Slash—
Amid the sharp sound of a blade tearing through the air, a refined steel spear swept out. Its razor-sharp tip effortlessly split open the chest of a mutant whose torso was covered in a thick, hardened layer of keratin. Blood and viscera burst forth. The corpse fell backward, a dark crimson flower blooming across his chest as the not-yet-dried blood dyed his youthful face red.
"Thornback Turtle!"
A member of the Brotherhood of Mutants roared in fury at the sight. Spider-like scythe limbs sprouted from his back as his bloodshot eyes locked onto the Spartan shield-and-spear warrior before him, ready to fight to the death. In the next instant, amid flashing blades and clashing steel, three or four more mutants were decapitated. The brass diamond-shaped spearhead drew a streak of cold light, and the compound-eyed mutant with spider scythes saw his head fall cleanly to the ground.
In his fading compound vision, the last thing reflected was a Y-faced Corinthian brass heavy helmet, its left eye marked by a downward notch.
Rumble.
At the Avengers base on the outskirts of New York, although the sudden uprising of the mutants had largely been suppressed by the Imperial forces guarding the venue, those who remained were the truly powerful and troublesome ones—the backbone of the Brotherhood of Mutants.
Clang clang clang—
The battle intensified. Dense masses of metal clogged nearly half the sky.
"You will pay the price, outsider." His aged, wrinkled face flushed red as Magneto clenched his hand tightly.
Yes, in the current climate of discrimination and oppression against mutants within human society, recruiting for his Brotherhood was simple. Where there is oppression, there is resistance. It was a straightforward truth.
Low- and mid-level mutants were like leeks—so long as humanity continued to mutate, there would never be a shortage. But he was not so cold-blooded that he could watch an outsider slaughter his younger mutants and subordinates before his eyes without emotion.
Amid the grating screech of twisting metal, building rebar, underground support frames, vehicles, and vast quantities of metal dragged in from outside by Magneto warped and deformed. They sharpened into cones and spikes, then came crashing down in an overwhelming storm.
"A frail body. As a leader, you rely on the deaths of your subordinates to evade attacks. That is disgraceful. Old man, in Sparta, the aged and weakened should abdicate and make way for the worthy!"
Leonidas held his iconic Greek round shield and spear like a reef facing a raging sea. With peerless Spartan spear technique—attack and defense in perfect balance, watertight—he carved a reverse current through the meteoric torrent of descending metal, forcing a spearhead upstream through the storm.
Whoosh—
The spear howled like thunder, drawing violent arcs through the air. It shattered metal cones, smashed head-on into irregular metal cubes as large as small hills. The high-speed blade even melted the metal on contact, turning it into splashing molten iron.
Damn it!
Watching that superhuman physique—like a descendant of Titans—standing firm within the metal tempest, Magneto's facial muscles twitched as he squeezed every ounce of stamina to drive his magnetic powers in an attempt to suppress Leonidas.
This man was not human at all. There was not even a trace of iron within his body!
His iron aggregation and extraction technique—so effective against living beings—was utterly useless. It could not cause even the slightest interference.
If he did not evade, was he supposed to compete in physical strength against that walking mountain of muscle?
He was flesh and blood—and old at that. Even a solid pistol shot could bury him for good.
Just look at that broad back and bear-like waist, those knotted muscles thicker than a crocodile's torso, arms bulging and reflecting a metallic sheen from bronze-like skin. And he dared speak of frailty? No shame at all!
Whoosh! Whoosh! Two iron cones streaked through the air, trailing splashes of molten iron and red-hot lines as they shot toward Magneto.
Using metal to attack me? Or merely molten splatter from brute force...
In that instant of thought, Magneto's expression changed.
Within his perception, his magnetic field could not envelop the two iron cones. An energy clung to them—interfering with, even ignoring, his control.
"Not good!"
Metal plates layered before him in rapid succession.
Clang—crack—thud!
Sparks flew high into the air. Blood droplets fell. His dark purple cape slowly drifted downward.
Almost simultaneously, the violently spinning metal storm that had been shattering and reforming in endless assault faltered for a split second.
Boom!
Leonidas pierced straight through the extremist mutant overlord's attack.
"Hah... hah..."
Magneto's facial muscles tightened. His aged, wrinkled face turned pale from the intense pain, brows knotted, lips pressed into a thin line.
With his only remaining functional hand, he touched his burning right cheek. There, molten streams of metal had carved wounds across his skin. Blood trickled slowly from the split scabs.
