The situation was going downhill fast for the Anti-Brotherhood team, especially with the body count ticking up like it was trying to win a prize.
Not that it was much of a surprise. Jean and Bobby were, when you got down to it, just a couple of regular students playing hero. Warren? A rich kid with wings and daddy issues.
Even Scott, who had a bit of real-world seasoning thanks to his time with the FBI, was still, at his core, a glorified hall monitor with a laser pointer for an eye.
Just seeing the corpses earlier had already rattled them — now, watching people get torn apart right in front of them was cranking up the trauma to a nice simmer.
Jean, bless her heart, was visibly losing her cool, especially after nearly watching Warren and Bobby get turned into modern art installations.
Honestly? I didn't think it was a bad thing.
Because, between Jean — who hadn't even been hit with the Phoenix Force yet — and Bobby, who looked about as threatening as a wet sock, they were already packing continental-level firepower.
The only thing holding them back was... well, them.
If Jean just snapped properly, or if Bobby let loose like he did that one time Emma Frost hijacked his brain and froze an entire continent for funsies, they could steamroll most of the problems on the field.
It wasn't an exaggeration. If anything, it was almost sad how much they kept babysitting their own powers.
And honestly, one of the reasons I wanted Jean to lose it was so she could break free from the mental shackles Charles had oh-so-thoughtfully slapped on her.
You know, 'for her own good' — in the same way putting a muzzle on a lion is 'for the lion's own good.'
Those shackles didn't protect Jean. They just crippled her. They were the reason she might someday crack under the real pressure of the Phoenix Force instead of mastering it.
It's the difference between those who fight for their power and those who are handed it with a polite 'good luck!' and no instructions.
Take Viper, for example. If she had Jean's abilities? Eavesdropping on people's thoughts wouldn't so much as make her blink.
She'd accept the price of power without a second thought and would have wrangled her abilities into something terrifying long before some bald telepath came sniffing around.
Right now, Jean didn't fully understand what she was capable of — but this fight? This disaster zone? It might just be the wake-up call she needed.
After all, it's a lot harder to think you need limits when the enemy is playing for keeps, and a lot easier to realize that sometimes the only way forward is more power, not less. Especially when you realize today's apocalypse is just tomorrow's warm-up act thanks to me.
As for the battlefield itself, it was already splitting into neat little death matches:
Warren was flapping around to keep Magneto's attention, while Bobby was desperately trying to play freezer against a man who could probably turn his skeleton into a paperclip.
Jean was handling Mastermind, which was smart — his powers needed concentration to work, and Jean wasn't exactly giving him a moment to breathe, let alone weave his little illusions.
Natasha was throwing hands with Mystique; they seemed pretty evenly matched, two queens of violence going at it.
Clint was brawling with Toad — and judging by the way Toad fought like a drunken frog, it was only a matter of time before Clint walked away with a win.
Scott, after taking a suspiciously long minute to pull himself together, was helping the remaining twenty or so soldiers push through a breach. Good for him. Maybe he'd get a gold star.
From a normal human perspective, sure, it all looked heroic and intense — the stuff of slow-motion movie montages and stirring music. But to me?
Honestly, with my memories of real wars — planetary wars — this all looked like a messy kindergarten brawl.
If my physical body were here, I could have cleaned this up with about 10% of my power and still had time to grab a toast before anyone even noticed something was wrong.
Jean's POV
The longer I fought this man, the clearer his ability became to me. Illusions. Not simple ones either—elaborate, twisting, convincing. He weaved them into reality like a spider spinning silk. A mind without anchors would already be lost in his web.
But he made a mistake.
He didn't account for Hela.
He didn't know about her existence, about the way her presence grounded me. As long as I could see her—even just a glimpse out of the corner of my eye—I knew what was real and what wasn't. If her image disappeared, it meant the illusion had swallowed me whole, and I had to center my psychic power, drive it deep into my mind like a lighthouse in the fog to find my way back.
Without that anchor, maybe I would have fallen.
Maybe part of me still was.
The real battle wasn't him. It wasn't any of them. It was inside me.
