Za’Kul felt both a rush of adrenaline and then the terror of wonder. Safety, that was all he desired. Perhaps he would be seen as weak for it, but war was no way to live; the Lok’Sha had shown the world that when they had lost their own campaign against the other nations so many years ago--and they had lost it right in their home, right atop the mountain where their greatest achievement now stood in ruins. They could not bear another loss.
When Mai’Li and Kul’O came with the news, Za’Kul found his giddy killed. To his father he looked first, then to Ja’Kul; finally, he turned to Mai’Li and Kul’Lo.
“Wor do this?” how fickle a thing is optimism; clenched fists, Za’Kul stormed to where his battle axes were; he moved to grab them and then thought of the Wor he had just saved. Za’Kul had promised them things would be different with his tribe, that the Kul were nothing like the monger Wor… and now it came time to show them that the Kul were beasts of their word. He let his hands fall back to his sides.
“I will go to Low Jo. Bring message to Low Dahla, too--all Low tribe must meet. Cannot have war in Low Tunnels with Wor. Cannot have our home collapse.”
Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn January 11, 2026 12:20 A.M.
Rain in Brooklyn was seldom this time of year; gelid New York winter clasped the city. Snow hushed violent green grass and made the crush of shoe and boot into music, a music only a native could appreciate. The city was pulsating, melanoid sky be damned. On a bus stop sat Terrelle Pryor, 19. Black bubble goose jacket, fur hood pulled atop his head; a black skully rested atop his cranium. His hands were shaking inside his coat, the plated .357 was cold against his right thigh.
Pryor rubbed his hands together, attempts to bring warmth to his cupped hands as though it would suffice to heat the rest of his shivering body proved questionable as his presence on this bus stop in the middle of a city he barely knew. Nevermind it, he was supposed to wait until a black SUV picked him up. Headlights flashed twice and then pulled up to the bus stop. A door swung open; Terrell stood up and looked both ways before he was hurried to the car’s interior by the beckoning of a baritone voice,
“Hurry up, we ain’t got all gahtdamn day.”
Pryor stood, pulled up his sagging jeans, and got inside the vehicle after a skinny bald headed fellow exited the back left side so Pryor could get in. A low light emanated from the car’s interior lights and Pryor pulled the hood from his head, the only thing shielding his skull now was a black du-rag. Beside him sat one medium size man with rose colored aviators and a grey hoodie, a single gold tooth and a patchy beard were the most interesting things about his otherwise languid countenance. On Pryor’s opposite side sat a woman in a purple dress, hair kept up in long thick locs, she wore regular reading glasses. They looked to be prescription; a newspaper was unfolded and she was scanning its headline,
VIGILANTE SILENT, WHERE IS ‘THE TIGER’?
Pryor was still warming his hands frantically, the sound of skin and friction grated Lavelle Hammond’s ears. He pulled the rose aviator’s from his face and grabbed onto Pryor’s wrists,
“Boy if you don’t cut that shit out. I put on the AC for a reason!” Lavelle leaned forward and spoke to the woman who wore the purple dress,
“Cherry, baby, put down that damn paper! We got the mothafucka; his ass ain’ goin’ nowhere. We gon’ make sure dat. Well,” Lavelle’s eyes moved toward Pryor,
“You gon’ make sure of that, righ’? Big Lou tell me you the finest out of town help we can get and I payed ‘best-out-of-town-help’ money for your black ass, so he betta be good and right ‘bout it.” Hammond licked his gold tooth, a surly affirmation of his own gall and conceit. From the silence between the gross sloshing of Hammond’s tongue along his teeth, Cherry spoke up,
“Don’t ever call me ‘baby’ in front of the help again or I cut off your other finger, Lavelle.” Pryor’s eyes went wide; being licked with the flame of a tumultuous relationship was unsavory--being licked with the flame of a tumultuous metahuman relationship was deadly.