Struggling to maintain his levitation, his right arm had already lost strength. Flesh at his shoulder had split open like a grotesque blossom, tendons and bone severed and cauterized clean through.
That arm was ruined. It would need amputation.
The injury had also damaged his lungs and torso. For an elderly man of flesh and blood, without sufficient medical aid, he would truly die.
He was old after all—not what he had been in his youth. Grinding his molars, Magneto stared at Leonidas, who stood with spear in hand and made no attempt at a sneak attack.
"It ends here, Magneto of the mutants. The one who slays you is Leonidas, descendant of Heracles, King of Sparta! Hah—!"
Clang!
Spear and shield struck together. A gale suddenly erupted outward with Leonidas at its center. The once-calm cosmic energy burst violently, condensing into tangible tidal waves that radiated in all directions.
Retained Skill: Warrior's War Cry [B]
A skill that raises morale, gathers momentum, and sharpens intent. By shouting loudly, one adjusts their mental state and suppresses the enemy to a certain degree.
Woooong—boom.
Crimson cosmic energy particles gathered at the spear tip. A terrifying vortex wave swept across hundreds of meters of sky.
"Die!"
Not a Noble Phantasm—merely a release of magical power born of respect. In Spartan fashion, he sought to blast his opponent into fragments as a sign of honor. Leonidas twisted his waist and abdomen and hurled the spear.
BOOM!
The immense explosive force pierced and displaced the surrounding air, triggering a chain of violent detonations as the currents surged. The residual shockwave carved a trench nearly ten feet deep into the solid concrete ground.
"Come then!"
No time to ponder the man's name. Magneto's gaze hardened. He opened his blood-coughing mouth, threads of thick crimson clinging between his teeth. "Aaagh—!"
Dense layers of metal fused together as Magneto roared, stacking layer upon layer in a desperate attempt to crush forward.
Zheng—
Like slicing through butter, the spear tip melted through more than ten meters of layered metal in a single breath amid deafening thunder. Wrapped in splashing molten iron, it drove mercilessly toward Magneto's heaving chest, which rose and fell like a broken bellows.
Am I going to die?
Magneto stared at the spear tip. In that fleeting instant, his entire life flashed before his eyes. So be it. If he had not come—if he were to die on the road to fighting for mutant rights...
Suddenly—
"Sigh..."
A familiar sigh drifted through the battlefield.
"Erik, extreme ideology will eventually devour you."
Screee!
A sharp shriek split the air as a crimson energy beam shot forward. In the split second it bought Magneto, a young woman in a tight combat suit appeared, pressed a hand to his shoulder, and—whoosh—vanished with him.
Everything happened in less than a second. The golden spear collided with the crimson energy beam. Thunderous explosions rang out endlessly, and rolling waves of heat burst outward, raising the surrounding temperature by a full ten degrees.
Thud!
"Who goes there?"
The golden spear spun back. Leonidas caught it and drove it heavily into the ground. Bathed in the surging heat, his voice remained steady and resonant.
"My apologies, sir."
Fallen to the ground—already injured by the shockwave of the thrown spear—Magneto forced a difficult smile as he looked toward the new interloper, the one he had long anticipated entering the fray—
Rrrk—
Pushed forward by a tall, burly man with silver-gray metallic skin, a refined bald elder in a tailored suit sat in a wheelchair, offering a wry smile.
Headmaster of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, founder of the X-Men—Professor X, Charles Francis Xavier.
"Cough... Charles, I knew it. You and I are the same... haha. You can't sit still either. You must have planted people within the government's negotiation team. They intend to eliminate all mutants once and for all..."
"Erik, you are courting death. And you used our friendship." Professor X's expression was complicated.
"Haha... that's right. New York is your territory. I know you have connections. I won't sit and wait for death. Since you couldn't make up your mind, I'll help you make it... cough—ugh—"
Magneto laughed, only to cough up blood as his internal injuries flared.
"Sigh..." Professor X exhaled softly. "Bobby... stop Erik's bleeding."
Iceman Bobby looked unwilling.
"Professor, why should we save Magneto? His actions are terrorism. Everything you taught us..."
The new generation of mutants did not truly understand the depth of the bond between Professor X and Magneto—the love and rivalry, the inability to forget one another despite standing on opposing sides. They only knew that the X-Men and the Brotherhood had clashed countless times, their conflicts long since burning with real fury.
It was the same among the older generation. Professor X and Magneto. Captain America and the Winter Soldier.
