It didn't take long for Marcus's figure to vanish completely from sight, leaving behind only a crowd of young mutant students staring at one another in stunned silence. Since the founding of Xavier's Institute, crises had occurred before—just not often. And every time danger appeared, these students—who had not yet earned the title of X-Men—did exactly as Cyclops or Professor Xavier commanded: retreat to the underground shelter, wait for the X-Men to drive off the intruders, and then return to life as usual.
No one had ever told them they should fight.
No one had ever told them humans were their enemies.
And under Xavier's ideals of coexistence, such words would have been unthinkable—even if the attackers truly were human soldiers.
The students had always believed that as long as mutants mastered their powers responsibly and avoided harming others, humans would never fear them. If mutants refrained from using their abilities for crime, and instead tried to help humanity, then peace would surely follow.
But Xavier had misunderstood something fundamental:
If humans truly felt no fear of mutants, the consequences could be far worse.
Power above the human norm is an original sin—like ivory to an elephant, or fins to a shark. If mutants waited for humans to voluntarily embrace peaceful coexistence, that would not be equality.
It would be conservation—treating mutants as endangered animals.
Mutual respect requires mutual fear.
"Hey, what do we do now?" one student asked nervously. Though Marcus's philosophy clashed with everything they had been taught, his decisiveness—and the sight of him charging into battle alone—held a compelling weight Xavier's words never had.
"I don't know… Cyclops told us to stay put…" another replied—voicing what most of them were thinking. They still hesitated, unsure if they should join the battle or wait to be rescued as always.
Then, without a word, one young mutant stood up.
He didn't make a speech.
He didn't argue.
He simply walked out of the shelter and sprinted into the burning battlefield, but before leaving, he cast one final, conflicted look back at the others.
"Damn it… are we weaker than a newbie?" another student growled, angered and ashamed. He, too, rushed out of the bunker.
One example became two.
Two became ten.
Ten became dozens.
Fueled by adrenaline, fear, anger, and Marcus's fiery provocation, more and more students poured out to follow him. They were not fearless warriors—but in the presence of someone who acted rather than preached, their blood ignited.
Today, they would fight for their people.
No cause could feel more righteous.
One after another, students burst from the shelter—nearly all except for a few whose powers were too weak or too unstable. The rest abandoned safety and charged into the storm.
They arrived just in time to witness Marcus's devastating combat against the Mark I Sentinels. He leapt onto the head of a four-meter-tall robot and smashed his X-shield down with monstrous strength. The steel rim sank deep into the robot's electronic brain, releasing a burst of white-hot sparks before the machine collapsed into scrap.
Before the debris even hit the ground, Marcus kicked off the falling wreckage, launched himself into the air again, and hurled his shield. It spun like a whirling blade, carving an elegant arc through the air and slicing straight through the glowing eyes of three Sentinels in a row. Blinded, the robots staggered and crashed headfirst into the walls. The shield completed a wide circle and landed perfectly back into Marcus's hand as he touched down with effortless grace.
To Marcus, this wasn't even a real fight.
It was a performance.
But to the young mutants watching, it was divine.
A hero standing strong amid fire and steel.
Not a symbol of America.
Not a moral icon of humanity.
Marcus was now the embodiment of mutant defiance—mutant pride—mutant strength.
"Take them down!" the students roared, spirits ablaze. For the first time in their lives, they felt pride in what they were: mutants. They surged forward, unleashing beams, flames, telekinesis, claws, soundwaves—every ability they possessed—against the invading Sentinels.
But moments later, reality crushed them.
Marcus's ability to effortlessly destroy Sentinels did not mean anyone else could. The robots were only helpless against him because his strength was absurdly beyond their design limits. Most of the young mutants simply did not possess enough power—or the right type of power—to pierce armor augmented by arc reactor technology.
At first, fueled by adrenaline and collective courage, they forced the Sentinels back a few steps. Random objects flew through the air, hurled by telekinesis or brute strength. But almost none of these attacks inflicted real damage. For every Sentinel they managed to dent or burn, a hundred stood unharmed.
The initial momentum evaporated.
What came next was terror.
The Sentinels fired their first coordinated volley.
A dozen rockets erupted all at once, tearing through the ground beneath the students. The floor blew upward in a shockwave of splintered wood and shattered brick. Students were thrown into the air like rag dolls.
Before they even hit the ground, the Sentinels raised their Gatling cannons.
Their targeting optics flickered yellow.
And they opened fire.
The mechanical roar drowned out screams.
Bullets tore through the airborne students with brutal precision. What followed was not a battle, but a massacre. Flesh, blood, limbs, and organs rained onto the shattered floor. The suffocating stench of gunpowder and blood filled the air.
Only then—amid the shrieks and carnage—did the surviving students finally understand.
War was not a stage for heroism.
It was a place of death.
And they had been far too naïve.
To be continued…
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If you'd like, I can continue immediately with Chapter 203.