My first 2000+ words chapter
...
Charles took a deep breath, feeling tense because of the situation, and started explaining. "Alright, listen," he began, his voice calm.
He was the spiritual pillar here and should never appear panicked. "The Citadel isn't just some high-security military base. It's one of the most dangerous places on the planet."
He paused, making sure everyone was paying attention before continuing. "To put it simply—it has nuclear launch codes, satellite uplinks, experimental weapons stashed under layers of concrete, and a laundry list of things that could wipe cities off the map."
He looked around the room, his eyes briefly lingering on each of them. "Now, all of that is in Erik's hands. And trust me, if he gets pissed off enough… he won't just posture."
"He might actually launch something at New York—or somewhere worse. And if that happens, we're looking at a full-blown catastrophe."
Charles knew Erik too well. They used to be friends, closer than brothers once, and that's what made this all the more terrifying.
He knew what Erik had been through, how deep his hatred for humanity ran now. At best, he'd use the threat to pressure the government.
But Charles also knew how this kind of standoff played out: the government wouldn't budge, Erik would lose his patience, and then—boom.
He'd drop a bomb, not to kill millions, but to send a message. A warning.
But even that would be too much.
Charles's mind was racing, searching for any countermeasure, any chance they had to stop this before it began.
Right now, the X-Men team was thin. Too thin. Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Bobby—that was it. That was all he had.
If it came down to a direct confrontation… well, Scott wasn't on Erik's level. Jean's powers were overwhelming but unstable. Warren and Hank? Good-hearted, brave, but they wouldn't last a minute against someone like Magneto.
The only wild card was Bobby. Charles had always sensed something in him—a kind of quiet, untapped potential that rivaled even Jean's.
If she was an Omega-level mutant, Bobby wasn't far off. But watching the boy joke around like everything was a game, Charles couldn't help but feel a headache coming on.
"We need a plan," Scott said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm and composed, but the uncertainty in his eyes betrayed him.
He might be the field leader, but right now, he needed guidance.
Charles nodded slowly and turned toward Hank. "Hank, I want you to push forward with the Blackbird upgrades. Get it flight-ready—now."
He shifted his attention to Jean. "Jean, I need your help with Cerebro. We're close. If we can finish that project, it could give us a real edge."
Then to Scott, his tone firm. "Start pulling together everything we know on Magneto and his men. Analyze it. Monitor them in real-time."
"And I want you to come up with every possible scenario—every fighting plan you can imagine. No matter how unlikely."
"Warren," Charles added, "see if you can leverage your family's influence. Talk to your father. We need government permission to act without getting shut down ourselves. Make it happen."
And finally, his gaze landed on Bobby, who looked halfway between serious and trying not to laugh at the tension in the room.
"Bobby," Charles said, voice low but intense, "you're the key to this. You're the only one whose powers aren't directly countered by Erik's."
"If you can keep him busy—tie him down, restrict him—long enough for the others to move in and neutralize his team… we might have a shot. But for that to work, you need to take this seriously. No jokes. No distractions. This mission might very well depend on you."
For a second, Bobby didn't respond. Then his usual grin faded, just a little.
"I'll try, Professor," he said, voice quieter than usual.
"Good," Charles murmured, mostly to himself. Because right now, trying was all they had.
...
Hela's POV
Okay, wow. Charles Xavier dropped a plan! A very good plan, given the situation.
I mean, it wasn't the greatest either—let's not get ahead of ourselves—but seriously, this is the same man who always looked more comfortable sipping tea and giving lectures than dealing with real threats?
The same guy who carries the weight of mutantkind on his back but still comes across like he's afraid to push back too hard?
See, I've got centuries' worth of memories—kings, conquerors, gods, megalomaniacs—but most of them are terrible under pressure. They either hesitate and die or overreact and start wars.
Most of the time, Charles falls into this category—same as all his counterparts in the Illuminati—but he did a good job here.
Although, it could have been better. With his telepathy range, he could've gone one or two kilometers away from the Citadel, and apart from Magneto (due to his helmet), he could've just put the rest in a coma.
Once done? Magneto's current level isn't yet invincible. The five X-Men right now could definitely have defeated him.
(AN: Read this comment)
But am I stepping in to help the X-Men? Spoiler: nope.
Not because I can't. Not because I'm scared. I'm just not interested in cleaning up someone else's mess. Especially when they're so clearly not ready for it.
Let's be real here: they need this. They need to struggle, they need to fail, and most importantly, they need that epic, anime-style character development where everything goes horribly wrong before they figure out how to be actually useful.
Most of them—aside from Charles—have no idea what they're even fighting for.
They think it's all about 'protecting mutants' or 'fighting injustice' or whatever vague slogan they're waving around. Yeah, okay, that's part of it. But there's no real purpose behind it.
No vision for what comes after the final battle. No 'why'. No big picture.
Take Jean. She's strong, sure. Composed when she's not blowing up everything in sight. But even she's just reacting.
She's fighting because she thinks she has to, not because she knows what she's actually fighting for. Without that, power becomes empty. Directionless. Dangerous.
The whole team's just running around reacting to things instead of leading. They're strong, but not solid. They're committed, but not united. That's a recipe for disaster—not just for them, but for everyone around them.
That's why I'm staying out of it. Because if I step in now, they'll never learn. They'll never understand the weight of what they're doing. They need to see it. They need to feel it. They need to get their hands dirty.
