@araneiid // from here.
The warning message is bright and buzzing on the screens surrounding them, and with his helm de-activated Miguel affords Briar something between a squint and a glare. He's irritated, but not hostile-- tired, but unwilling to have a real argument (especially with the hole ripping itself into Earth-90723 as they speak).
"It isn't about your skills," he says plainly. After all, if it were an issue of talent then half the people he's contacted wouldn't even be here.
"You've never been around this much volatile energy before. It'll make you sick."
Truthfully, being around the bigger rips in the multi-verse-- the ones that swallow worlds in, teeming with energy that shouldn't ever touch a carbon-based lifeform-- for too long makes even Miguel sick. But something as banal as his physical health is negligible, in the end.
"If you come with us and start feeling weak, you don't just become a liability, but you risk falling into that." One clawed finger points at the picture on the nearest screen: a black vortex sucks up what looks to be a mountainous version of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, colours exploding around the edges and the buildings wings starting to blip in and out of reality. "Are you sure you want to risk that?"