“Mr. Pryor,” Cherry began as the black SUV reached the abandoned steel mill on the other side of town in an inhuman amount of time, what felt like five minutes, “your friend Dupree tells us you are particularly skilled with dispatching gifted individuals.” for the first time, Pryor got to speak up,
“Yeah, yeah, som’ like it, fo’. Y’all tryn’ make me hit that Tiger nigga?” Pryor shook his head,
“‘Ono, fo’ be on heels. Ain’ really trynna turn pack.” a bit of a southern drawl, but the dialect was distinctly Midwestern. Cherry and Lavelle raised eyebrows in sync, both emitted a mocking laugh as they exited the vehicle; Cherry grabbed Pryor by the ear,
“Aye, fo’, fuh’y’doin’? AGH!” a snap of her fingers and the trio was inside the abandoned steel mill and inside of a dark room. It smelt of crimson and water. A man’s intensified breathing could be heard amongst the musk. A buzzing sound from a generator and then the whole room lit up. What Pryor saw before him was a man clinging to life, an assortment of needles breaching his body from the neck down; tubes lodged into his biceps and quads.
Marvin Hayes, reduced to a living science experiment. When the wounds would close, another injection of the anti-healing serum was given from each needle lodged into his skin, and an electrical shock to make sure each time he healed was slower than the last. Behind the trio that watched the dangling Hayes was a giant monitor which kept track of his vitals and gave a true percentage as to how fast he was currently healing. A small red bar teetered from one end of the color-coded chart all the way to the other side where a giant ALERT sounded loud to indicate that the patient was near death before it quickly bounced back to the other side to indicate that he was fine.
“Our problem, Mr. Pryor, is that our serum proves ineffective; the samples CADMUS sent are… missing something. You, Mr. Pryor, have just what we need to finish what CADMUS started.” Cherry gave a subtle grin, the dark lip gloss gleaned against the light and almost matched the ebony of her skin.
“You simply need to kill him.” it was more than that; Terrelle Pryor was walking venom, his blood corrosive to the touch, black and thick.
Hayes body was lowered on the fly machine until his bare feet touched the floor. The mechanical arms which held the some one hundred pins inside of Hayes yanked each one out of him at the same time, and as violent as possible. Hayes let out a curdling howl,
”GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” he had jolted to life; but in his writing, a current of electricity shocked him once more; one could smell the hair frying atop his head and in other more private parts of his person. Marvin’s head hung down, blood soaked the floor around him in near an instant; his vigilante’s suit had holes peppered across it, some twenty wounds open at once and Marvin was bleeding out profusely. And then, just as before, they would heal.
Hayes heart was beating fast; blurred eyes viewed three images in front of him. He could not tell who these people were, but he knew there were some hundred more of them in this place, conducting the same experiments on others of his ilk in the same fashion. Reinforced walls muffled the other some hundred screams from the metahumans hung, caged, and being experimented on in the expansive steel mill. All CADMUS approved.
And Hayes would free them all as he had planned… Pryor stepped up to Hayes; the .357 drawn from his jeans and pressed to Marvin’s head,
From beneath the helmet, Fate saw Kobra’s cultists. The supreme sorcerer levitated and let his hands float to his side. Golden energies spawned from both of the similarly colored gloves. The helmeted hero pointed his glowing hands toward some of the cultists and spoke...
”’Ant falaleub bima la taerifuh.”
If successful, the cultists would find themselves frozen in place, a large Ankh forcing them still where they stood--nor could they speak. For the three or four snake soldiers in front of him, the spell worked flawlessly. However there was still much more going on around the outskirts of the city. Most of the civilians had fled the scene , with less than a half dozen still in cars or hiding around the outside areas of Slumville. Fate could feel it… the perverted supernatural energies of a man-made Lazarus Pit in the surrounding woodland areas. As some of the heroes focused on getting the rest of the civilians out of harm’s way, Knight had taken the fight straight to what appeared to be the leader. When another orange clad general in the Cult showed up baring fangs, it was proven not to be the case.
Robotman went into the fray a little slower than some of the others, but he had just as much fight in him. The other man of steel (and screws) couldn’t fly, or shoot bolts of energy, but he could beat up minions all day. Out of the corner of one of his robotic eyes he finally saw the King. Bare chested, sporting a crimson hood and cape, he and several DNA spliced minions were unearthing a Lazarus Pit from a failed experiment years earlier.
“Knew I should’ve made sure that pit was dried up…” Cliff Steele thought to himself fighting towards the woods and the caped leader of this group.
“That stuff’s not gonna make that face any less ugly, Cobra Commander!” Robotman yelled still smashing his way through a couple more minions.
The King finally turned to acknowledge the hero…
“I hate GI Joe as much as I hate YOU, Cliff Steele! Serpent men, BRING ME THE ROBOT’S HEAD!!” he screamed still focusing on the Lazarus Pit samples.
