A searing red optic blast from Cyclops lanced through the haze, cutting the morning sky with surgical precision. The beam smashed into a towering crimson Decepticon, its steel frame screeching in protest as it staggered backward—only to freeze, locked mid-air as Erik raised a single hand.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield went silent, every eye drawn to Magneto's effortless command. Then—
With a vicious tearing motion, Erik's fingers spread wide. The Decepticon's chassis split down the middle like a peeled fruit, internal cables snapping one by one as blue sparks spat across the asphalt. The halves crashed down in opposite directions, the shockwave rattling windows and sending dust billowing across the barricades.
A roar erupted from the onlookers.
"That's how it's done!"
"Unbelievable—these mutants are unstoppable!"
Behind the barricades, terrified civilians who had braced for death now clung to each other in exhilaration. They had watched tanks burn and jets fall in minutes before, but these men and women—mutants—cut through the machines like they were toys. The strike team dismantled the Decepticons with terrifying precision, each display of power striking harder than the one before.
Erik lowered his hand and dusted it off as if he had brushed away nothing more than crumbs. Beneath his helmet, the faint curve of a smirk lingered.
"Another one down," he said coolly.
"How many is that now?" Banshee asked, stretching his arms and grinning wide. "These so-called 'unstoppable' Decepticons aren't so tough after all."
Charles watched his team with quiet pride. Though sweat dampened brows and fatigue lingered in their limbs, their eyes still burned with battle-lust. Even Earthmover and Slash—so often disdainful of human opinion—stood taller at the crowd's cheers, shoulders squared in pride they would never openly admit.
"Can everyone continue?" Charles asked, his voice steady, cutting through the ringing aftermath of combat.
The resounding "YES!" came without hesitation, the unison reply more powerful than any cheer from the crowd.
"Emma," Charles reached out with his mind, "what's next?"
The White Queen's voice shimmered in his consciousness, cool yet tinged with laughter. "Oh Charles, you've frightened them. Or rather… Alex has. My scans show no active Decepticon presence in any major city. They're pulling out—all of them. Retreating en masse."
A neat, clinical word for what it truly was—full-scale panic.
Charles' chest swelled with something deeper than relief. The same Decepticons who had arrived with such arrogance, who had declared humanity nothing more than cattle to be harvested, were now scattering like startled vermin. And though the team had fought with brilliance, every soldier and civilian alike knew the truth.
It was Alex's solo annihilation of one hundred and thirty-five Decepticons in a single battle that had shattered their morale.
Charles opened his eyes, his voice carrying across the field.
"Team—listen well. The Decepticons are fleeing Earth!"
The cheer that followed shook the ground. Civilians screamed, fists pumping skyward. Some wept openly, the weight of days of terror breaking all at once.
"Running?" Havok cracked his knuckles, a dangerous grin tugging at his lips. "After everything they did? Not a chance."
"Rude guests shouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Cyclops added dryly, adjusting his visor.
"Emma," Charles said aloud, "find the nearest retreating forces. We finish this."
Within minutes, the Blackbird roared to life, slicing through the clouds in pursuit of the scattered Decepticon remnants.
Breaking News Broadcast – Live Nationwide
"At 11:00 AM this morning, the mutant strike team faced an unprecedented ambush—one hundred and thirty-five UB6 units, the deadliest Decepticon force to ever set foot on Earth."
"Against all odds, a single mutant—Alex—annihilated the entire force alone."
"Following this massacre, Decepticon units across every major city have begun immediate retreat. Sources now confirm: the invaders are abandoning Earth orbit."
The anchor's voice trembled slightly, as though even reading the words aloud felt surreal. "We can now declare: humanity has won this extraterrestrial war—thanks to the extraordinary power of these mutants."
"The strike team continues its pursuit of fleeing UB6 forces. Stay tuned for updates."
The announcement spread like wildfire, igniting celebrations and disbelief in equal measure.
In diners, customers leapt from booths, knocking over half-filled mugs of coffee as they hugged strangers.
In schools, classrooms erupted in chaos as children shouted the names of their mutant heroes, chalk abandoned mid-equation.
On military bases, hardened officers traded stunned glances, the weight of humiliation giving way to grudging awe.
The same aliens who had crushed armies like paper, who had burned cities in hours, were now fleeing—running from Earth like beaten dogs. And across the world, one name echoed in hushed awe and thunderous cheers alike.
"Hah! Where's your 'conquer Earth' talk now?!"
"Those mutants did what our whole military couldn't!"
From glittering skyscrapers to dusty roadside gas stations, from the Oval Office to hidden mutant hideouts, one truth became undeniable:
Charles, Erik, and Alex's team hadn't just won a battle.
They had rewritten humanity's perception of mutantkind—forever.
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