Twin beams of searing heat vision tore through the nearest Decepticon like a hot knife through butter.
Its reinforced alloy armor—supposedly resistant to modern artillery—offered zero resistance. The upper half of its body slid cleanly off with a hiss of steam, thudding to the ground a heartbeat before the legs toppled.
Wiper and the surviving Decepticons reeled in disbelief.
His eyes… were weapons?!
Not just beams—but death itself, focused into a glare.
In all their conquests, they had never encountered anything .
But how do you dodge a man's gaze?
Alex's eyes swept across the battlefield like a scythe through wheat.
A silver-and-blue Decepticon folded in half diagonally, sparks bursting from bisected circuits.
A tank-former's legs liquefied at the knees, its bulk collapsing into a heap.
Each number came with a kill.
Each kill came without effort.
"This can't be happening!" Wiper snarled, optics flaring.
His strength—undeniable.
"He has to have a limit!"
In a frenzy, Wiper fired everything.
An entire arsenal screamed across the field, engulfing Alex in a thunderstorm of fire and force.
Flames roared. The ground cracked.
The world itself seemed to shudder—
Alex stepped from the smoke, unscathed, and drove his knuckles into Wiper's chest.
Not a strike—an implosion.
Wiper folded inward like a collapsing star, his core crushed under the sheer pressure before he exploded into jagged scrap.
Screams broke out—brief, panicked, desperate—
But Alex had already moved.
He became a blur of motion—
One punch shattered a seeker's head.
Another ruptured a warrior's spine like dry twigs.
He wove through them like wind through leaves.
And in less than thirty seconds, the field was silent.
Metal groaned. Sparks flickered.
Dozens of elite Decepticons had been reduced to junk.
Off in the distance, Earthmover's voice cracked:
> "That… was impossible."
Slash said nothing, jaw slack.
Hawkeye simply shook his head, whispering,
> "That's not a man. That's something else."
Then came the boom—a familiar sonic crack as Alex landed lightly beside them.
He dusted off his sleeve, as if he'd just taken a walk through the park.
Erik let out a breath, half-smirking.
> "Well. That's that."
Charles arched a brow.
> "For this fight, yes."
He smiled faintly, proud despite himself.
> "But the war's far from over. Still… hell of an opening act, Alex."
Vincent practically bounced.
> "Director! That was—You—That—HOW?!"
> "They got in the way."
Cyclops stood off to the side, silent. His fists clenched.
The boy they'd once trained beside…
Had become the man who would lead them through the fire.
"Everyone good to move out?" Charles asked, scanning the group.
"Just getting started!"
"Let's find more of those walking scrap heaps!"
Their spirits were sky-high. For the first time since the invasion began, the mutants weren't just surviving—they were winning.
Charles closed his eyes, linking to Emma Frost telepathically.
> "Emma. Status update. Give us the next target."
Seconds later, the Blackbird's engines roared to life.
The team loaded up, flying toward their next battlefield.
Leaving behind only wreckage.
Colonel Akins and the remaining human soldiers emerged slowly from cover.
They stared across the devastated field—Decepticon bodies strewn like broken toys.
Some were still sparking. Others barely recognizable.
And at the center of it all, the mutants stood tall.
No—one mutant stood above them all.
For the first time since the invasion began, humanity saw it—
But a blazing flame of hope.
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