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Marvel MK: CH 134 – The Hangover Cure
🕑 Added 2025-08-16 16:23:34 +0000 UTCThe morning after the heist was a grim, silent affair. Jack, Hermes, Ororo, and Aska sat at the long wooden table, their faces pale, their movements slow and deliberate, each one a portrait of profound, divine suffering. They were listless, their usual vibrant energies reduced to a dull, throbbing ache behind the eyes.
Thankfully, the other Alfar, with the enthusiastic help of the X-Men, had prepared breakfast. Following Jubilee’s surprisingly knowledgeable suggestion, they had cooked up a massive cauldron of Haejang-guk, the legendary Korean hangover soup.
As the steaming, spicy bowls were placed before them, the four hungover figures just stared blankly. But the rich, savory aroma seemed to cut through the fog. One by one, they picked up their spoons.
The first taste was a miracle. They began to eat, at first slowly, then with a desperate, ravenous hunger. The Alfar had, wisely, made a lot. Ororo, with her usual grace, managed to finish three full portions before she felt human again. Aska, with a satisfied grunt, put away seven. And Hermes and Jack, their divine metabolisms working in overdrive, each devoured a staggering twenty-one bowls, a silent, unspoken competition of gluttony.
Just as the name suggested, the Haejang-guk cured them completely.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” Jack asked, his voice finally clear, his eyes bright once more.
One of the Alfar, the one who had been in charge of the cooking, puffed out his chest, a smug grin on his face. “With Jubes’s help and my magic,” he declared, “any food can be anything.”
Beside him, Jubilee struck a triumphant pose, her hands on her hips. The Alfar cook mirrored her, the two of them looking like they were campaigning for president.
Aska let out a long, satisfying burp, a sound that was both regal and deeply content. He laughed, a hearty, booming sound. “Hehehehe, that was good! Anyway, kids! Are all of you ready for making toys? Today is the 24th! Tomorrow, Hermes and Jack will split up to spread the gifts, and there are no gifts without the toys, right? So, who is ready to make some toys?!”
A cheerful, enthusiastic roar of “WE ARE!” erupted from the kids and the teens.
Jack laughed, his usual manic energy returning. “Kekekeke! What kind of judgment should I do for this Christmas?”
Hermes, who was now looking refreshed and impossibly handsome again, elbowed Jack in the ribs. “Stop that,” he said, his voice a low, warning hiss. “You can’t just grow a tree that bears the fruit of human corruption every Christmas. It will change the spirit of the holiday.”
“Why not?” Jack shot back. “They all deserve it anyway. Can’t your Naughty or Nice machine judge them?”
Hermes sighed. “There’s an age limit. It only works on children. And even then, it only stamps you as ‘naughty’ if you’re a really mean kid, at the level of bullying others.”
“Hmmm,” Jack said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “But don’t you remember those panicking asshole faces when their deeds were revealed?”
A slow, reluctant chuckle escaped Hermes’s lips. “Hehehe, oh, yeah. I definitely had a good laugh seeing those bastards like that.”
Jack nudged him. “See? You liked it.”
“Just… don’t go too overboard with it this time,” Hermes conceded, a resigned smile on his face.
“Yeaayyy!” Jack cheered.
…
The midday sun hung high over the snow-covered grounds of the Xavier Mansion as one of Jack’s clones arrived, a small, sleeping girl cradled in his arms. He saw Piotr Rasputin methodically scooping snow from the main pathway, his massive, armored form a stark contrast to the gentle, repetitive task.
Piotr was about to greet him with a friendly wave, but his smile froze when he saw the unconscious child. He immediately dropped his shovel.
“Jack, let’s go,” he said, his voice a low, urgent rumble. He tapped a communicator on his wrist. “Hank, are you at the labs?”
“Yes, why?” Hank’s voice crackled through the device.
“Go to the medbay,” Piotr said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We need you to check on a little girl’s condition.”
There were no further questions. “I’ll be there,” Hank replied.
Piotr led the clone and the girl into the mansion. “I assume she is a mutant,” he said as they walked. “So, what happened?”
