The silence in the X-Mansion's conference room was heavy, charged with the tension that precedes a storm. Tony Stark, now out of his armor, studied the healing potion vial with the intensity of a scientist facing the discovery of the century. His fingers traced the outline of the glass as he analyzed the golden liquid pulsing with a soft, constant light.
"Truly fascinating," Tony murmured, more to himself than to the others present. "The luminescence is intrinsic to the substance, doesn't require an external power source. But explain it to me better - how does this energy work? Where does it come from?"
Kael took a deep breath before answering, feeling the weight of the responsibility. Explaining his nature was always a challenge.
"There is a complete dimension inside me, Stark. A spiritual realm as real and tangible as this room. When I summon my troops or items, I'm not creating something from nothing - I'm bringing into this world something that already exists on another dimensional plane."
He then focused specifically on the Spell Factory, remembering a crucial detail. "The Factory's description mentions it's tended by Wizards who prefer alchemy to combat." He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating, and with a soft sound of displacing air, a Wizard from his village materialized in the center of the room.
The Wizard wore a blue robe with a hood that partially concealed his features, his hands wreathed in arcane energy ready to launch the fireballs that were his specialty. His experienced eyes, visible beneath the hood, examined Tony with intellectual curiosity.
"A truly impressive beard!" the Wizard commented, addressing Tony with genuine interest. "And the mustache - perfectly symmetrical and groomed, worthy of an archmage!"
Tony laughed, visibly flattered by the unexpected compliment. "Thank you! And I must say I love the... hood. Very practical for hiding expressions during those complicated spells, I imagine."
Kael interjected quickly: "Wizard, do you have any knowledge of how the Healing Potions are produced in the Spell Factory? The alchemical processes involved in their creation?"
The Wizard shook his head with genuine regret. "Unfortunately not, my Architect. The Wizards who dedicate their lives to the Spell Factory are... reclusive. They prefer the company of their bubbling cauldrons and ancient tomes to the noise and glory of the battlefield. They guard their secrets with almost religious zeal."
Kael thanked him with a respectful gesture and unsummoned the Wizard, who disappeared as smoothly as he had arrived.
"It was worth a try," Kael said to Tony, who was still processing the apparition. "It seems some secrets are beyond even my immediate access."
"Don't worry," Tony replied, storing the vial with reverent care. "This sample alone is priceless. The medical possibilities... revolutionary."
He was beginning to say his goodbyes, extending his hand to Kael, when the young mutant interrupted abruptly, his expression turning serious.
"Professor," said Kael, his voice low but laden with urgency, "my Archers detect hostile movement approaching from the east and north flanks. Tactical movement, professional."
The tension in the room increased instantly, almost palpable. Cyclops straightened his shoulders, his hand going instinctively to his ruby quartz glasses. Wolverine emitted a low growl, his adamantium claws partially extending with a sinister metallic sound.
Xavier closed his eyes for a moment, his face a mask of concentration. When he opened them, his expression was grave but resolute. "Kael, use your army to protect the mansion and everyone inside it. But, if possible... try to avoid unnecessary loss of life. Many of these men are just following orders."
Kael nodded, his eyes glazing over for a moment as his consciousness connected with the surveillance network he had established. Through his senses shared with the Level 6 Archers, he saw - with crystal-clear perception - the scenes unfolding in the forest.
Arrows flew silently from treetops, trunks, and perfectly camouflaged hiding spots. They didn't aim for hearts or throats, but for the weapons in the invaders' hands, the communication cables on their equipment, the straps of their rifles. Men shouted in surprise as their weapons were torn from their hands by arrows that pinned them to trees. Others fell to the ground, immobilized by arrows that pinned their clothes to the ground without piercing skin. The accuracy was supernatural, the efficiency, frightening.
But then, even as his first line of defense neutralized the initial threat, Kael felt something bigger. A disturbance in the air, a tingling in his heightened senses that went beyond what his Archers could detect. And then he heard - with his superhuman hearing, sharpened by the Elixir flowing in his veins - distant but unmistakable and threatening sounds.
It was the deep, guttural roar of heavy diesel engines, the metallic, rhythmic grinding of giant robotic legs moving in unison. Many. Dozens, perhaps hundreds. And they weren't just coming from the ground - there was also the distinct whine of turbines, the characteristic sound of large unmanned aerial vehicles approaching.
"It's not just Stryker," Kael warned, his eyes widening, the seriousness on his face making even Tony Stark tense up. "It's Trask. Sentinels. Lots of them. And the regular army is coming with them - armored vehicles, infantry troops. This isn't a covert strike or a capture operation. It's... it's a full-scale invasion. A total assault."
Without hesitation, Kael stepped forward, toward the large conference room window overlooking the mansion's gardens. He raised his arms, and the air around him seemed to vibrate with contained power. Then, the summoning began.