And don't even get me started on mutantkind as a whole.
They have the potential to reshape the cosmos. But what are they doing with it? Hiding. Fighting among themselves.
Putting their hopes in a handful of leaders and then blaming those same leaders when things fall apart. It's weak—not in power, but in mindset.
They don't know how to build something real. Something lasting. They wait for someone to save them, or worse, for the world to finally "understand" them. As if understanding has ever protected anyone from a bullet or a betrayal.
And if they were mine? Hey, that's a very good idea.
Imagine things that Earth didn't have in my previous life—like virtual reality games that are actually exciting, songs that would make someone feel like their soul is being healed. Ah, that's too good.
And yes, I could make that real—if they were willing to follow. But they're not ready. Not yet.
Right now, they still think they can fix the world by playing nice, by apologizing for being born different.
They haven't hit bottom yet. They haven't seen how cruel the world really is—not just to mutants, but to anyone who challenges the system.
They need that despair. That break. That moment where every illusion shatters and they're forced to ask: 'What now?'
That's when I'll show up. Recruit free labor—ahem, I mean, recruit people for my Hel dimensions, making Hel reach the peak of the universe in a few years. 'So, sorry guys, when you need a lady in shining armor to save you, I'll be there. But right now? You need some character development.'
...
Charles and his X-Men were under pressure, sure—but they weren't the ones boiling in the pot.
"Director, I've done everything I can, but the council still insists on seeing you in person," the assistant said, like someone announcing a funeral.
Just hearing World Security Council was enough to give Fury a migraine and a sudden craving for retirement.
A bunch of well-dressed bureaucrats who wouldn't know danger if it broke through the ceiling and slapped them with a live grenade.
Yet somehow, they always had the audacity to critique from behind their desks like they were judging a bad reality show.
The world was steadily descending into chaos. Government-sanctioned mutant experiments were popping up like discount labs in basements.
Reed Richards's brilliant little space project had gone full chaos, crashing spectacularly in New York.
And of course, the cherry on top: all five crew members survived—with powers. Not mutant powers, which would've been too convenient, but something… different. Something shiny and unclassified.
Naturally, the government wanted to poke and prod the five like lab rats, and it fell on Fury to protect them. Because apparently, in a crisis, he was the one babysitting radioactive astronauts.
As if that wasn't enough, the fifth member? Not a scientist. Not an astronaut.
Nope—she turned out to be Ms. Viper, one of the most lethal assassins on the planet.
That Motherf*cker had more fake identities than a cat has lives. Now that she had powers too? Great. Just great. She was quiet—for now—but even silent snakes bite hardest.
And just as Fury thought things couldn't get any dumber, Magneto decided to invade one of the world's strongest military strongholds like it was a Costco on Black Friday.
He inhaled deeply before stepping into the so-called 'meeting room'—which, of course, was just a bunch of floating holograms pretending to care. It was like Zoom for sociopaths.
Honestly? He'd trade it all in a heartbeat to go back to the good old days of punching Nazis in the face. At least Hydra didn't bore him to death with procedure.
"Director Fury," the American representative began, voice sharp enough to cut diamonds and probably just as soulless. "A spacecraft crash in New York. Mutant riots in Marseille. And now Magneto waltzing into a military base like he owns the place. Your inaction is costing lives."
Ah, there it was—the moment he was waiting for. The blame dump. "Let's be clear," Fury said, eyes narrowing. "I wasn't allowed to interfere with Reed's project. Government classified it as normal. You know—until it blew up."
He hadn't forgotten the bureaucratic hand that slapped his interference away. Looking back, it was probably Viper pulling strings behind the scenes.
"And as for Magneto," he added dryly, "he waltzed into that base like it was Sunday brunch. No resistance. That's not SHIELD's failure—that's a U.S. military problem."
SHIELD never played well with others anyway, and Fury had no intention of falling on someone else's sword.
Then his gaze shifted to the French rep. "And when we tried investigating the mutant outbreak in Marseille, you blocked us—said SHIELD couldn't be trusted. Said we'd leak secrets to the U.S." He let that sit for a beat. "Hundreds died because of that call."
Any other person might squirm under the weight of that accusation. But not politicians. They'd sell their mothers and invoice the funeral.
"You overstep, Director," the Frenchwoman snapped. "SHIELD's actions in Marseille violated sovereign—"
Fury cut her off. "It was human lives at stake. We were stopped because of politics. And the result? A massacre. Congratulations."
He looked around at the council of ghosts. "It's not that SHIELD is ineffective. It's that every time we try to do our job, someone throws a rulebook at our face."
He'd felt it for a long time—like someone was pulling strings from the shadows. Deciding what they could and couldn't touch. Like this entire clown show was just someone's elaborate puppet theater.
Finally, the British rep cleared his throat, sounding about as enthusiastic as a man announcing his own colonoscopy. "This… squabbling is unproductive. The motion remains: Magneto must be stopped and captured. Before he does something truly catastrophic."
No one argued. Even Fury didn't push back. Because for once, they were all on the same page—Magneto might be a madman, but he was an effective madman. And no one wanted to see mutants running governments.
The council could tolerate chaos, corruption, and incompetence—but losing control? That was a line they weren't ready to cross.
Not yet.
END OF THE CHAPTER
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