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Even if the X-Men and the Brotherhood had no wish to clash, the U.S. Army was more than happy to make the decision for them.
The soldiers opened fire the moment they closed in—no warning, no restraint. It was a greeting by gunfire: loud, arrogant, and absolute. Charles Xavier barely had time to raise a word of peace before chaos consumed the street.
These weren't ordinary troops, either. Some carried the new anti-mutant kits: plastic rifles, polymer ammunition—materials Magneto's power couldn't bend.
But Erik Lehnsherr was never a man to suffer blows in silence. True, plastic could frustrate him in controlled conditions. But here, in the middle of a New York street, steel and iron were everywhere—signs, cars, pipes, wiring. The world itself was his arsenal.
With a flick of his fingers, a parked sedan wrenched itself sideways, screeching as it slammed into place like a shield. The volley of plastic rounds thudded harmlessly against its frame. If Erik had wished, he could have hurled the car into the soldiers' ranks, crushing bone and flesh. Instead, he left them alive.
Red Lotus, towering and broad-shouldered, let her long braided hair whip out like a steel cable. It cracked against the ground and lashed aside rifles. Anyone foolish enough to stand too close was flung into the air like a ragdoll.
Selene's approach was subtler. She held only a dagger in hand, yet the real weapon was her mind. Bullets that should have struck her body instead veered wide; soldiers swore they had her in their sights, yet their eyes betrayed them. A quiet psychic suggestion was all it took to turn lethal accuracy into harmless misses.
She wasn't pressing the attack. Her focus lay elsewhere—tracking the teleporting blur of Nightcrawler. The elf darted in and out of the fray, trying to reposition his allies, but each jump carried the tiniest error. Selene twisted his intent, making his arrival points misalign just enough to keep him from whisking Xavier to safety.
The X-Men fought back, of course. Cyclops and Storm needed no command—Magneto's defiance was enough to ignite their instincts. Red beams lanced through the night, winds howled down the avenue.
But Hank McCoy fought against them.
The Beast barreled through soldiers and heroes alike, his massive frame shrugging off blows. Cyclops and Storm both hesitated—how could they unleash full force against a mentor, a friend? Their restraint was all Hank needed to swat them aside. Without their deadliest strikes, they could not pierce his hide.
And through it all, perched on a railing, sat Super Joker—gnawing on two hot dogs at once, watching like a man at a baseball game.
The fight escalated. Cyclops, finally losing patience, let loose a full-force optic blast that hurled Beast back across the pavement. Soldiers rallied behind him, tightening their net around Magneto.
But Erik raised his hand.
From beneath the asphalt, pipes tore free with a scream of rending concrete. Iron conduits lashed upward like serpents, tangling legs, knocking rifles from hands. Soldiers toppled as if the street itself had betrayed them.
Even the polymer-armed units were not spared. Metal coils wrapped around torsos and arms, binding them in place like prey awaiting judgment.
One of those coils even hooked Charles Xavier's wheelchair, dragging it to a halt. That left the Professor no choice but to lock his mind against Selene's. Their psychic duel shimmered like unseen lightning, two titans straining against each other's will.
Magneto rose above the chaos, levitating smoothly across the battlefield, drawn toward the apartment where Jean Grey's power pulsed like a storm behind glass.
Cyclops, refusing to yield, carved through the pipes with raw optic fury, shattering the coils that had bound him. He tilted his visor upward, intent on blasting Magneto from the sky—
—and Beast struck him mid-charge, slamming him into the pavement.
Rage flared. Cyclops didn't care who it was anymore. He triggered a point-blank blast that sent Hank tumbling like a broken ragdoll across the street.
But the distraction was all Magneto needed. With a terrible groan, a full subway car ripped free from beneath the street, slamming into position in front of the apartment building. It became both barricade and gateway, shielding Erik's approach.
He slipped into its metallic shell and strode toward Jean's door.
On the sidelines, Super Joker cheered through a mouthful of pizza topped with pineapple, washing it down with soda. Grease sprayed as he clapped.
"Woo! That's cinema, baby! Somebody give this guy an Oscar!"
Beast crashed back to earth beside him, dazed. He lifted his head, blinking at the lunatic who Raven had insisted was their 'ally.'
Super Joker raised his soda in a toast. "Hey, big guy. Hell of a stunt, huh?"
Hank could only gape in disbelief. Was this really the reinforcement Mystique had trusted them with?
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