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*****
Out on the avenue, the onlookers who had been gawking at the spectacle had vanished without anyone noticing.
In their place, more and more police and soldiers poured in.
Snipers set up at range, helicopters hovered high above, and armored vehicles rolled in to form a tightening ring…
They knew Magneto's power; they knew what happened if you got too close. So they kept what they believed was a safe distance, encircling the three while shadowing Clark and his companions' every step.
The number of soldiers swelled. The air grew so heavy it was hard to breathe.
It was, by all rights, a bright, cloudless day, yet the troops taking part in the encirclement felt as if a terrifying darkness were spreading at speed.
Cold sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their mouths went dry, as though flames licked at their tongues.
Only when the superheroes who once protected them now stood opposite them did they truly grasp how frightening those heroes could be. Some even found themselves grudgingly admiring the supervillains who had dared stand against such beings.
Time ticked by. At last, when Clark and the other two were halfway to the White House, all civilians within three kilometers had been evacuated. The encirclement aimed at the trio finally took shape.
Ranks of soldiers packed the streets. Every weapon, every angle of attack—locked onto the three.
In perfect sync, Clark's group came to a halt.
"Seems this is all of them," Erik said coolly.
Clark swept his gaze around, nodded once, and frowned. "Don't overdo it."
"Understood."
"Save the chatter," Charles warned. "They're about to deploy the purge gas."
From the outset, his telepathy had already blanketed the battlefield.
No one but the three brothers knew how far Charles could reach when he truly pushed his mind. Back at the school, pre-laid anti-psi purification gas had drastically limited him.
This time, he had acted first—linking himself to every soldier present. If he wished, he could make them obey in an instant. Every motion on the field lay within his grasp.
Strong as they were, he didn't intend to get blindsided.
And now, the other side planned to release purifier gas to counter him…
That would not do.
"Got it," Erik murmured, closing his eyes to feel the metal all around.
A few seconds later, a cold smile tugged at his lips.
"If they won't start, I'll give them a signal."
A magnetic forcefield sprang up, sheathing him and Charles.
Then Erik lifted one hand to the sky, a faintly amused smile on his face.
Seeing this, the Secretary of Defense—who'd been watching every feed of the battlefield—blanched. "Raise altitude! Now!"
Too late.
Like birds trapped in a net, the flight of fighters poised to release purifier gas seized up midair, caught fast by Erik.
He closed his palm. The jets shuddered violently.
The pilots wasted no time—they pulled their eject handles without hesitation.
A heartbeat later, the aircraft crumpled into balls of scrap and rained from the sky.
That became the signal.
The attack began.
Tank shells, bullets, sniper rounds—beyond the conventional barrage came a smattering of laser fire and a storm of missiles. Hidden among the ordnance were the purifier munitions designed to target Charles and Erik.
"Heh." Charles chuckled once and said to Erik, "They're trying to overwhelm your limit with sheer volume. They've tucked some toys in the mix."
The White House command knew perfectly well how troublesome Erik was for their weapons. Still, they believed he had limits; a deluge like this should break his control.
And the barrage was just the smokescreen—the true threat lay in the purifier rounds riding among the rest.
If Charles and Erik inhaled that gas, they'd be finished.
"Limits?" Erik arched a brow.
"They're coming," Clark warned.
First to arrive was a wall of bullets, a roaring rain of lead.
Yet tens of meters short of the trio, the rounds froze—caught by Erik's will.
Generals and officials watching from the White House widened their eyes. When they saw the purifier bullets embedded among the regular rounds stall against Erik's field as well, a chorus of curses erupted.
How were they supposed to fight that?
"Don't panic—we've still got enough missiles to scour this place ten times over. He can't stop them all!"
Hearing the general, Ross couldn't be sure the weapons would work as hoped, but a sliver of luck and hope still flickered.
The numbers truly were staggering.
Maybe it would be enough.
Even if not, perhaps it would at least drain most of Magneto's strength…
He braced himself for the worst.
The sight that followed snuffed out that fragile hope and replaced it with raw fear in every onlooker's heart.
Missiles—so many they seemed to swallow the sky, enough to sustain a full-scale war—lost their plumes of flame in an instant while still a distance away from the three, hanging motionless in midair.
Barring a handful of specialized models built to resist Erik's power, not a single other missile escaped his grip.
Everyone swallowed hard. Still, they held a thread of hope as they eyed the dozen or so missiles that remained free.
Clark blurred into the air, inhaled, and exhaled a breath of searing cold that flash-froze those stragglers. As they fell, they shattered into sparkling powder and drifted down like glittering snow.
The glittery rain looked almost beautiful—but to the White House onlookers, it was blindingly, mockingly bright.
Worse still was the rest of the missile swarm, obedient as children in Erik's invisible hands, re-forming in the sky into a pattern:
A single, towering raised middle finger.
Faces went ashen across the board.
Ross sighed, turned, and trudged out of the White House.
Time for the Guardians to stand their ground.
By their power alone, they had to stop these three.
A hard light flashed in Ross's eyes.
Clark dropped from the air, eyed Erik's sky-sized gesture, and couldn't help a laugh. "Still as mischievous as ever."
Mischievous?
Only Clark would call it that.
Charles rolled his eyes. "Enough with the props."
He tapped a finger to his temple, scanning the field. "Tanks on the perimeter are about to spray purge gas."
"On it," Erik replied with a cold snort. He flicked his wrist, and the missiles dancing above wheeled as one and knifed toward the White House.
Screams erupted inside.
