The more I learned about Genosha, the more it disgusted me.
David Moreau—supposedly the feared Genegineer, the mastermind behind the twisted modifications of Meta abilities—was nothing more than a power-hungry tyrant with delusions of grandeur. He wasn't some brilliant scientist like Sugar Man. No, he was just a lunatic with a stolen ability and a crown he didn't deserve.
Sebastian leaned against the war table; arms crossed. "So, let me get this straight. He's a Meta himself, but he still enslaves his own kind?"
I smirked, though there was no humor in it. "Oh, it gets better. He 'denies' being one. Acts like he's some god among men while chaining up anyone with powers."
Callisto, standing nearby, let out a sharp laugh. "Sounds like HYDRA with a crown."
"Exactly," I said, tapping the map of Genosha spread before us. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if he's got a secret handshake with them. Same ideology, same cruelty—just a different flag."
The civil war on Genosha was a mess. The government forces had the upper hand—better training, better equipment, better health. The Genosha Liberation Force (GLF) was holding its own, but they weren't the only rebels in play. And that was the problem.
"The GLF is the only faction that isn't drowning in racism," I muttered. "Every other rebel group? They're just as bad as Moreau. Human supremacists, Meta-haters—pick your poison."
Sebastian scowled. "So, let me guess. They'd rather keep fighting each other than actually 'free' the damn island?"
"Pretty much." I exhaled sharply. "Genosha's a twisted little mirror of America—majority Caucasian, racism baked into the foundation. And somehow, despite everything burning around them, people still think it's fine to be bigots."
Callisto's lip curled. "Idiots."
"Worse than idiots," I corrected. "Because they know they're suffering, and instead of fixing it, they just pass the hatred down… the usual ploy to grab the power for themselves," My fingers tightened into a fist. "When we land, that ends. Permanently."
Sebastian raised a brow. "You're planning a purge."
"No…That words are rather too strong, I'm planning a reset." The words came out cold, final. "Genosha's going to burn, one way or another. Might as well make sure what rises from the ashes isn't rotten."
The last week of November 2004 marked the beginning of the end. Three hundred Metas stood ready—handpicked, trained, and divided into three specialized units. Medics. Logistics. Soldiers. Each group's powers tailored to their role. And not a single one under twenty.
Callisto surveyed them with a critical eye. "You sure about this? No kids on the front lines?"
I didn't look away from the armory where the final preparations were being made. "They've bled enough. This war isn't theirs to fight."
Besides, if numbers were the concern? I had more than enough. A million Shadows, remnants of my time in YGGDRASIL, lurked in the darkness, waiting. Not to mention the HYDRA soldiers I'd repurposed.
Sebastian strapped on his gauntlets, grinning. "We could steamroll this whole war in a day if you wanted."
"Probably." I smirked. "But where's the fun in that?"
The Meta soldiers were armored in sleek, black combat suits—designs inspired by Deathstroke's gear, but enchanted to near-indestructibility. Bulletproof. Element-proof. Enhanced strength, reflexes, even mental resistance.
The helmets were standard issue, though.
"PR move?" Sebastian asked, tapping one.
I nodded. "Two hundred of our soldiers don't look human. The helmets make them soldiers first, Metas second."
Callisto crossed her arms. "You really think that'll matter when the bullets start flying?"
"It's not for them," I said. "It's for the people watching. For the ones we're saving."
A silence settled over us, heavy with the weight of what was coming.
Sebastian cracked his knuckles. "So. When do we start?"
I looked toward the horizon, where Genosha waited—rotting, bleeding, begging for fire.
"Now."
The air hummed with tension as three hundred Meta soldiers stood at attention, their armored forms gleaming under the artificial lights of the staging area. I studied them—each one handpicked, each one ready to rewrite history.
This is it.
"Listen up!" My voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. Every head snapped toward me, eyes burning with determination. "We hit Hammer Bay the moment we arrive. The GLF's holding the line, but they're drowning. And we?" I smirked. "We're the storm that's about to wash this island clean."
A ripple of grim satisfaction passed through the ranks. These weren't just soldiers—they were revolutionaries. Survivors. People who'd been spat on, hunted, and called freaks for powers they never asked for.
One of them, a broad-shouldered woman with crystalline skin, hefted her rifle. "What's the play, Your Highness?"
I tapped the high-tech goggles around my neck. "Chaos. That's what's waiting. GLF's our only friendly mark—everyone else? Assume they'll shoot first." I slid the goggles on, the HUD flickering to life with targeting vectors. "These'll keep you from putting a bullet in the wrong head. But make no mistake—anyone pointing a weapon at you is the enemy."
Sebastian materialized at my side, rolling a [Mass Teleport Scroll] between his fingers. "And if they surrender?"
My smile didn't reach my eyes. "They won't."
A murmur. Then a voice from the back: "Why are we doing this? Really?"
The room stilled. I turned to face a young man—early twenties, scars tracing his jawline. His eyes weren't afraid. Just... tired.
"Because the world needs to see," I said, slow and deliberate. "See that Metas didn't take this island—we freed it. That we're not monsters. Just people with different tools." My gauntleted fist clenched. "And if a few racist bastards learn that lesson the hard way?" A shrug. "Collateral damage."
Something shifted in their posture. Shoulders straightened. Jaws set.
I raised my voice to a roar. "This is our war! For a land where no Meta hides! Where no child dies for a power, they didn't choose! Be swift! Be ruthless! FOR THE FUTURE!"
Three hundred voices shook the walls: "FOR THE FUTURE!"
Sebastian ripped the scroll.
---
At the heart of the Hammer Bay Industrial District, a GLF Encampment stood strong amidst the heavy assaults, bullets whined through the air as Melisa Connor ducked behind a crumbling concrete barrier. The stench of burning rubber and blood clung to her nostrils.
"God, not like this. Not when we're so close—Aron!" She grabbed the lizard-like Meta by his vest. "South perimeter?"
"Breached!" His forked tongue flicked nervously. "Press Gang's got flamethrowers. Magistrates are shelling the north!"
Melisa's knuckles whitened around her pistol. The GLF's defensive circle tightened around the makeshift shelter housing their non-combatants—children, the elderly, the wounded. All watching with wide, terrified eyes.
One little girl clutched a stuffed bear, its fur matted with soot. Just like her own daughter had, before the death squads came.
'No. Not again.' She whirled to her fighters—a ragtag mix of humans and Metas, all bleeding, all exhausted. "Prince Promised reinforcements! Hold the—"
"
A shockwave knocked everyone to their knees. At the camp's center, the very air ripped open. A pillar of blinding light speared the sky.
Melisa's heart stopped.
Then—boots. Hundreds of them, hitting the ground in perfect sync. Black-armored soldiers materialized like ghosts, weapons already barking. At their head, two figures: one wreathed in living shadow, the other crackling with barely-contained violence.
The prince had come.
"
My first bullet took a Press Gang enforcer between the eyes. The second and third shredded the flamethrower unit behind him.
"GLF! On your feet!" My voice boomed across the battlefield as my Shadows *surged* from the ground, disarming a dozen attackers in seconds. "Today's the day you stop dying—and start winning!"
Melisa staggered up; her one good eye wide. "You... you actually came."
I tossed her a fresh rifle. "Told you I would."