Fate could feel the tug of the pits; another had come and muscled his way through the King Kobra’s small army and was quite bodacious with his entrance. A calm glance was issued Robotman’s way, Fate spoke to the rest of those present,
”The way is seen. We must destroy the Kobra’s Lazarus Pits.” The mystic Ankh beneath those four gathered Cultist henchman exploded into a swathe of engulfing energy, the force sufficient to send the quadruplet flying backwards into some of their brethren. Fate lowered himself to the pavement below. King Kobra had truly brought an army with him, but there was no might in the land which supplanted Order.
Fate strode forward. A wild feeling unearthed inside the sorcerer as his eyes veered toward the Kobra and the ever growing platoon of generals who fought at his whim. Around the untrained and the unaware there was always a boundary to be manipulated, a vulnerability to the machinations of energies from beyond. It was like strings, waiting to be pulled--like clay waiting to be shaped. With the Kobra and his generals, there was nothing. A little deduction, there was a protection spell. Smart. To all who were not preoccupied or who could hear him over their personal engagements with the Kobra’s henchman, he spoke...
”Make your way to the generals. I will deal with his kindred.” Fate faced both palms toward the growing and encroaching hoard of Snake cultist minions and formed an Ankh construct which he then pushed forward with both hands. Its aim was to part the horde down the middle and make a path for his allies to pass through unharmed--at least for the next ten seconds until the Cultists recovered from their daze.
There was solace; breaths cut gelid and close. Nabu in his ear: guiding him, directing him. The room around him was quiet, he sat in its black; arms folded, he was levitating atop an ankh inscription. He was reaching, searching for the beacon that was the JL tower and more importantly, the souls within. They all appeared as wisps; then in one flash of even dimmer energy, he could see them disappear. There was another disturbance that the group was rushing to, but he could not make out what.
Saban was yet no master of the helm, and in moments such as these--where he knew combat was imminent--he let Nabu nudge him in the right direction. Fate opened his mind to Nabu’s hidden knowledge; he looked for the right spell, blue glyphs flashed before his mind and scrolled along. He found the right set; the ankh found harmony with the picture in his mind’s eye and its golden energies shone bright,
”Fini alahi theuma!” and then those energies encircled him. Where he found himself next was transversing a plane of red, beside him people and places and time all moved compressed, like one congruous and large mirror--each compressed together and linear, but disjointed all the same. He heard words, voices, cries of joy, cries for help, birth, death. And then, mere seconds later, he was there at the tower.
He appeared in a flurry of golden light, his body levitating while vertical, arms at his side. From beneath the helm he saw a ladder and some stragglers from the group who had mostly gone out. To them, he offered his first words as Dr. Fate,
”Forgive the delay. I am Dr. Fate, and today, fate is at your side.”
A familiar voice hit his ears and he moved his head toward its origin. Sarah! It had been a while since he had seen her last; it was no surprise she would be here, though. It had been a while since he had seen her last; wait, she was here… which meant she was… nice. Now maybe he wouldn’t feel so out of place. No matter how one spun it, having the proportionate powers of a spider was not exactly entertaining at parties and, if Miles was honest, if everyone could see the web shooters when you were trying to do a sneaky magic trick then the illusion was busted.
Gross as it was, the mystery of whether the webs actually came out of his wrists or were mechanical was still something he liked to keep people guessing about. Wait, back on topic; Miles matched Sarah’s perk,
“Sarah! You’re here, too? Nevermind, doesn’t matter--we’re both Avengers? S w e e t.” he shuffled about a little, the strap of the dufflebag was rubbing the flesh of his neck in manners quite uncomfortable,
“I don’t know--do you think they’re ready for us? Actually, no, better question: are you ready?” it sounded good and ominous when he thought about it. When it came out of his mouth, maybe not so much. Miles was searching for his usual confidence--and in the breadth of this fresh adventure, he was dumb.
“--Cause… cause I’m sure ready. I think.” that A was so intimidating. Starstruck wasn’t the phrase to encapsulate what he felt at all; it was something more like numinous.
Civilian Name Marvin Hayes Origin city/Planet New York Hometown Las Vegas, Nevada. Sex Male Race African American Height 6'4 Weight 225. Age 24 Birth Date 10/27/1995
T H E M A N
Icon Three white claw marks against a round, black circular background.