“Her mutation triggered when she saw her father’s body,” the clone explained, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. “My other self has already brought his body to a mortuary. At the very least, she will see her father in a suit one last time, and we can bury him in peace.”
“Alright, here,” Piotr said, holding open the medbay door. Inside, Hank and Moira were already in place, their expressions a mixture of professional readiness and deep concern. They saw the small girl in the clone’s arms.
“Lay her there, Jack,” Hank said, gesturing to the bed. “Let us handle it from here.”
The clone gently placed Sooraya on the bed and took a few steps back.
“Where did you find her?” Moira asked, already running a scanner over the girl’s still form. “There’s a lot of sand on her.”
“The desert,” the clone answered simply. “I flew with Zephyr.”
“Alright then,” Moira said, her focus already entirely on her patient. “You can rest.”
“Alright,” the clone replied. He turned and walked out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him. As he stepped into the hallway, he found Logan, John, and Piotr standing there, talking in low, serious tones.
He strolled over, a wide, unhinged grin suddenly appearing on his face.
“What are you guys gossiping about?” he asked cheerfully. “Oh, is it about the rumor that Magneto is balding? Kekekeke.”
…
The sprawling estate that Madam Gao had gifted Jack was, for the moment, a sanctuary of profound laziness. A dozen or so clones were scattered around the property, each engaged in their own brand of unhinged downtime.
One clone sat cross-legged in a perfect meditative pose, waist-deep in the tranquil koi pond, his eyes closed in serene concentration. Another lay on his back on the ornate gazebo, his hands behind his head.
“Why are you meditating in the pond?” the gazebo clone asked, his voice a lazy drawl.
“I will make them become dragons, dammit,” the pond guy replied without opening his eyes. “They just need a teacher to guide them. A draconic life coach.”
A third clone, this one eating a large bowl of cereal, walked out of the main house, laughing. “Kekekeke, you dumbass. What do you think this is, Pokémon? You think a koi can just evolve into a Gyarados?”
The pond guy’s eyes snapped open, but his gaze was fixed on the front gate. “Open it,” he said calmly. “It’s not locked. And if it is, you have the key anyway.”
Sure enough, from the gate, Madam Gao appeared, her posture as straight and unyielding as ever. Behind her, her right hand, Alessa Geomi, followed like a silent, deadly shadow.
The cereal clone gestured with his spoon. “Ah, so you’ve come. Come in. Did you bring the maps like I told you to?”
They walked into the house, their formal, serious demeanor a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the clones. And then, they saw it. Smack dab in the middle of the living room, in front of a shelf of strange, eclectic collections, was a motorcycle. A Harley-Davidson, its chrome gleaming, a few claw marks still visible on the leather seat.
The cereal clone laughed at their stunned expressions. “Kekeke, don’t worry. It’s just one of my collections. It’s Wolverine’s.”
On the shelf behind it, other small, impossible trophies were displayed. What looked like the finger of an Iron Man suit, a wallet with a SHIELD logo that once belonged to the Black Widow, and a set of razor-sharp throwing knives used by Bullseye. Madam Gao and Alessa could only stare in stunned silence, the sheer, disrespectful audacity of the collection a more potent display of power than any threat.
Alessa finally snapped out of it, handing a rolled-up map of New York City to Madam Gao, who in turn, respectfully handed it to the cereal clone. The clone, in a final act of casual dominance, handed Madam Gao his now-empty cereal bowl before unrolling the map on a low table.
“It’s Christmas,” he said cheerfully. “So, in the spirit of the holiday, I’ll give you the location of the dragon bone early.”
His finger began to trace a path across the map. Madam Gao and Alessa couldn’t help but hold their breath, their eyes following his every move. His finger moved past the Bronx, through Queens, over Manhattan… and then it stopped. It stopped right in the middle of his own territory. The former Hell’s Kitchen, now the thriving, unassailable core of the Golden Peach.
“Now that you know, go,” the clone said, rolling the map back up. “I’ve already had Natalie Beckman transfer the building rights to you. Go find that half-immortality that you crave.”
The look of pure, triumphant excitement on Madam Gao’s face was instantly extinguished, replaced by something deeper, more calculating. She looked at the clone, at the impossible trophies, at the sheer, casual power he represented.
