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*****
The Avengers charged at Clark and his brothers with fierce momentum—only to crumple one after another mid-sprint, groaning as they fell with vacant eyes.
Clark and Erik glanced at Charles, a flicker of alarm in their gaze.
You actually did it?
Charles: "…"
I haven't done anything yet!
"…"
The three brothers shared a brief, speechless moment.
So…the Avengers were here just to "go through the motions"?
That was, in fact, exactly their plan.
Leaving aside how familiar the Avengers were with the Kent family—how well they knew the overwhelming power of these three and how impossible it would be to win—the crucial point was this: from the start until now, the brothers had not harmed a single civilian. Even the soldiers who engaged them had only been restrained.
The trio had been making a show of force—deterrence, nothing more—to win breathing room for mutants; to make those nations eager to wage war hesitate, to confront the cost of harming mutants and kindling a global conflict.
After what happened at the X School yesterday—after learning the military had dared lay hands on children—the Avengers were furious too.
They understood perfectly that this war had been sparked by Ultron, not by mutants. The mutants were innocent. The Kent family had no hidden conspiracy…
Precisely because they knew the truth, yet were compelled to appear for various reasons, this farce unfolded as it did.
At the very least, their "defeat" would only add to the brothers' intimidation.
"Bruce, you're overacting. You toppled before you even hulked out," Tony muttered under his breath.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Stark. Those lines you yelled just now were awful," Bruce cracked one eye, shot Tony a look, and sighed in exasperation.
"You two, hush," Natasha snapped, disgusted.
They couldn't even pretend to faint convincingly.
"Don't let them see through it. It's embarrassing," Barton grumbled.
"Good thing Thor and Vision aren't here," Wanda whispered.
"Seconded."
"Quiet!"
Steve's cold bark cut them off.
They'd left Vision behind—because Vision couldn't act…
Watching the Avengers lying on the ground and mumbling, the corners of the brothers' mouths twitched. They couldn't help but smile, stepping over the fallen "Oscar winners" and moving on.
Now, nothing stood between them and the White House.
Panic swept through the people inside. As they tried to flee, their bodies went numb, freezing them where they stood.
"Stay put. We don't want to hurt you, but what comes next requires witnesses. There are things you need to hear," Charles's cool voice echoed in every mind, leaving the White House staff shocked and furious—but mostly powerless and afraid.
The brothers crossed the final stretch and halted before the White House.
With a thought, Charles drew everyone he controlled out into the open. The restrained soldiers marched in from afar.
When all were gathered, Charles spoke into their minds again: "I have a few words for you. Please stand where you are and don't run."
Then he released his hold.
Someone immediately took a step—Charles sighed and shook his head.
Why will none of you listen?
His telepathy surged again, turning the attempted runners back to their places.
That sight quenched the rest of the crowd's urge to bolt.
Charles jerked his chin at Clark, inviting him to speak.
Clark considered a moment, then said, "Conspiracy? Our family has no need of conspiracies. The three of us alone could level a city—or even a nation—in short order. Let alone our father."
He swept his gaze slowly across them all and went on, "If we wanted something, we wouldn't need the power of mutants to get it. If we had some plot, we wouldn't have waited until now."
"Mutants are innocent. Don't let those with real conspiracies use you to shatter the present peace."
"If you insist on war, we'll stand with the innocent. We will not stand with those who stoke conflict and drag countless lives into the flames."
"In other words—we'll be your enemies."
He paused and looked toward the White House.
Erik raised a hand toward the building. Metal groaned. Stone cracked…
In seconds, the White House crumpled like a clod of dried clay crushed in a fist, tumbling into a heap of rubble.
Erik closed his fingers, and the fractured masonry settled with a hiss.
Soldiers, generals, government officials—all stared, terror flashing in their eyes.
The White House—just…gone?
That was their nation's symbol.
"We can raze this place easily—and just as easily raze other places. I don't think you want to find out," Clark said, voice cool. For the first time, he used his strength to threaten others.
Judging by the fear in their eyes, the effect…was satisfactory.
"Let's go," he said softly to Charles and Erik.
They had said what needed saying and done what needed doing.
The rest was up to the listeners.
"Oh—wait," Erik said. His gaze sharpened, and a mass of metal came streaking out of the sky.
"These—? The destroyed weapons?" Clark blinked.
"I've been holding them aloft since the fight began," Erik replied, nodding skyward.
"What are you planning?" Charles asked, curious.
"What am I planning?" Erik chuckled low. "If Dad came back and heard about all this, what would he do?"
"Beat them soundly," Clark and Charles answered in unison—without a second's thought.
They traded a look and snorted a laugh.
"So…"
As he spoke, Erik guided the metal down onto the shattered foundations and began fusing and shaping.
"I'm going to build a stage for Dad."
By the time he finished, a broad dais of cold steel—dozens of steps high—rose from the ruins.
Nearly ten meters tall, forged entirely of metal, it radiated a stark, unyielding presence.
"Oh, right—something's missing," Erik murmured, pinching his chin. He extended a hand toward the platform, and atop the dais formed a seat of gleaming metal—a throne.
Charles's eyes dimmed for a heartbeat.
Damn it. Why didn't I think of that?
He curled his lip. "Sycophant."
Clark only smiled and shook his head. "Let's go."
He rose into the air. Erik lifted more metal to ferry Charles upward. In the next instant, the three vanished from sight.