Costumed Personality As 'The Tiger', Marvin is less brazen than his boxing persona, and he uses his prowess in the ring to aid him in his crimefighting escapades. He is callous and calculated, and often does no[/b][/sub][/sup][/color] speak while the mask is on.
Civilian Personality Cocky, pompous, arrogant, conceited. Hayes ring persona takes after boxing legends of old, and even outside of the ring he behaves like a celebrity.
T H E T I G E R
Super Abilities Metahuman
S K I L L S
Fast hands Hayes' boxing training combined with his metahuman conditioning serve to make his hands blindingly quick.
Master Martial Artist Even with a background in boxing, Marvin quickly sought out and subsequently mastered a variety of martial arts: Judo, Wudang martial arts, freeform and Greco-Roman wrestling, Taekwondo, Muay Thai, Sambo, Capoeira, Jiu Jitsu, and others.
Engineering Marvin has always had a penchant for building things and his field experience as a vigilante has only made him better at it. He specializes in building weapons and mechanisms.
P O W E R S
Perfect Equilibrium There is a reason Hayes has never been knocked off of his feet in a fight--inside the ring or otherwise--his nigh-indefeasible balance. Marvin can maintain his balance with any contortion of the body, regardless of how awkward or unnatural it may be.
Regenerative Durability Much of Hayes livability is thanks to his extreme healing abilities which allow him to heal normal wounds in several seconds. He can withstand standard caliber gunfire and continue fighting. There is no mortal wound which harms him; he can survive any mortal injury except being reduced to ash. Heavy caliber gunfire and military grade explosives take him a little longer to heal from, but the difference is near negligible. Any means of overloading his cells ability to regenerate (a tall task) or anti-healing technology can hinder this.
Superhuman Strength Marvin can lift around 900 pounds overhead without much struggle, and one thousand pounds with maximum effort. He rarely outputs this much force on the regular and only exerts himself to such extremes when necessary.
Superhuman Stamina Marvin can exert himself for up to two days on end without tiring. Beyond this, he must rest for two to three days.
Superhuman Senses Hayes can see from up to a mile away, and parse a scent from a room of a few hundred. His sense of touch is so that he can feel the slightest changes in the wind and hear distinct voices from several blocks away if he has memorized them.
Superhuman Speed Marvin’s maximum north-south speed is around seventy miles an hour.
Superhuman Reflexes Marvin reacts to people and objects in motion at speeds which far exceed Olympic athletes and even ‘peak’ metahumans. He is fast enough to react to things even above his maximum north-south speed threshold and this is truer so if he has anticipated someone’s offensive against him.
Superhuman Agility Hayes can transition between surfaces with less rigidity than most. His muscles are far more relaxed at all times than is normally possible and his muscles and load and spring at rates which exceed the finest athletes, allowing him to rapidly move side-to-side and up-and-down and over incoming obstacles and objects.
Superhuman Intelligence More than just a fighter, Hayes has studied engineering for a great portion of his life. His metahuman gene has increased his above-average intelligence to great heights.
Disease and Toxin Immunity Toxins, resins, gases, alcohol, poison, none of these things effect him as his body filters these out at a rate greater than the substances can settle into his system and bring about any change. He does not get sick.
Effectively Immortal He ages much slower than normal. Every five chronological years is as one biological year to him. His healing has now advanced so that he has ceased aging altogether and remains in his athletic and physical prime and the biological degradation of his mortal body will not resume unless his healing factor is shut off.
G A D G E T S
Tiger II Because Marvin lacks the vast resources of other heroes, he put his study of magic energy and his love for science together and some time between 2020 and the latter half of 2025 he built the second and likely final iteration of the Tiger suit. Using parts of his own DNA and melded with the magic energies he had been studying since March of 2020, Marvin has constructed a suit which heals as rapid as he does and disperses blunt kinetic impact to a minimum. It also offers him great defense against magical attacks.
Weapons Twin Bio-Kryptonian Blades: Forged from the DNA of the deceased Superman, these bio-engineered swords retain the durability and tensile strength of a full yellow-sun exposed Superman but they also require persistent sunbathing for lest they become brittle. When properly nourished, these blades can cut through most mettle of natural things. They prove less effective against mystical beings.
Civilian Occupation Professional boxer (former).