“Sage,” she asked, her voice a low, respectful whisper. “Does this mean… you have a way to achieve true immortality?”
…
The hangover was cured, breakfast was devoured, and a new, chaotic energy filled the North Pole cabin. Aska, his magnificent beard now free of cookie crumbs, clapped his hands together, the sound a sharp, commanding crack that gathered everyone’s attention.
“Alright, everyone!” he boomed, his ancient eyes twinkling with a festive light. “The sun is high, our bellies are full, and there are children in the world who need toys! To the workshop!”
The factory, which had been a place of silent, dormant magic, was about to wake up. The Alfar led the way, each one placing a hand on a central, rune-etched pillar.
“To start the Great Cog,” Aska explained, “we must all sing the Hymn of Making.”
The Alfar began to sing, their voices a beautiful, harmonious chorus that spoke of starlight, ancient wood, and the joy of creation. A soft, golden light began to emanate from the pillar, the gears of the massive factory beginning to turn with a low, gentle hum.
“This is taking too long,” Jack whispered to Jubilee. He then took a deep breath and, at the top of his lungs, began to belt out a heavy metal power ballad about forging the ultimate sword of destiny.
The Hymn of Making faltered. The Alfar stared at him, horrified. But the Great Cog, seemingly responding to the sheer, unadulterated passion of the song, roared to life. The golden light intensified, the gears turned faster, and the entire factory shuddered into full, chaotic operation.
“See?” Jack said with a proud grin. “My version has more pizzazz.”
The assembly line was a marvel of Alfar magic, but it was ancient. The X-Men, products of a modern, trend-obsessed world, immediately saw room for improvement.
“No, no, no,” Jubilee said, looking at a line of identical wooden dolls. “Kids today want action figures with, like, twenty points of articulation and cool accessories! And glitter! Everything needs more glitter!” She then used her plasmoids to add a shimmering, sparkling finish to a batch of toy robots, much to the delight of the Alfar.
Bobby Drake used his ice powers to create intricate, instant molds for a new line of dinosaur toys, his creations far more detailed than the old wooden carvings. Scott and Alex, under the careful supervision of a very nervous Alfar foreman, used their optic blasts at the lowest possible setting for precision welding on a fleet of metal toy cars.
Jack, of course, had his own ideas. He commandeered a section of the assembly line, determined to create the “perfect” toy. The result was a teddy bear that, when hugged, would whisper profound, existentially dreadful secrets about the heat death of the universe in a cheerful, childlike voice.
“Fun fact!” he announced to a horrified-looking Kitty Pryde. “A group of owls is called a parliament. Which is funny, because I’ve met a lot of politicians, and most of them are just as clueless and prone to shitting on everything from a great height.”
Later, the younger kids discovered the Naughty or Nice machine, a massive, ornate contraption of brass and glowing crystals. Tenzin, with his pure heart, received a perfect, glowing “Nice” rating. Gabriel, trying to be clever, thought of a mean prank right as he stepped on the platform, and was immediately stamped with a temporary, but very embarrassing, “Naughty.”
Jack, seeing this, immediately tried to hack the machine. “I’m just going to add a few names to the permanent Naughty List,” he said to Hermes. “You know, CEOs, senators, the guy who invented pop-up ads…”
The final preparation was for the reindeer. They were magnificent creatures, their fur the color of fresh snow, their antlers seeming to be carved from pure starlight. Jack immediately tried to feed one of the ambrosia cakes he had stolen from Apollo.
“Don’t feed him that!” Hermes yelped, snatching the cake away. “His divine digestive system can’t handle it! Do you want him to have glittery, rainbow-colored farts for the entire trip?”
“Yes!” Jack and all the kids shouted in unison.
“Another fun fact!” Jack announced as he patted a reindeer’s head. “Reindeer eyeballs turn blue in the winter to help them see in the low light. See? Even their eyes are cool. Unlike Ares. His eyes are just… angry.”
The day ended in a flurry of finished toys, exhausted but happy mutants, and a factory that was somehow both more efficient and infinitely more chaotic than it had been in centuries. They were ready.