"Whew—"
A long sigh rippled through the crowd.
Hundreds of people looked around, finding the same lingering fear in one another's eyes.
Many had been certain they would die here.
They turned to the steel dais and steel throne. Complex expressions tightened every face; a heavy stone seemed to settle in each heart.
Who had left that thing? For whom was that throne?
Questions flickered through every mind.
"Damn it—blow that thing to pieces!" a middle-aged general suddenly bellowed.
All eyes swung his way.
He faltered—then barked, "What are you looking at? You planning to just let that thing sit there?"
"What if it angers them?"
"If they can build one, they can build two. It's pointless."
"You go if you want. I'm not going."
"Where was all that courage a moment ago?"
The general flushed, red to white and back again.
"What do we do now?" someone asked.
"We ask our President," came the flat reply.
…
The White House destroyed. A threat from the Kent family.
Three people—pressing a nation to its knees.
They stood for mutants.
Was the war against mutants truly just?
With power like the Kent family's, did they really need plots, really need a mutant army?
Whose fault was this war?
Who would protect us? And for whom was that throne raised?
By the next day, what had happened at the White House had spread worldwide: the three of the Kent family had, before the eyes of the U.S. military, seized an army, dismantled vast stores of weaponry, and turned the White House into a ruin.
Once again, the world glimpsed both the threat and the might of mutants.
No one had imagined that the threat of just three people would be enough to stall a war on the brink of breaking out.
Though undercurrents still churned, and actions against mutants continued in the shadows, the surface grew calm for the moment.
Control. Expulsion. Murder…
Even confined to the dark, these measures made the mutants' plight ever more dire.
In answer, Clark and his brothers, alongside the X-Men, threw themselves back into rescuing mutants.
…
Ego's planet.
The hollow shell that once filled the world's interior had, under Mike and Jor-El's hands, become a base.
It was now the most important site on the planet—and the most heavily defended.
When Jor-El took command of the world's core, he took command of the world itself.
Harnessing the creative power of the Planetary Light, construction accelerated. In a single month, the key planetary functions on their blueprint were completed.
Space jumps, a planetary-scale shield, overwhelming offensive capability, and reality-warping—an ability allowing the planet to ignore normal physical laws…
In the same month, through constant use, Jor-El's control of the Planetary Light grew by leaps and bounds, enabling him to do much more.
For instance: create a body for himself; perceive the entire world; fight through the Light…
With machines of his own design, Jor-El had, in effect, stolen everything that had once belonged to Ego.
"Heading back?" Jor-El asked Mike with a smile.
Mike nodded. "Some things happened on Earth recently. If we return now, this planet will be just in time to put to use."
"Do you need me to prepare anything?" Jor-El's expression sobered.
"No," Mike said after a beat. "Prioritize finishing the transit system."
This wasn't planetary relocation, but a bridge—something like Asgard's Bifrost.
"Understood," Jor-El replied.
Mike studied him, then said, "You can give Clark a hug now."
Jor-El sighed. "But I'm not truly Jor-El."
When the real Jor-El had created him, he'd written a clear definition into his being: an intelligence with Jor-El's memories, knowledge, and emotions—forever to aid Clark, guide Clark, obey Clark…
Mike clapped his shoulder. "But your feelings for Clark are real. That's enough."
Jor-El blinked—and nodded.
"Get ready, Jor. We're leaving," Mike said, already picturing the looks on his sons' faces when they saw this gift.
"Jump can begin anytime." Jor-El pointed at the ring on Mike's left thumb and smiled. "Use that to reach me whenever."
Mike dipped his chin. A card shimmered at his fingertip, and he vanished.
When he reappeared, he was on the planet's surface.
More precisely, in the place he'd called home for the past month.
Ego's palace had been destroyed in battle, so Mike had made himself a new house.
With Yamato's Wood Release from the shinobi world, building was…easy.
A two-story wooden cottage gleamed in the sunset, gilded with a wash of gold. It was beautiful.
"Dad!"
Gwen spotted him, ran over with a bright smile, and hugged his arm, giving it a gentle shake. "When are we going back? I can't wait to get to class."
School was the excuse; boredom here was the truth.
After the Guardians of the Galaxy left, it had been just the three of them and one AI.
There were many lovely sights, adventures to be had, but…
After a month, she and Raven had seen the entire world.
"Tomorrow," Mike said, ruffling her hair.
School…
His eyes flashed.
They couldn't go back to the old school—not now.
He already knew what had happened on Earth.
Seeing Clark and his brothers handle it well, he'd stayed away—finishing things here first.
After all, until this was done, the mutant problem couldn't be solved.
"Awesome!" Gwen cheered, sprinting into the house. "Aunt Raven! Aunt Raven! We're going back! We're finally going back!"
"Slow down," Raven chided, tapping Gwen lightly on the forehead.
Gwen giggled and glanced at Raven's belly.
Seeing the look, Raven's hand moved to her stomach. A warmth lit her face. "Don't worry. You'll meet him soon," she whispered.
"I'm not worried, I'm not worried!"
Gwen stared at her belly and grinned like a fool.
"What are you giggling at?" Mike said, helpless.
The look on Gwen's face was pure lovestruck goofiness…
"Dinner," he declared. "We're heading for Earth tomorrow!"
(End of this chapter)