No matter how firm their convictions, how noble or selfless their past deeds—even if they would throw away their own lives—once a lifelong friend was involved, hesitation inevitably followed.
Perhaps that only proved they were still human.
"Bobby." Professor X called again.
"..."
Reluctantly, bound by the Professor's immense authority, Iceman stepped forward and used a freezing breath to temporarily seal the right half of Magneto's body and face.
"Only this once."
Tall, broad, his features hidden beneath thick, wild hair like some savage beast, Wolverine stepped forward with a dark expression and jabbed Magneto with an adrenaline shot.
"Professor. He's strong."
Wearing a red trench coat, Phoenix Jean Grey's expression was especially grave.
"Strong... Jean, what does that power of yours sense?"
Professor X immediately grasped her deeper meaning.
"Yes, Professor. This ancient Spartan warrior is one thing... but the source of his power—the presence behind him—I don't know. It feels suffocating, oppressive... like an abyss."
"Oh..."
Professor X murmured softly. "The Divine Empress Order... perhaps behind him stands a true god."
At that moment—
"Charles Francis Xavier! Should I understand this as the X-Men colluding with the Brotherhood of Mutants in treason?!"
A furious shout rang out. After exchanging a few words with Leonidas, the Pentagon general in charge of mutant affairs—wearing a specialized anti-telepathy helmet—directed his sharp accusation at Professor X.
"General Gabriel. This is an accident..."
"An accident? Magneto attacked the President, assaulted a diplomatic summit, and killed and wounded multiple Secret Service agents—and you call that a misunderstanding?!"
"I am willing to provide compensation and handle all aftermath and damages."
"..."
General Gabriel glanced at Leonidas, as well as the Imperial auxiliary forces and a squad of Demon Judges gradually closing in.
Unlike Magneto—a stateless man who had once been imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp during World War II—Professor X was a genuine American, born under the Stars and Stripes, from an old New York wealthy family. After decades of development, he was practically part of the establishment, with astonishing financial resources.
Otherwise, where would the funding for a mutant academy have come from?
Why did the American government tolerate Professor X's rhetoric and semi-recognize the vigilante nature of the X-Men?
Did anyone truly believe it was solely because he was kind and moderate?
Leonidas extended his spear horizontally, blocking the Pentagon general. "Stand back." His stance was unmistakable—negotiations had failed.
Who did they think they were? Did their face carry that much weight?
Setting aside the Empire's military doctrine—even by Spartan standards, there was no precedent for releasing prey because someone spoke a few words.
Fwoosh!
As magical power surged within Leonidas once more, blazing flames ignited upon his spear and shield. His legs flexed like the hind limbs of a mammoth, muscles tightening in an instant.
BOOM!
Dust exploded skyward. The hardened ground—capable of bearing heavy military transport aircraft—fractured into a massive crater dozens of meters wide, webbed with cracks.
"Professor, watch out!"
Releasing the wheelchair handles, Colossus charged forward without hesitation—and then—
Boom—!
Amid the deafening clash of steel, Colossus flew backward at even greater speed. His torn combat uniform trailed behind him as he slammed into the low buildings in the distance, kicking up a plume of dust.
Only afterward did the delayed sonic boom from displaced air finally thunder across the battlefield.
"Idiot! Don't meet him head-on! Just like that Avenger, Thor—he's a descendant of the Olympian gods! Coordinate your attacks—use energy strikes! Stall him!"
At least able to stand upright now, Magneto cursed angrily.
With Thor as precedent—and Leonidas' own declaration—Magneto's conclusion came naturally.
Pyro, Iceman, Shadowcat, Cyclops, and Phoenix charged forward in unison.
"Charles, stop probing with your telepathy! It's impossible! You can't do it—help me."
As he spoke, Magneto smiled in satisfaction. Then he pulled out a signal flare and fired it into the sky.
"You..."
Sensing another surge of mutant brainwaves rising in revolt, Professor X's voice turned heavy. "Erik, you didn't just exploit our friendship—you intend to drag us all into this. You knew I would come to save you. You're staking the fate of all mutants on a single gamble."
"Yes."
Enduring the agony wracking his body, Magneto admitted it. "But will they listen?" he asked with a grin.
Vmm! Vmm! Vmm! Vmm!
High above, the starship's weapon modules shifted. Beams of teleportation light descended one after another. Reinforcements arrived every second.