It wasn't a simple gesture, but a massive wave of dimensional energy manifesting. The air in the mansion's gardens seemed to bend, ripple, and then solidify into living forms. Dozens of Barbarians appeared roaring, beating their shields and chests with contained fury. Giants rose like living towers, their impressive height overshadowing even the tallest trees, their massive presences physically blocking the approaches. Archers positioned themselves in precise formation on roofs and balconies, their arrows already nocked. Wall Breakers appeared with their characteristic bombs, ready to tear down fortifications. Battle Balloons hovered in the air, their baskets manned by determined skeletons. Wizards clustered together, hands glowing with arcane energy ready to launch their fireballs. And Healers hovered above it all, ready to heal the wounded, their bright wings casting a soft light over the chaotic scene.
As his Village army took position, Kael focused on another aspect of his power. He could feel the Magenta Elixir - the resource for real-time battles - burning within him, regenerating rapidly. On the mansion's flat roof, two Mortars materialized with a heavy thud that made the structure shake, their heavy bases echoing against the concrete. The cost of 8 Elixir was significant, momentarily draining his reserves, but necessary for long-range firepower. A few seconds later, with the Elixir rapidly regenerating under the stress of the imminent battle, a third Mortar appeared beside the others, its open mouth pointing toward the horizon.
"Tony, you should leave," said Kael, turning to Iron Man, his voice grave but fearless. "The enemies of my people are at the gates. This is not your fight. It's a war that has been fought for generations, and today is the day the battle lines have been drawn definitively."
Tony Stark looked at the horde of fantastic troops now occupying the gardens, at the determined and resolute faces of the X-Men, and then toward the direction of the approaching sounds that were now audible even to normal human ears - the growing whine of engines, the rhythmic impact of robotic footsteps.
"You've got to be kidding me," said Tony, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. He walked decisively toward his stationed armor. "I'm not letting a bunch of idiots with a God complex and scared generals attack a school full of children. And no," he added, entering the armor which closed around him with a smooth sound of parts locking into place, "I'm not going to 'do nothing'. Iron Man isn't known for standing aside when innocents are in danger."
The blue glow of the Arc Reactor in the armor's chest illuminated the room growing increasingly darker with nightfall. The armor assumed a combat stance, the palms of its hands glowing with the contained energy of repulsors.
Xavier, who had remained in contemplative silence, spoke with a voice that, though calm, echoed with unquestionable authority through the room. "X-Men, to your positions. Jean, Scott - lead the defense teams and ensure all students and youngsters reach the maximum security underground shelters. Storm, take air defense. Wolverine, Nightcrawler - perimeter defense and counter-attack. It's time to protect our home, our future."
As the X-Men spread out in an explosion of coordinated activity - a lethal ballet of years of training and teamwork - Kael closed his eyes again. For a crucial instant, his consciousness plunged into his Village. There, inside those precious seconds of real time that stretched into subjective minutes within his dimension, he made final adjustments. He repositioned troops in the camps, optimized production in the barracks, ensured resources were flowing. He wasn't just summoning an existing army; he was preparing an ever-evolving war machine.
Returning to the real world, his army was already moving with renewed purpose, their formations adjusting to the approaching threats. And then he saw them clearly: on the horizon, against the rapidly darkening sky, the threatening, angular shapes of the Trask Industries Mark II Sentinels approaching. They were larger than previous models, their contours more aerodynamic, their weapons more pronounced. Their silhouettes against the sky resembled mechanical vultures about to dive for the kill. Below them, army armored vehicles advanced along the access roads toward the property, their lights blinking like predatory eyes in the twilight.
And then he felt it - a distinct and powerful interference in the electromagnetic field around the mansion, a signature of power he recognized immediately. A solitary figure, hovering in the air at a safe distance, observing. Magneto. The Master of Magnetism wasn't hiding; his presence was a statement.
Kael couldn't help a dark, meaningful smile. Perhaps after today... the lines separating our peoples won't be so clear anymore. Perhaps, against this, there are no longer two sides, but just one people defending their right to exist. And the philosophy... well, the philosophy will be decided not in debate rooms, but by whoever is leading the battle when the dust settles.
The first laser shots from the Sentinels, bright red lines of energy, illuminated the night sky like artificial lightning. The sound of heavy machine guns and the shouted commands of soldiers echoed across the property. The battle for the X-Mansion, for the future of mutants, and possibly for the soul of humanity itself, had begun. And at the center of it all, surrounded by his otherworldly army, stood Kael - the Architect, the Engineer, the One-Man Army - ready to write his name into history.
