the Twelve's true purpose...and the fact that Apocalypse was never part of the Twelve, his son was. No one recorded the name, so that's why he was referred to as Apocalypse. But that doesn't matter. Using my powers to peak at the possibilities of the timestream, I have found that Cable and Apocalypse would kill each other."

The purple-cloaked Dukani agents nod in agreement.

Sanctity smiles, "Now our rise to power is inevitable with them out of the way."

"FUIOPA AUG KAH BUW DUKANI!" the women begin chanting. Loosely translated from the Canaanite language it means, "May the world bleed from wounds inflicted by the dark outsiders."

The cloaked women reach to their belts, pulling out psimatar hilts. In a synchronized motion, the hundreds of psimatars click to full size. It was like a sound of thunder that echoed through the halls of the futuristic temple.

Sanctity smiles as she looks up at the Dukani symbol on a giant gold circular emblem hanging above the throne. A decapitated phoenix.

The Dukani clang the blunt end of their psimatars on the floor, creating a deafening sound as they screech, "KAH KAH KAH!" It's not meant to be translated, it is a sick way of imitating a dying bird's cry.