Because while I fought, I heard them. The soldiers who came with us, brave or foolish enough to follow orders into this nightmare. One by one, their thoughts were snuffed out like candles in a storm. I could hear the end of each one — flashes of memory, whispers of regret, unfinished hopes dissolving into nothing.
A father clutched onto a mental image of his daughter's fifth birthday party, desperate to live just long enough to see her again.
A teenager, younger than me when I first joined the X-Men, wondered if his mother would ever know how much he loved her.
A woman with cold professionalism cracked at the seams, sobbing in her own mind that she would never get to retire, never see the house she had been saving for.
I wasn't trying to hear them. God, I didn't want to. But when you have a mind like mine, it's not a door you can close.
Tears blurred my vision before I noticed them falling. Hot, guilty tears. I wiped at them furiously even as I smiled—smiled—because somewhere out there, Hela was grinning with that strange, fearless joy she carried even into the bloodiest battles.
I envied her.
I wanted to be like her. Unbreakable. Untouchable. Able to smile when everything around me crumbled into horror.
But deep down, I knew... I wasn't.
I was still human. Or mutant. Or whatever label humanity decided fit their fear best. Still someone who felt every death like a nail hammered into her skin.
And I couldn't even remember anymore—why were we fighting?
What difference did it make, in the end? We were human once. The genes mutated, sure. But mutations are just accidents. Evolution isn't mercy or judgment—it's chaos. Any of these soldiers, any of their children, could have been born like me. Like us.
We were fighting ourselves.
Bleeding for a mistake no one made.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, trying to steady myself. If I thought too long, I'd drown. If I let myself feel everything, I'd break apart.
Was it their fault? The humans who labeled us "other"—mutants, freaks, threats?
Was it Magneto's fault, for wanting to burn the old world down to forge a new one?
Was it Charles, clinging so desperately to his dream of peace that he blinded himself to the reality?
Maybe it was all of us. Maybe it was no one.
A silent scream built inside me, thick and choking. I couldn't hold it back anymore.
In a flash of fury, I ripped the illusionist out of his own mindscape with a psychic yank, fueled more by grief than precision. His body flew across the field like a broken puppet, sailing past Magneto before crashing to the ground in a limp heap.
For a moment, the world went silent in my mind.
I couldn't hear his thoughts anymore.
Unconscious—or worse. Either way, he wasn't fighting.
Toad wasn't far behind. An arrow exploded near him—an ear-splitting crack—and when the smoke cleared, he collapsed, twitching and dazed. I didn't know if he would live. I wasn't sure if I cared.
And then, cutting through the heavy, suffocating air, came a familiar voice.
"Come on Barbie, let's go party!"
Hela's voice was so bright, so jarringly cheerful that for a second, I almost laughed.
Almost.
I didn't understand half the things she said—her references were from another time, another world maybe—but I was used to it. Used to her strange words and stranger moods.
Strangely, hearing her now didn't feel wrong. It felt like an anchor thrown to a drowning swimmer. It pulled me back from the abyss.
There was something about her. Something terrifying and comforting all at once.
Hela didn't look like a savior. Pale skin like winter's last breath, dark green robes wrapped around her thin frame like a funeral shroud. Black hair cascading down her back. Lips painted the green of deep forests and poisoned dreams. She looked like death given form.
Nothing about her should have made me feel safe.
And yet.
I trusted her more than I trusted most of the people I called "friends."
Honestly, I can't wait to meet the real her and touch and hug her like friend should do, though I don't know if her highness would give me the honor.
Back to the fight, I noticed something strange — my range had expanded.
I could hear the thoughts of the two journalists waiting outside, even the agents hidden nearby, supposedly ready to step in if things went wrong.
Their attempts at concealment were almost laughable; their thoughts were so loud it was like they were shouting. I think I can hear the mind of anyone within at least two kilometers now.
There was only one explanation:
The restrictions Charles placed on me... they're gone.
But how?
For years, they had been a constant presence, like a steady hand at the back of my mind, keeping me safe. Yet these past few days, I'd been losing control, more and more.
The professor had wanted to examine me, to see what was happening, but Hela — standing firm as always — refused. She warned him not to touch my mind, said she'd leave if he did. I knew she meant every word.
