The S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier hovered high above the clouds, its interior tense and quiet. On the central screen, live footage of Havelstadt unfolded like a horror film. Soldiers poured in armed and ready to apprehend the threat. And then… chaos as gunshots rang the absence of sound, but the kind that came before steel screamed. Their bullets twisted mid-air, redirected in savage arcs and shredding flesh from bones, bursting organs, embedding themselves in the men who'd fired them. The street turned into a gallery of grotesque metallic violence.
Nick Fury stood still, hands behind his back, jaw clenched as he watched the massacre unfold. His one eye narrowed before he exhaled sharply and muttered,
"Muthafucka..."
Behind him, Captain America stepped forward, the reflection of the carnage flickering across his shield.
"This is insane. We need to stop Magneto."
He turned to leave, but Fury's voice cut through the room. "Don't."
Steve halted, frowning. "Look, I understand his anger, but he's killing civilians now—innocents. Those military men are only making things worse. They're just feeding his arsenal."
Fury slowly turned to him, his face unreadable."And then what, huh? What do you hope to do against Magneto? In case you forgot, most of our heavy hitters are either missing or out of commission. Tony? Useless against him in that tin can. Hulk? God knows where he is. Thor's off-world. Natasha's knee-deep in another op, and don't even ask me where Carol is right now."
Cap opened his mouth, but Fury raised a hand, eyes still locked on the screen. The X-Men had arrived—speaking with Erik. Tension bristled in every frame. Cap clenched his fists, jaw tight. He didn't move. Not yet.
What was once a bustling city square now resembled a butcher's floor in a scrapyard. Blood painted the pavement in splashes and pools, mingled with jagged bits of steel, twisted armor, and bone fragments. Mangled corpses lay draped over spiked structures of iron decorations in Magneto's dark art of retribution. The metal twisted and trembled in the air, hungry for more.
The fresh wave of military personnel hadn't fared better. Their vehicles were turned inside out, their bodies reduced to red mist or nailed to walls. Amid the death and dread, Magneto floated in the air, eyes burning with righteous fury and sorrow laced with vengeance.
Watching from a distance, Wolverine stood atop a crumpled transport van, claws sheathed for now. The call came through his comms.
Charles Xavier's voice echoed in his ear.
"X-Men… you must stop Erik. He's not going to stop until he's massacred every human in Havelstadt."
Logan's expression didn't change.
"Yeah, well, they deserve it, Chuck. You've seen what they did to those kids. Don't tell me you didn't feel something watching that footage."
Silence. A heavy one. The X-Men around himStorm, Beast, Nightcrawler, Iceman, Rogue, Kitty Pryde stilled. Jean stood near the Blackbird, having just returned from evacuating the last of the surviving mutant children with Scott.
Logan continued, "Karma came knockin', and it came with iron."
Charles spoke again, now addressing the others. "Beast, Storm… you must see reason. Erik won't stop with Havelstadt. He's spiraling. You must act before he becomes something the world fears even more than it already does."
Logan groaned, cracked his neck, and stepped forward to where he stood infront of magneto who hovered above, calling out "Hey bub. That's enough rampage. This place already stinks of blood. Think it's strong enough to make your point."
Magneto didn't turn to face him. His voice rang out, steady and cold "Move, Wolverine. Or I'll move you."
Logan sighed. "No can do, bub. Apparently, Chuck still wants to keep the good image of our kind. And even I think this has gone on long enough."
With that, the X-Men took their stance. Storm hovered above the ground, eyes crackling with lightning. Beast stood near Nightcrawler and Iceman, while Rogue, jubilee and Kitty readied themselves. Jean's eyes glowed faintly alert, prepared.
Magneto looked at them all in apathy and disappointment.
"So be it."
A few meters away from them, near the crushed husk of a car now a grotesque metallic sphere, blood seeping from within. He appeared.
Satoru Gojo.
Dressed in his sleek black shirt and a jacket, white hair lightly tousled by the wind, he stood silently. His shades glinted under the sunlight. Hands in the pockets of his jacket with a neutral expression on his face.
He neither spoke out to let them know he was there nor did plan to interfere.
Not yet.
He simply watched.
'Let's see,' he thought, 'how the minions fare against the master of magnetism.'