The artificial tranquility of the X-Mansion's grounds was shattered by a symphony of destruction. The guttural roar of diesel engines competed with the dry thud of artillery and the agonizing, penetrating whine of lasers overloading the air. Kael strode through the interior halls with determined steps, his mind a whirlwind of tactical calculations. Through the shared connection with his Level 6 Archers, he saw flashes of the battle in shattered visions: ancient pine trees exploding into splinters, men shouting orders drowned out by the thunder of engines, and the sinister, angular shapes of Trask's Mark II Sentinels advancing against the night sky like mechanical gargoyles, their sensor eyes emitting an expressionless, deadly red glow.
The Magenta Elixir, the vibrant lifeblood of his spiritual village, burned in his veins like a raging river. It enhanced his physique, sharpened his senses, and was the key to his very existence, but it was not spent on his main army. That army was already outside, fighting. For new tricks, he needed a different resource, one that regenerated second by second within him, fueled by the adrenaline of the imminent total conflict.
Stopping for a moment in an empty hall, he closed his eyes. In his mind, he did not see the mansion, but the gleaming arena of P.E.K.K.A.'s Playground, a realm of battle cries and channeled energy. His Elixir—the resource for battle—began to drain rapidly.
With a sound of a dimensional tear and a sudden smell of grave dirt and burnt bone, a tall, gaunt figure materialized before him. The Witch. Her robes were a dirty, faded purple, and a wide-brimmed hat hid her eyes, from which only a pale, supernatural glow was visible. In her bony hands, she held a staff of gnarled wood, crowned with an animal skull. She was the embodiment of practical necromancy.
"The dead hear your call, Architect," the Witch whispered, her voice a dry rustle of dead leaves.
Kael nodded, no time for ceremonies. "Stay here. Build your army. When you have enough forces, join the battle outside."
The Witch inclined her head and immediately began to sway her staff. A circle of putrid, necrotic energy appeared on the marble floor before her. From it, not one, but four skeletons arose at once, their bones creaking, brandishing short, bony swords. They stood still, awaiting orders. The production was methodical, a death assembly line operating at regular intervals.
Without stopping, Kael continued toward the main entrance. His Elixir was already regenerating, refilling quickly. At its peak again, he channeled a different card, one of the most powerful at his disposal. The air in the grand entrance hall seemed to coagulate, heavy with the promise of pure, absolute violence. Then, with a dull, metallic impact that made the floor tremble and the main door windows vibrate like leaves in the wind, she appeared.
The P.E.K.K.A.
The warrior's blue-steel armor gleamed under the chandelier, her massive, imposing silhouette a monument to warlike power. From the slits of her gargoyle-head helmet, two points of purple light shimmered with contained fury. She did not utter a sound, but the simple act of her existing in that room imposed a respectful silence. In her hand, she held a broad, absurdly heavy sword, a blade designed not to stab, but to crush and shatter.
"P.E.K.K.A.," Kael's voice was a clear, calm order, a stark contrast to the warrior's presence. "Primary threats: the large robots. Destroy."
The points of purple light glowed more intensely. P.E.K.K.A. turned her heavy head towards the doors, sensing the vibration of the explosions outside.
But a constant pressure was needed. Before moving on, Kael focused. With a sound of splintering wood and shifting earth, two distinct buildings materialized in the entrance hall: on one side, the Goblin Hut, a ramshackle structure of wood and metal from which a Goblin Spearman already peered, his rusty spear ready; on the other, the Tombstone, a black, funerary stone dripping with necrotic energy, which began to release one skeleton every few seconds, slowly increasing the number of troops inside the mansion.
His Elixir filled once more. He didn't summon a large troop but began distributing a constant stream of pressure and support: a Skeleton Army, whose eight bony forms emerged, creaking and clattering around P.E.K.K.A.'s feet; then, the Guards, three smaller beings with large, blue shields nearly their own size, their small figures radiating unshakable determination; and finally, the Bats, a cloud of dark, flying creatures that appeared with a hissing beat of wings and hovered above them, ready to dive.
Now, he was ready.
With a mental gesture, P.E.K.K.A. moved, her metal feet echoing like anvils on the marble. Kael opened the main doors.
The scene outside was the closest thing to hell Kael had ever witnessed. The air was thick with the black smoke of burning vehicles and the metallic, sweet smell of ozone created by lasers. In the sky, Storm unleashed her fury, lightning tearing through the low clouds to strike the Sentinels, while she dodged a web of red energy beams. On the ground, Cyclops swept the enemy front line with his concussive optic blasts, knocking down soldiers and blasting paths through armored vehicles. Tony Stark, in his red and gold armor, was a vortex of movement, flying in a zigzag pattern between the larger robots, his repulsors firing with surgical precision against joints and sensors.
"P.E.K.K.A., advance!" Kael ordered.
