Telekinesis.
A mutation of psychic power.
Not every telepath possessed it. Take Professor Charles Xavier, for example—his mental abilities were unrivaled, capable of invading and manipulating minds at will, yet he couldn't so much as lift a pebble with sheer thought.
But here's the coincidence—
All three psychic users present on Liberty Island did possess telekinesis.
And worse—
None of them could fully control it.
Peter, who had just acquired this power, was in a state similar to a mutant undergoing their first awakening. One of the main reasons mutants were feared in the world was because of so-called "mutant incidents."
And most of those incidents occurred during their initial awakening.
A child suddenly gaining optic blasts and slicing a school building in half with a careless glance—
That kind of thing wasn't rare.
Jean Grey was no better.
As the host of the Phoenix Force, she had always been unstable. This sudden surge of power wasn't deliberate—it was a subconscious reaction to danger, an uncontrolled overflow of energy.
If her full power were an endless ocean, then her usual output was like a faucet drawing from it.
But now—
The faucet had broken.
And the ocean was crashing down all at once.
As for Wanda—
She was even more absurd.
Her natural mutant ability was reality warping.
On top of that, she had been infused with Chaos Magic by a demonic entity since birth.
The fusion of these two forces made her one of the most terrifying beings in existence—someone capable of rewriting reality itself… even resetting the universe.
But the cost?
She couldn't fully control it either.
…
Three psychic users.
All unable to control their own power.
All erupting at the same time.
If only one of them had lost control, the outcome might have been manageable—a brief outburst, followed by exhaustion.
But fate had other plans.
All three were present.
And so—
Their powers collided.
Clashed.
Pulled against one another.
A raging psychic storm erupted across Liberty Island.
Everything—
Was swept away.
Buildings were erased in an instant, reduced to dust as if they had never existed. The entire island was shaved down, its surface flattened under the overwhelming force.
If even structures couldn't withstand it—
What about people?
Magneto held on the longest.
And yet—
He was also the most unfortunate.
Because he stood at the very center of the storm.
A powerful magnetic barrier surrounded him, shielding him from the worst of it. But the three forces assaulting him—
Any one of them—
Was potentially equal to his own.
If their power had been focused…
If even one of them had targeted him directly—
He would have already been ground into nothingness.
Reduced to dust.
Erased from existence.
The others fared… slightly better.
Cyclops and Storm were closest to Jean Grey—
And they had already been slammed to the ground.
Because in this storm, the safest place—
Was flat on the earth.
The psychic pressure radiated outward from the three epicenters, strongest at head level.
Closer to the ground—
The force weakened.
Further back—
Quicksilver was still lying unconscious, courtesy of Storm's earlier "electrotherapy."
Whether he had briefly woken up and then been knocked out again by the psychic shock—
No one could tell.
On the Brotherhood's side, Mystique and the others were in a similar situation. Earlier, when Magneto unleashed his power against the X-Men, they had been useless in the fight and wisely retreated behind Wanda.
That decision—
Had saved their lives.
Now, every single one of them lay flat on the ground, not daring to move even a finger.
…
The three psychic storms merged into one.
The situation on Liberty Island became increasingly chaotic—
Unpredictable.
Uncontrollable.
Two beings capable of destroying worlds and resetting reality—
And one transmigrator armed with a system—
Were now colliding head-on.
Even though Wanda and Jean had yet to unleash their true, hidden potential—
Even this level of power—
Was already pushing things to the brink of disaster.
-----
Across the river—
The evacuation continued.
Leaders of the five major powers had already been safely extracted. Their status was too important—especially as nuclear-armed nations.
Next came countries like Prussia and Japan.
Only after that would smaller nations be evacuated.
But while leaders feared death—
Not everyone shared that fear.
As Liberty Island descended into chaos, several groups began moving toward it instead.
First—
The reporters.
Media crews from all over the world had already been present for the G20 Summit. Originally, they had come to cover a historic political event.
Now—
Every camera had turned toward Liberty Island.
Toward the storm.
Toward history in the making.
Next—
The police.
The responsibility of maintaining order during the summit had fallen to the NYPD. While they were hardly capable of handling something on this scale, they could at least control civilian panic and manage the surrounding areas.
And then—
The ones who truly mattered.
Black armored vehicles rolled to a stop along the riverbank.
A man stepped out.
Dressed in a black trench coat.
Expression cold. Eyes sharp.
A presence that commanded authority.
At his waist, a communication device buzzed incessantly—
Relaying the urgency of the situation.
Nick Fury—
Had arrived.
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T/N:
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