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Pentagon, United States of America.
Around the symbolically powerful roundtable sat top-level figures from various departments—the military, the CIA, the FBI, and more.
Each of them was a titan in their own right—people whose very presence could shake the nation three times over.
Moments ago, an emergency meeting had been convened, and a unanimous decision reached.
"The Soviets share our concerns. We will jointly launch a strike against the mutants. Once and for all—we end this threat!" the Secretary of Defense declared solemnly.
No one could have predicted that amid escalating US-Soviet tensions, a new force would emerge—mutants with terrifying powers that defied all comprehension.
Things once thought invincible, like nuclear submarines, could now be subdued by a single individual.
And it didn't stop there.
According to field reports, these individuals could fly, unleash devastating shockwaves, command the seas, summon hurricanes... and more.
Confronted with beings who shattered logic and possessed godlike power, everyone was afraid.
Their weapons were useless. Their mighty warships and firepower were laughably fragile in comparison.
This kind of threat... was beyond their control.
And anything that couldn't be controlled had to be destroyed.
Right here, right now—two superpowers that had long stood opposed found perfect alignment.
"I still have an agent down there," the CIA Director murmured beside the Secretary of Defense.
"Just an agent," the Secretary replied flatly.
"She's one of our best."
"Then she'll just be... collateral damage."
Erik's words cast a heavy pall over the scene. The atmosphere thickened, grew suffocating.
Until now, most had only focused on Sebastian Shaw—nothing more. But Erik forced them to confront a brutal truth.
One by one, the mutants turned toward the sea, gazing at the warships in the distance. Sure enough, the turrets were rotating—locking onto them.
Every face turned pale.
These people had risked everything to come here—risked death at the hands of the Black King—all for what?
To protect these very humans from destruction.
And now, the ones they sought to protect… were trying to kill them?
There could be no deeper betrayal.
"Charles, tell me I'm wrong," Erik said, his voice low but charged with emotion.
Charles placed his fingers on his temple and extended his consciousness across both fleets.
His expression darkened instantly.
There wasn't even a shred of exaggeration.
The highest commanders of both navies had received orders from their governments—wipe out the mutants, all of them.
"Moira!" Charles shouted urgently.
She was the only official liaison on-site. If anyone could reach the brass, it was her.
Moira didn't waste a second. She sprinted back into the Blackbird, grabbed the comm, and hailed command.
"This is Team XB70! Come in, fleet command!"
"The beach is secure. I repeat, the beach is secure. Requesting immediate abort on strike!"
"Do you read me?! Cancel the strike!"
There was no response.
Worse—communications were abruptly cut off.
Moira's face crumpled in despair.
"Moira?" Charles called as she returned.
All eyes were on her.
Everyone hoped—prayed—she would bring good news.
But all she did was shake her head.
Despair flooded the beach.
The very people they risked their lives to protect… were now launching missiles at them.
Almost simultaneously, the commanders of both fleets gave the order.
A storm of missiles shot toward the shoreline—so many they blotted out the sky, casting everything into darkness.
Every mutant's pupils contracted sharply. Their hearts pounded. Breath caught in their throats.
No one could survive that kind of barrage—not even them.
All except Alex—calm and unshaken.
After all, they had Magneto.
Had everyone forgotten? Erik could control metal.
And what are missile warheads made of?
Honestly, Alex was baffled. No matter who gave the order to launch, they had to be brain-dead.
Erik had lifted a whole submarine with one hand. There was no way the fleets hadn't seen it.
And even if they hadn't, surely they knew what missiles were made of?
Launching metal projectiles at Magneto?
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
The sound of the missiles cutting through the air grew louder, heavier, more suffocating by the second.
The warheads grew larger in the mutants' vision.
Until they loomed directly overhead.
Then, just as annihilation seemed inevitable—Erik raised his hand.
And every missile froze in mid-air.
As if caught by an invisible hand.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the mutants.
"How… how is that even possible?!"
On the fleets, officers stared in utter disbelief. It was beyond comprehension—beyond everything they'd ever known.
Their entire worldview shattered in an instant.
But Erik wasn't done.
With a slight twist of his fist, the missiles rotated—warheads turning to face the very fleets that launched them.
"Erik, no!" Charles shouted, face pale with alarm.
But Erik didn't hear him.
With cold resolve, he sent the missiles hurtling back toward the ships.
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