B I O G R A P H Y
Born in Detroit, Marvin grew up in a lower middle class section of the city. He was not one who had to fight his way through hordes of gangs and unsavory kids to get to and fro to school. As the middle child of four, he and his siblings always had what they needed save having to share the same pair of socks a few times. In school, he hardly got in trouble and he spent much of his time studying; he took a particular interest in mathematics and engineering and soon began building and creating all kinds of tech. It was not until he got into an altercation with boys several years his senior that his interest in boxing piqued.
After being jumped, Marvin began frequenting boxing gyms all over New York. For his size, Hayes excelled in training, but he was small. Unlike many of his peers, Hayes did not grow exponentially while in the throes of puberty. At 5'6 and 190 pounds, and lacking the requisite reflexes and footwork to turn professional, Hayes' boxing aspirations were all but dashed. By the time he was 20, he had grown two inches and put on five pounds. Hayes kept training and gradually he improved--both his footwork and his speed had gotten sharper over the eight years in which he had been training. It was not until his twenty fourth birthday and several amateur fights and later 10 professional fights that his life would change and his dreams become more than gleeful wishes.
November 3rd, 2019; the title fight. "Miraculous" Marvin Hayes faces "The Demon of DC" Christopher Ives. He wins the fight but disobeys the mob in the process.
January 2nd, 2020: Marvin has all but retired from boxing. In fact, he has all but disappeared from public life entirely, his whereabouts unknown.
Febuary-March 2020: An encounter with the New York mafia sees Tiger’s latent metagene awaken and in his time in the shadows he submits himself to the tutelage of longtime boxing coach and friend Uncle Red where he trains in secret to prepare himself for combatting the mob and for putting his new powers to good use.
March 2020: A mysterious new crimefighter emerges naming hiimself “The Tiger” and donning a feline-like mask and insignia. He assists another budding group of heroes in removing the drug Elysium from the streets, but then he disappears yet again for some time.
April-June: In secret, Marvin uses his newfound hyperintelligence to study and attempt to synthesize the magic energies found on the Elysium plane with varying levels of success. He also spends this time building more field-efficient suits and growing his database of other superhumans.
June-September: The Tiger emerges again when the local powerhouse, Superman, begins a triumphant and swift demolishing of crime in New York. Marvin operates underneath the wide berth of a shadow that the Kryptonian casts and he grows his legend in secret, crime in Brooklyn’s Marcy projects and the immediate surrounding area drops to 1%.
September-October: Children begin disappearing in and around Brooklyn because of a mysterious kidnapper. This kidnapper was truly one of legend, the Kinderfresser, a myth of German oral tradition who feeds on bad children. Marvin sends the kids in the Marcy projects to the protection of fellow vigilante Grim in Gotham while he uncovers and deals with the threat.
October 2nd: A near successful attempt is made on his life not long after he is released from jail by two mob hitmen. Marvin is put in the hospital. FBI agent David Ramsey comes to warn Marvin about the disappearing children in his neighborhood. Marvin remains indisposed and the Kinderfresser runs free, kidnapping children in droves; local public opinion turns on the Marvin’s costumed alter-ego while he recoups.
October 10th: The Colombo Family has not ceased its crusade against Hayes and sends one of their finest hitmen, Alessandro Carbone, to finish Marvin off. After a gruesome battle, an injured and still recovering Hayes barely escapes with his life. It is also during the month of October that his identity is discovered.
October 15th-November 31st: Marvin has--despite his body’s telling him otherwise--returned to active duty and viciously tracked the Kinderfresser . With help from forensics agent David Ramirez, Marvin tracks down the Kinderfresser and the two confront one another in the Marcy projects. The ensuing fire and damage sees Marvin sent to jail and left nearly penniless. An attempt on his life is made by the New York mafia, specifically the Colombo Crime Family but Marvin subdues his attackers. Soon after, bail is posted and hs is acquitted of all charges.
November 31st-December 25th: A renowned hunter and hitman, Nimrod, is hired by the Five Families of New York to kill Hayes. After being unknowingly tracked by the hunter for some time, Marvin is forced to confront Nimrod in a battle which nearly costs him life and limb. Marvin subdues Nimrod but does not kill him and instead frees him, preferring the challenge of being hunted.
