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The hulking alien beast that had been fighting alongside the invaders collapsed, cut down at last. And just like that, as if on cue, the rest of the D'Bari warriors abandoned the train and leapt back into the night.
The three mutants still brawling on the roof blinked in confusion. The soldiers inside the cars were just as lost. Only Erik Lehnsherr, who had survived far too many battlefields, recognized what was coming.
"Incoming artillery! Get to me!" Magneto bellowed.
Selene instantly broadcast his warning telepathically to every mutant and the handful of American soldiers who were still breathing.
Even Cyclops and Storm, who had been tearing through enemies on the roof, retreated back inside. Their powers weren't made for defense. Sunfire didn't even hesitate—he was the first one off the roof.
Magneto swept every discarded rifle, spent or loaded, into a heap, welding them into a shield wall. Then he ripped strips of metal from the train itself, thickening the barricade inch by inch.
A heartbeat later, the sky lit up.
Plasma cannons hammered the side of the train, the shots burning hot and bright as lightning. Sleek one-man strike craft swooped down from above, unleashing the kind of firepower Earth's militaries could only dream of.
The prison train had been reinforced for exactly this kind of attack—designed to keep mutants in and rescuers out—but even its armor couldn't stand up to sustained alien plasma fire.
Magneto's makeshift barricade lasted seconds before melting away. Only constant reinforcement—layer after layer of metal torn from the train—kept them alive.
Behind him, Joker, still nursing bruises from Beast using him as an unwilling meat shield, piped up. "Not to nitpick, but these are plasma cannons. Superheated ionized gas. No physical matter. Which means, oh wise bucket-head, maybe—just maybe—you could deflect them with, I dunno, magnetic fields?"
Erik's eyes narrowed as the realization clicked. In an instant, he shifted tactics.
The rifles and armor plating clattered uselessly to the ground as Magneto expanded a shimmering, invisible barrier around them—a dense magnetic field.
The next volley of plasma slammed into it… and veered off at impossible angles, streaking harmlessly into the night sky.
It was effortless compared to the metal barricade. Elegant, controlled. And for once, perfectly within his domain.
If the D'Bari had brought anything else—kinetic rounds, energy beams—he might've been in trouble. But plasma? Plasma belonged to him.
With Magneto anchoring their defenses, the battlefield shifted. The gutted train cars offered clear sightlines now, and Cyclops and Storm began firing back—optic blasts and lightning arcing into the dark. But alien gunships in the night sky were tough targets, and their accuracy suffered.
Joker, meanwhile, crouched safely behind the magnetic field, unwrapping a lollipop from some hidden pocket and popping it into his mouth. His words came out muffled: something about low blood sugar, dizziness, maybe needing a nap.
Nightcrawler, watching the sky anxiously, cried out, "Why aren't they retreating? They must see their cannons aren't working!"
Beast, blue-furred and crouched low, didn't take his eyes off the fight. His brain was still firing on all cylinders.
"They don't need to break us here," he said grimly. "Those plasma cannons can still tear apart the rest of the train. They know Jean isn't in the rear cars. So whether they blast us off or cut us away from the front half, they still win."
He turned to Erik. "We can't hold this position. We have to move forward—get to Jean. If we're separated, we'll never catch the train again."
Magneto wasted no time. "Go!"
The group surged forward—mutants and shell-shocked American soldiers alike. They didn't bother opening doors; Cyclops simply blasted them down, and they rushed through.
Every car they abandoned was obliterated seconds later, hammered to pieces by plasma fire. It wasn't deliberate timing from the D'Bari—just simple physics. Without Magneto's shield, the cars couldn't withstand the bombardment.
The surviving soldiers were a broken sight. Some dragged unconscious comrades, others clutched useless rifles just for comfort. At this point, the distinction between "mutant threat" and "alien invader" had vanished. If they couldn't see that, they didn't deserve their eyes.
When the group burst into a relatively intact car, the cannon fire abruptly ceased.
Through the rushing dark, most of them couldn't see the alien craft anymore. For a moment, they thought the D'Bari had broken off.
But Joker saw perfectly clearly. Ten or more dart-like gunships flanked the train, flying in eerie silence. These weren't the clunky Chitauri skimmers New York would face years later—these were sleeker, deadlier, and smaller. Their arsenal was limited, true, but their plasma cannons were enough.
And the reason they'd stopped firing was obvious: the mutants had reached Jean Grey's car. The D'Bari weren't about to risk hitting her.
That didn't mean they were done. It only meant they were preparing their next strike.
Everyone knew it. Everyone braced.
A soldier pulled open the next door, revealing Jean's holding cell. Inside, only Professor X and a few soldiers stood guard. At the sudden intrusion, the soldiers nearly opened fire before realizing they were reinforcements.
And this car was no ordinary compartment—it was an armory. Racks of loaded rifles lined the walls, nearly a hundred strong.
Mutants who weren't built for close combat grabbed firearms. Soldiers armed themselves, though the weapons had been designed for mutants, not aliens. It was still better than nothing.
Two heavy machine guns sat in their mounts, belts of ammo ready to feed. Without tripods, almost no one could wield them effectively. The most powerful weapons in the car remained untouched.
When everyone was as ready as they could be, Magneto raised his voice.
"All of you—move to the next car. Protect Charles. Wake Jean. Then find a way out."
The group obeyed, filing through.
But as Joker tried to slip away with the crowd, Magneto's hand shot out, clamping onto the back of his collar.
"You stay," Erik said, his voice cold as steel.
Joker froze mid-step, lollipop stick hanging out of his mouth.
"…Aw, c'mon. I'm allergic to heroic last stands." Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚•𝙣𝙚𝙩
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