"You have less than ten seconds to decide. Either we end this within five minutes—you know what I want—or in five minutes their forces will fully assemble, and every mutant will die!"
With that, Magneto lifted himself into the air with his magnetic field and beckoned to the hundreds of elite Brotherhood mutants flooding in. He pointed toward the summit venue.
"Attack! Get close to those politicians and senators! Don't fly too high—don't give them the chance to bombard us! The world belongs to mutants!"
"You've lost your mind."
"I have," Magneto replied. "You know what their proposal says..."
He cast Professor X one last look before charging forward without hesitation.
How they had learned the contents of the proposal was simple. Among mutants were those who served America. Naturally, among ordinary humans were those bribed by mutants. Both sides had planted spies and intelligence agents within the other.
And with Professor X's ability, he knew even more.
Flying low once more, summoning the metal storm again to layer it around himself, Magneto glanced sideways at Leonidas—temporarily held back by Phoenix.
We can win!
It had been Leonidas' sudden appearance that shattered his original all-or-nothing plan.
From the televised broadcasts, Magneto had seen those "aliens." They all wore powered armor. As long as it was metal, he could influence it. As long as iron existed within their bodies, he could strike unexpectedly and kill them.
He had that confidence.
His ability was devastating in an industrial-age society.
At the outset of the ambush, he had proven it.
The Secret Service's ornamental defenses and the Pentagon's incompetent lines had been smashed through by the Brotherhood. Against the Divine Empress Order's garrison, their electromagnetic-accelerated rounds, explosive shells, and conical penetrators—Magneto's magnetic field could indeed interfere with them, aside from the troublesome lasers and plasma.
But that did not matter. With his inner circle, he was already close to breaking into the summit's core. He could see the prepared viewing platform, the long negotiation table, the ceremonial flags. The Black president, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs—the executioners who had betrayed and persecuted mutants—seemed within reach.
As long as he destroyed those dozen or so heavily armored guardians towering like mechanical giants, he could seize them hostage—even seize the alien envoys—find an opportunity to board their starship, and capture it.
Then he could negotiate with the aliens beyond Earth's orbit. Prove the strength of mutants. Prove that mutants were the true masters of Earth.
Ordinary humans were inferior goods—unevolved apes, failures discarded by nature.
Yes, negotiation.
Magneto had never believed he could defeat an entire alien fleet alone. That was unrealistic. He was not a god. What he needed was to reverse the fate of mutant extinction.
On the additional negotiation list proposed by the North American authorities, beyond dismantling the Avengers, certain anti-mutant senators had suggested requesting that the Divine Empress Order permanently "resolve" the mutant problem.
Magneto did not know what form that "resolution" would take. But the moment he learned of it, he knew he could not sit idle.
He had no choice. Better a glorious charge than passive extinction.
If they won, mutants would rise. If they lost—then extinction it was.
He had even left behind a mutant reserve force for that possibility. If Professor X intervened, he would frame it as a joint action with the X-Men, binding them together with shared blame. If not... he could no longer care.
As Magneto sped low through the air toward the summit, already seeing layer upon layer of barriers upheld by tactical titan-like giants, he prepared to manipulate the magnetic field—when suddenly, a wave of extreme cold erupted.
Whoooosh—
Countless snowflakes spiraled through the sky like ghosts. They settled upon skin; with a gust of frigid wind, goose-feather ice crystals descended, threatening to swallow everything into a world of snow. Even magnetic fields were disrupted.
Suppressing the Phoenix fire, an ice-blue figure slowly descended.
"Not bad. You've learned to release magical power. But Leonidas, your foundation is poor. You still require tempering through trials. The effect of the 'Limiter' goes far beyond this."
Even among EX ranks, there were differences.
"General Esdeath!"
An ice wall severed the battlefield. Standing atop a hundred-meter-high pillar of ice, arms folded, Esdeath gazed arrogantly and coldly at Phoenix, who was using arcs of bird-shaped flame to dispel the surrounding chill for her allies.
"Such a laughable application. Your power is immense—but you are not. You are running away. You haven't even drawn out a grain of sand from its endless sea."
"My Empr—cough—Lady Gorgon. Is this woman the target?"
"Mm~ she is useless. But the Phoenix Force is useful."
A voice, soft and intoxicating, laced with bone-melting allure, sounded from directly behind Magneto.
"Who?!"
Magneto's face changed. He was in the center of a metal storm!
Then came the sound—
Puchi—
His heart was pierced clean through from behind.
—
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