End of 2020: Marvin once more goes dark when the Olympian gods invade Earth and the newly formed Justice League battles these Gods and Titans. He spends this time constructing new armor, having finally synthesized symmetry in reproducing re-usable magical “liquid” which he uses to construct a new suit. It is also during this time that Superman is killed in the battle against Cronos in New York and his body suddenly disappears; where it is now is a mystery to all but Hayes.
2026: The world ever changed and with new threats arriving constantly, Hayes has kept up his training and engineering, he has built new weaponry to help keep him afloat in this new world of gods, men, and beasts. Sightings of the renowned Tiger have been few, just as they were when he first arrived on the scene, but with a new shadow threat arising, Hayes is preparing for all out war. ---------- Nemesis: Nimrod. Allies: Grim, Arcana, Harris, Stacy. Team: None.
Cage is, at his best, an average student. He does not excel nor lag behind.
Apollo does not have a costume and prefers not to work in one, opting for the minimalism his father employs. He is usually wearing shirts and jeans with some form of sneaker and he sometimes wears a hoodie though he dislikes wearing hoodies because of his father’s affinity for it. He does like to wear Timberlands of varying color.
Superhuman Durability: The legacy of the name Cage is one born of people unfelled. Apollo, like his father, possesses a great deal of resistance to physical harm. Conventional weapons: knives, guns, bullets, etc. have no effect on Apollo. Apollo proves tougher than his predecessor, however, in that energy based attacks and most kinds of sharp objects and metals do not affect him--alien or otherwise (Vibranium and Adamantium are exceptions to this broad rule). Where his father had a special weakness to energy based weapons and powers, Apollo does not, and energy based offensives prove less effective than some conventional weapons if they do not carry concussive force.
This resistance extends to major temperature changes as well: heat, cold have little to no effect on him. It is not that he cannot ever be burned or frozen, but it takes a great deal of either to begin to effect him in any significant way. He can withstand being set on fire and having large objects fall atop him; he can also survive falls from 100 feet or less.
Superhuman Strength: Apollo is also incredibly strong, though he is nowhere near the par of his father or other powerhouses. He is, as some mutant experts would call right now a ‘peak human’ when it comes to how much force he can exert. That is, he can lift--with maximum effort--around 800 pounds.
Enhanced Stamina: Cage can exert energy for longer than a normal human and for longer than a peak human as well before he gets tired. A maximum of six hours of continuous exertion before he gets tired.
You Only Look Unbreakable: His organs are still soft and all can still suffer major damage if the threshold of what his body can withstand is surpass. He still needs to breathe and eat and sleep.
Knuckle Up Then: Cage is nowhere near a master--or even proficient--at technical martial arts beyond streetboxing. Despite his strength and hardiness, Cage can be beaten if outsmarted by an opponent.
Leave the Books to Someone Else: Cage is no supergenius and is not someone who would is to be called upon to solve philosophical dilemmas or complex matters of mathematics, science, or any other theoretical or advanced applied disciplines.
Who Really Down For You?: The Harlem of his father’s youth is certainly not the one Apollo grew up in, parts of it filled with coffee shops and ripe with gentrification, but Apollo has inherited the callous mistrust the city forged in his father and does not trust many.
Magic: He has a special weakness to magic abilities and enchanted weapons can lance his skin upon contact.
Prior to Joining the School
2001: Apollo is born to Luke Cage and Misty Knight.
Childhood: Apollo is afforded a tumultuous childhood with his father’s field activity and hi mother’s duties as the lead detective of the city police department. It is for this reason he is, as a child and young teenager, rebellious like his father--he hangs around older kids who are bad influences on him and is up to all kinds of mischief. When his parents find out, they put a stop to his budding rebellious nature and opt to settle down and raise Danielle and Apollo with Luke as a stay at home father.
2014-15: While at the grocery store with his father, a robbery occurs. Apollo’s mutant abilities activate and he and his father stop the robbery. Elder Cage takes Apollo under his ring and shows him the basics of how to wield his powers. Lacking proper knowledge of mutants and mutations, Cage sends Apollo to Xavier’s school a year after he finds out the nature of his son’s powers.
Apollo does not immediately join Xavier’s School when his powers manifest, instead working with his father in learning--in part-- how to consciously temper his strength output and the basics of unarmed combat. It is not long before he does attend Xavier’s school, around a year after his powers manifest. When he joins Xavier’s Institute at fifteen, Apollo spends much of his time in classes, learning what it means to be a mutant and it is here he remains to the present day.