Some fled for the exits in a panic, others dove under tables in terror…
"Where's the President? Protect—"
"He already left."
"F—!"
"Intercept them!"
"Help!"
Chaos, pure and complete.
"Boom—boom!"
Explosion after explosion thundered. Faces blanched; people felt as if they were already ghosts, limbs weightless with dread.
And yet… despite the relentless detonations, they lived.
What—
They stared around in trembling confusion, feeling oddly drained.
"Intimidation only. The missiles are detonating around us, not striking home," a gray-haired general said bitterly. He looked at his colleagues who had pushed the most aggressive anti-mutant measures and couldn't suppress a sigh.
He'd opposed this course from the start, but at this point, words were too late.
As for why the missiles hadn't finished them…
Only those who'd truly seen the three brothers' power could make the rational choice about what came next.
Kill them outright, and the whole nation would rally in shared outrage, branding every mutant a terrorist and igniting a wider war.
Alive, they were more useful.
"Boom!"
With a final report, the barrage ceased.
Erik glanced at Clark and Charles and grinned. "Well? That has to be the most expensive fireworks show on Earth."
"Save it," Charles muttered, quirking his mouth. "Let's wrap this up. Dragging it out is just a waste of time."
Erik nodded and gestured for Charles to proceed.
A faint smile touched Charles's lips, and his eyes began to glow.
In an instant, every soldier on the field dropped weapons or vacated their vehicles under his control.
Seconds later, he nodded to Erik. Erik barked a low command and clenched his fist. Every weapon on the field—rifles to APCs—crumpled into scrap.
They'd kept walking as they fought; by the time they finished, the White House was not far at all.
"The Guardians are here," Clark said suddenly.
Even as the words left him, a roaring crimson figure plummeted from the sky, slamming into the ground. At the same time, a blazing man left a streak of fire across the air, hurtling toward them.
Erik and Charles cut their eyes toward Clark and, in perfect unison, tilted their chins.
"You two always pick the easy jobs," Clark laughed, and vanished.
He streaked up to meet Red Hulk. As the giant's fist curled, Clark drove a punch into his gut, launching him skyward. Clark followed, caught Red Hulk by the ankle, wheeled him half a turn in the air, and hurled him toward a seemingly empty space.
"Boom!"
An invisible wall stopped Red Hulk cold. Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman—who'd been trying to slip close under cover of Sue's force fields—were forced into view, foiled and frustrated.
Clark didn't spare his handiwork a glance. He shifted half a meter in midair.
The Thing phased out of invisibility and plummeted, just grazing past where Clark had been.
Parlor tricks…
Clark's voice was calm as he ghosted forward, clamped his hand around Ben Grimm's rocky head, and when the Human Torch's flames washed over him, he swung the Thing like a cannonball and pitched him at Red Hulk.
The unfortunate Red Hulk, only just rising, took the full hit.
"Boom!"
They tumbled together, smashing through wall after wall.
"Whoosh!"
Clark appeared in front of the Human Torch.
"Had your fun?" he asked, voice flat, and closed his fingers around Johnny's throat.
Johnny struggled, his flames surging in a desperate blaze, but he couldn't pry Clark's hand away.
Expressionless, Clark looked down at Mr. Fantastic and Invisible Woman and drifted to the ground.
By the time he touched down, the Human Torch had passed out from lack of oxygen.
Clark tossed him to Mr. Fantastic.
Reed hesitated, then murmured, "Thank you."
Before the words finished, Clark vanished.
"Boom!"
He reappeared with his hands open—holding a few nondescript black devices.
Reed and Sue blanched.
Mind-shielders.
He'd plucked them off in the chaos.
Crunch.
Clark squeezed; the devices powdered and sifted through his fingers.
"Walk away, or we'll walk you away."
His tone was glacial.
A roar sounded behind him. Clark didn't turn. "So that's your choice."
He flickered out of sight, letting Red Hulk and the Thing's attacks smash empty air, then reappeared behind them and slammed both their heads into the pavement.
"Boom!"
Cracks spiderwebbed across the ground. As the two tried to rally, Charles's telepathy flowed into their minds. When they struggled, Clark's blows rained down in a brutal flurry.
Moments later, Red Hulk and the Thing were unconscious under the brothers' combined assault. Invisible Woman and Mr. Fantastic fell to Charles's mind as well.
Just then, Erik waved his hand as if shooing flies.
In an instant, War Machine and Falcon—who had charged in—were pinned to the ground.
With Erik present, they shouldn't have entered the fight at all. But seeing their teammates fall one after another, they couldn't hold back.
The result was inevitable.
A glint flickered in Erik's eyes. He twitched his fingers; War Machine's armor and Falcon's wings disassembled at once. Clark casually knocked both men out.
The Guardians were routed—utterly—and the whole clash had lasted less than thirty seconds.
The three brothers moved on. When they were less than a hundred meters from the White House, the Avengers arrived in a Quinjet and set down between them and the lawn.
"You finally came," Clark said to the Avengers.
Steve nodded with a wry smile. "Sorry. We had to."
Then Tony—loud enough for everyone to hear—blurted in a panicked rush, "It's Professor X! Oh God! What do we do? We don't have any mind-shielders! Please don't mind-control us! Don't put us to sleep! Right, guys!?"
At that, everyone's mouths twitched uncontrollably.
Tony: "…"
So… too much? Overacting?
Impossible.
He was an Oscar-tier performer!
Steve's eye twitched.
"Avengers—assemble!"
He shouted and charged first.
(End of Chapter)