Inside the White House, President Ellis stared at the blue-skinned mutant in front of him, a slow grin spreading across his face.
As president, he had certain privileges.
Through Wilson Fisk's network, he'd secured a century's worth of internal energy at a price most people could only dream of. Ever since, he'd been itching to test it out—like someone who'd just gotten their license and couldn't wait to hit the road.
And now?
An assassination attempt had practically delivered itself to his doorstep.
Perfect.
"You made the first move," Ellis said calmly, straightening his jacket. "As President of the United States, I'm responding in self-defense—with no limits."
At the same time, he shot a quick look at the Secret Service agents nearby, silently urging them to record everything.
If he was going to make a statement, he might as well make it memorable.
Across from him, Nightcrawler didn't respond. His mind was clouded, his actions driven purely by implanted commands.
Eliminate the target.
Before he could act again, Ellis moved.
A surge of violet energy burst outward, rattling furniture and sending papers flying. He had no formal training—no technique, no finesse—but raw power made up for it.
His body blurred forward.
Nightcrawler barely had time to react before Ellis's palm slammed into his chest.
The impact was brutal.
Bone cracked. Air exploded from Nightcrawler's lungs as he was launched backward, blood spilling from his mouth.
Ellis lowered his hand, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.
"That hit probably cost me a couple billion," he said. "Think you can handle it?"
Nightcrawler staggered several meters away, barely staying conscious.
Ellis stepped forward, ready to finish it—
—but in a flash of blue smoke, Nightcrawler vanished.
Gone.
Ellis clicked his tongue, annoyed.
"Did you get that on video?" he asked sharply.
"One of the internal cameras should have captured it, sir," a nearby agent replied.
"Good. Pull the footage and push it out immediately."
Ellis rolled his shoulders slightly, feeling the power humming through his body.
It was intoxicating.
If this is what a hundred years feels like…
Then Noah Vale, with several times that amount—
Ellis narrowed his eyes.
He's not untouchable.
As long as the price of this power dropped—and it would—he could surpass him. With enough resources, it was only a matter of time.
And he wasn't the only one thinking that way.
Overnight, Noah's name had exploded across the world. To many, he was a pioneer—a figure on par with history's greatest minds.
But to others?
He was a target.
If power could be bought, then anyone could rise.
And if someone managed to defeat the man who introduced that power to the world—
That would be instant fame.
Within minutes, the internet erupted.
"U.S. President Repels Mutant Assassin Using Internal Energy — Footage Released!"
The headline hit every major talking point at once.
Internal energy.
Mutants.
The President.
It spread like wildfire.
Across social media and news outlets, the footage replayed endlessly. But while the assassination attempt drew attention, it wasn't the main focus.
What people couldn't stop talking about—
Was the power itself.
In a secured military facility, William Stryker frowned as he watched the news.
In front of him, Professor Charles Xavier sat restrained, his expression grim.
"Well," Stryker said after a moment, "the assassination didn't succeed. But at least it got people talking about mutants."
He turned, folding his arms.
"That's enough for now. The Cerebro setup still needs a few more days. In the meantime… you can sit here and reflect."
He paused at the doorway, glancing back with a thin smile.
"Oh—and while you were unconscious? We rounded up every student at your school."
Xavier's eyes darkened.
Stryker seemed pleased with himself as he left.
But that satisfaction didn't last long.
Because the public reaction wasn't what he'd expected.
Instead of outrage over a mutant assassination attempt, the conversation had veered somewhere else entirely.
Internal energy.
That's all anyone cared about.
His narrative—his carefully planned headline—had been buried.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Back at the factory, Noah paused mid-training as the news played on a nearby screen.
"An assassination attempt on the president?" he muttered, frowning.
That was… early.
Too early.
The timeline didn't line up.
The United Nations summit was still days away. By all rights, events like this shouldn't be happening yet.
Did I cause this?
He ran through everything he knew, piecing it together.
Stryker.
Xavier.
The school attack.
This was supposed to come later.
And yet—
Something changed.
Magneto had gone quiet after Noah's interference. Xavier had no reason to expose himself.
So what triggered it?
His gaze sharpened.
The book signing.
More specifically—
The livestream.
If Xavier had been visible there, even briefly, it could've exposed his location.
Noah exhaled.
"That's on me, then."
With a sharp motion, he broke free from the restraints of the training rig. The reinforced structure groaned under the sudden force as he stepped away, then phased straight through the glass wall into the adjacent control room.
"Sir?" Smith turned immediately, signaling for the operators to power everything down.
"I need to check something."
Noah grabbed the clothes Rogue handed him, pulling them on quickly before retrieving his phone.
He dialed a number from memory.
After a few rings, a familiar voice answered—smooth, playful.
"Well, well. Noah Vale calling me? What's the occasion? Planning to invite me over?"
On the other end, Raven Darkhölme lounged casually, her tone dripping with amusement.
Noah didn't indulge it.
"Raven. Have you seen the news? The mutant who attacked the president—he's your son."
There was a pause.
Then her voice shifted, sharper now.
"…What?"
"I need you to contact Xavier," Noah continued. "I think something's gone wrong. The school might already be compromised."
Silence stretched for a beat.
"…Give me a minute," Raven said. "I'll reach out to Charles."
The line went dead.
Noah lowered the phone slowly, his expression turning serious.
Whatever was coming next—
It wasn't going to be small.