And now... now my thoughts were unraveling. I couldn't even think straight. It was like trying to hold back the tide with bare hands. So many voices, so many minds pressing in at once — I wasn't ready for this.
"Yes, it seems you've been freed from your shackles," Hela's voice broke through the noise, calm and clear as ever. Even surrounded by this chaos, her presence felt solid, steady. She almost sounded... proud.
It took a few seconds before I could lift my head and meet her gaze. She was smiling, and there was something genuine in it, something that steadied the panic twisting in my chest.
"Jean, are you alright?"
Scott's voice reached me, full of concern. Always Scott — steady, dependable Scott.
And that's when I finally took in the full scene around us.
In theory, things were going well: I had knocked out the illusionist (Mastermind) —and Clint had somehow managed to beat Toad. It should have felt like a victory.
But it didn't.
In reality, there were barely seventeen soldiers left standing on our side. The Brotherhood? They had only lost about five mutants.
We were surrounded.
The worst part of all this sh*t? Magneto wasn't even taking us seriously. He was just playing with us, flaunting his power like a cat toying with mice. He hadn't even tried to actually kill us yet — just showing off.
Fortunately, I'd already dealt with the Illusionist, and with my powers freshly enhanced, I could finally step in to help turn things around.
Without wasting a second, I activated my ability, slipping into the minds of the Brotherhood members. I didn't aim to control them — just put them to sleep.
They had some resistance, of course; their minds were a lot tougher than ordinary humans. But honestly? It was still easy. It didn't even take me seven seconds to knock out half of them.
But then — something I hadn't expected happened.
I felt the soldiers' intentions right before they moved, but it was already too late.
The soldiers who had been fighting alongside us, upon seeing the mutants collapse helplessly, didn't hesitate for even a second.
Without their weapons, they resorted to brutal methods — snapping necks, crushing throats — killing the sleeping mutants like it was nothing.
And just like that, the whole situation turned on its head.
Magneto's anger was immediate and terrifying. I could feel it boiling off him in waves as he unleashed a storm of metal shards at the soldiers.
Despite my disappointment and disgust at the soldiers' actions, I instinctively threw up my telekinesis — now stronger than ever — and managed to stop the deadly rain.
But it wasn't enough.
A stray shard slipped through my defenses and sliced right into Scott's side. He crumpled to the ground, unable to stand, blood quickly soaking his uniform.
"No, no, Scott!" I screamed, heart dropping.
Yeah, he could be a pain in the ass, but he was still a comrade.
And no matter how much I hated to admit it, from the stray thoughts I'd caught from him before, I knew he was someone who would've willingly died for me.
And it was that moment of distraction — that one second of worry — that cost us everything.
Because in that blink, Magneto shoved through my weakened defense and sent another deadly barrage of shrapnel, tearing through the remaining soldiers like paper.
My mind blanked out for a second. All I could think was — I'm useless.
Warren was the first to react, even amidst the chaos and panic. He dove toward Scott, whether to shield him or check if he was alive, I didn't know.
His instincts took over — but Magneto, a man who'd survived an entire World War, was even quicker.
A chunk of twisted metal shot toward Warren, twisting his wings midair with a sickening crack. He slammed hard into the ground, unmoving.
Just like that, we lost another fighter. And honestly... I doubted if he'd ever fly again.
Now, it was just me, Hank, and Bobby left.
Bobby was frozen — not with his ice powers, but literally frozen in terror. I could feel his fear spiking through our mental link like a siren.
Everything had happened so fast, so brutally, that my mind couldn't even catch up.
We had lost.
"Hmph. This is what happens when, instead of fighting for your rights, you side with the humans to stop us," Magneto said, his voice dripping with disdain as he floated above us like a god. "Truly brilliant of Charles — sending you all to die while he enjoys himself in his precious wheelchair."
His words hit almost harder than the shrapnel.
END OF THE CHAPTER
I f*cking tried to end this Brotherhood fight in this chapter, but as you can see, I don't like doing half-hearted work. So yeah, it's not over yet.
Unfortunately, I already know some people are gonna drop a 1-star review, complaining about the "slow pace" or saying "one fight took five chapters" and all that blabla.
Anyway, I still hope I can count on your power stones!