The warehouse's converted hangar hummed with nervous energy as 2,100 pairs of eyes—some glowing, some slitted, some hidden behind scar tissue—fixed on me. The air smelled of antiseptic and fresh laundry, a far cry from the sewers these people had called home weeks ago.
I let the silence stretch, my boots clicking against the polished concrete as I paced before them.
"Those of young age," I began, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade, *"will not be participating in any operations. They will live normally. Go to school. Play. Be children." A deliberate pause. A few parents clutched their kids tighter. "I won't sugarcoat this. The rest of you? We're going to war."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—not of fear, but something darker. Anticipation.
"Not just any war." I raised a hand, and the hangar's massive screens flickered to life, showing Genosha's war-torn streets. "A war to build a home. Where Meta-Humans can walk above ground without hiding. Where your daughter can show her wings in public. Where your son won't be dragged from his bed for having scales."
Near the front, a woman with crystalline skin touched her daughter's shimmering cheek. The girl—no older than six—had geodes growing along her collarbones.
"The world calls us freaks. Less than anyone." My shadow stretched long across the floor, twisting unnaturally. "But we are more. Your powers?" I snapped my fingers, and a Shadow Soldier materialized, handing me a steel bar. "Are gifts."
With a thought, my [Tree of Power] activated. The bar dissolved into liquid metal, swirling around my arm before forming a perfect Genoshan crest in my palm.
The crowd gasped.
"In Genosha, we won't just survive." I clenched my fist, the crest melting into my skin. "We'll thrive. Show the world what they've been too blind to see."
The applause started slow—a few claps from the Morlocks who knew me. Then it built, until the hangar shook with the sound of 2,100 people believing for the first time in their lives.
"Last groups cleared from the Alley, boss. Just the trash left—Marrow's crew put down some wannabe warlords trying to recruit kids." Her single eye narrowed. "Permanently."
Sebastian handed her a tablet without breaking stride. "See that the new arrivals receive full medical and orientation. His Highness's standards, not Xavier's half-measures."
"Yes, sir," Callisto mocked, but took the tablet. As she turned to leave, she hesitated. "...They really believe in you, you know. After one speech."
I watched through the one-way glass as a teen with flame-red hair laughed with a girl whose skin shifted colors. "They just needed someone to say what they already felt."
Callisto snorted. "Bullshit. That mind-whammy aura of yours helps."
"No mind control," I corrected. "Just... removing the noise. Letting them see the truth without fear screaming in their ears."
She studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Hope you're as good as your word, Your Highness." Then she was gone, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
Sebastian poured two glasses of whiskey as I reviewed the numbers.
"Two thousand one hundred in thirty days," I mused. "Not bad for a month's work."
"Your unorthodox... interview process proved efficient." Sebastian's monocle gleamed. "Though I did ruin three pairs of gloves."
The mental image of my 300-year-old dragon butler slapping his way through mutant gang leaders still amused me. "Remind me to buy you leather one's next time."
I swirled my drink, watching the ice cubes clink. The real secret wasn't pheromones or auras—it was stability. Food. Beds. Doctors. Things the X-Men's endless moral debates never provided.
On screen, live feeds showed my new recruits:
- A former Morlock cooking in the industrial kitchen, her acid spit perfect for sous-vide.
- A telekinetic teen carefully reassembling engine parts in the garage.
- Dozens in the training yard, honing powers they'd once hidden.
"They just needed someone to say yes," I murmured. "Yes, your power is useful. Yes, you belong. Yes, we'll fight for you."
Sebastian raised his glass. "To saying yes, then."
I clinked mine against his. Outside, the first stars of evening appeared over New York—and somewhere across the ocean, Genosha waited.
The stench of the sewers still clung to my clothes, a bitter reminder of the night's work. I flexed my fingers, feeling the surge of stolen power humming beneath my skin. Another batch of metas "cured," I thought dryly. Not that they'd see it that way. No, to them, I was just another monster—another tyrant ripping away what made them special.
"I can't for the life of me convince anyone the normal way," I muttered, rolling my shoulders. Being the goody two-shoes, playing by the rules—it got you nothing but spit on and a sob story shoved down your throat. I was tired of it. Tired of the pleading eyes, the accusations, the way they looked at me like I was the villain when all I wanted was to help.
Sebastian leaned against the damp brick wall; arms crossed. "You're brooding again."
I shot him a glare. "No, I'm not… I'm… evaluating."
He snorted. "Right…. And the fact that you just absorbed half a dozen meta powers in the last hour has nothing to do with it?"
I didn't answer. He already knew. Some of those powers I'd copied. Others? I'd taken them completely. Snatched them right out of their veins. And the ones who'd lost their abilities? They were human again. No more mutations eating them alive, no more unstable energies burning them from the inside out. A mercy, really.
But try telling them that.
Sebastian pushed off the wall, falling into step beside me as we moved through the tunnels. "You know, most people would at least pretend to feel guilty about stealing powers."
I scoffed. "I'm not the kind of sappy guy who preaches shit I don't believe in. If they want to hate me, fine. But at least they'll be alive to do it."
The sewers had been… enlightening. The number of metas hiding down here was moderate, but what struck me was their age. Seventy percent were under twenty. Kids, really. Scared, desperate, clinging to powers they barely understood. Delta-level, by my new classification. Not dregs—that word was too cruel, even for me.
None were Alphas. The two telepaths I'd dealt with earlier had been unstable, their minds fraying at the edges. Too dangerous to leave unchecked. A quick bullet to the head had been cleaner than letting them suffer.
Sebastian glanced at me. "You're sure about the telepaths?"
"Positive." I tapped my temple. "You felt it too. That tingle? That's all they can do. No real intrusion, no control. Just… an itch."
He smirked. "Jean Grey's going to be pissed when she finds out she can't get into your head."
"Let her try." I shrugged. "Charles and Emma too. Telepaths are overrated. Nine out of ten use their powers for something stupid anyway."
By now, word had spread. HYDRA sympathizers, meta-haters—any we'd found lurking in the shadows had been dealt with. Permanently. The sewers ran red tonight, and I didn't lose sleep over it.
Back in my office, the weight of the night settled over me. The plush chair groaned as I dropped into it, exhaustion creeping in. Magina materialized from the shadows, her voice calm.
"Father, Miss Melisa is asking for a call with you."
I waved a hand. "Put her through. It's time we escalated things anyway."
The screen flickered to life, revealing Melisa Connor—leader of the Genosha Liberation Force. The scar over her left eye was a stark reminder of the battles she'd fought. Blonde hair tied back, posture rigid. A soldier through and through.
"Good day, Your Highness," she greeted, voice steady.
"Melisa." I nodded. "Report."
Her lips curled into a fierce smile. "Everything is proceeding as planned. We've rescued another forty slaves. They're recovering in the Factory now."
"Good. And the liberation?"
"Sugar Town is ours. Hammer Bay is thirty percent under control. David Moreau and his men are holed up in the capital building, but we're tightening the noose."
I leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Casualties?"
"Minimal. Our forces are stronger than ever, thanks to your reinforcements."
A flicker of satisfaction. Combining the mutant rights fighters and slave rebellions had been the right call. The GLF wasn't just surviving now—it was *winning*.
"Keep pushing," I ordered. "I want Moreau's head on a spike by the end of the week."
Melisa's grin turned razor-sharp. "With pleasure, Your Highness."
The screen went dark.
Sebastian exhaled, stretching. "So. What now?"
I stared at the city skyline through the window, the first hints of dawn bleeding into the horizon.
"Now?" I murmured. "We see how far this war really goes."