The heavily armored warrior did not run; she marched. Each of her steps was a tremor in the ground. She completely ignored the human soldiers, her focus fixed on the larger mechanical forms that represented the true threat. A Sentinel, swiveling on its axis, fired a laser beam at her chest. The red light exploded against the blue steel, leaving behind only a faint scorch mark. P.E.K.K.A. didn't even slow down. With a lurch of surprising speed, she closed the distance. Her arm moved in a devastating arc, and a metallic, piercing shriek, like a mechanical war trumpet, echoed across the battlefield: "BUTTERFLY!"
The sword didn't cut; it pulverized. The Sentinel's torso simply disintegrated into a shower of molten metal, exposed wires, and vaporized plastic. The robot's lower legs wavered for a moment before collapsing uselessly. It was a demonstration of power so absolute that for a brief moment, the sound of battle seemed to diminish around her.
Kael didn't stop to admire it. His vision expanded, embracing the wider battlefield. His main Clash of Clans army was engaged. He saw his Giants, tall as living towers, being targeted by the cannons of advancing tanks. But then, he saw his unintentional tactical genius unfolding. His Guards, with their glowing blue shields, had positioned themselves in front of the Giants. The tank shells hit the magical shields with blinding explosions, but the Guards, though forced back a step, held. The shield, an impenetrable magical barrier, absorbed the impact completely, protecting the Giants behind them from that first crucial attack. It was the time the Giants needed. With roars of primordial fury that defied the noise of modern warfare, they closed the distance with giant strides and began to smash the armored vehicles with their gigantic fists, turning them over like toys and tearing off their turrets.
Meanwhile, the three Mortars on the mansion's roof thundered at regular intervals, their high-explosive projectiles falling on distant enemy positions with a characteristic whoomp, tossing soldiers and equipment into the air with mathematical and terrifying precision. The Archers, positioned on roofs and high branches, maintained a constant rain of deadly arrows, each finding its target with supernatural accuracy – armor joints, communication cables, sensor eyes.
But the Sentinels were the real problem. There were too many of them. Despite the efforts of Storm, Iron Man, and P.E.K.K.A.—who now turned to face another—their numbers were overwhelming. Kael saw one evade a lightning bolt, turn, and fire a volley of lasers towards Cyclops, who was forced to throw himself to the ground, the grass catching fire around him.
It was his turn.
Kael advanced. The energy of the Magenta Elixir coursed through his limbs, an internal fire that enhanced his speed and strength to superhuman levels. He aimed for a Sentinel that was repositioning to attack Storm from behind. With a roar, he exploded from the ground, his clenched fist connecting with the robot's hip joint with a metallic crash that echoed across the battlefield. The metal buckled under the superhuman impact, the leg bent at an unnatural angle, and the five-meter-tall Sentinel staggered and fell heavily to the ground, crushing a jeep beneath its weight with a crunch of flattened metal.
Before the downed robot could reorient and aim its weapons, Kael channeled more Elixir. With a sound of air being sucked into a furnace and a flash of light, a Giant materialized beside him, its face a mask of simple fury, already beating its chest and roaring at the sky. And then, right behind them, the air began to ripple with intense heat. A structure of dark, demonic-looking stone emerged from nowhere, topped by a device resembling an infernal eye. It was the Inferno Tower. A deep, threatening rumble emanated from it, not electrical, but the sound of an industrial furnace at its limit, of plasma being contained under extreme pressure.
The Sentinel on the ground raised its arm, its laser cannon charging with a high-pitched whine. The red beam fired, but it didn't hit Kael or the Giant. It went straight to the Inferno Tower. The structure seemed to absorb the attack, and the rumble increased to a hungry snarl. A thin beam of orange energy shot from the tower, locking onto the downed robot. For a second, the beam was constant, heating the metal, which began to glow cherry red. Then, the snarl became a deafening roar of released energy, and the beam intensified dramatically, becoming a concentrated, white jet of pure plasma. The Sentinel began to glow red, then yellow, and then, in the blink of an eye, the robot's entire torso melted, disintegrating into a bright pool of molten metal and slag. The Inferno Tower had done its work, its silent threat now a triumphant roar.
But the attack drew attention. Several other Sentinels turned, their targeting systems identifying the new, lethal static threat. Laser beams converged on the Inferno Tower.
"Protect the tower!" Kael shouted, his order echoing both mentally and aloud.
His Giant, obeying the primordial instinct to protect, courageously placed itself in front of the structure, its massive body absorbing the laser shots with muffled cries of pain and fury. Its wrinkled skin smoked and charred where the lasers hit, but it held firm, a bastion of flesh and bone against murderous technology.
Tony Stark saw the move. "I'll take the left! Keep them busy!" he vocalized through the armor's external speakers, flying in a fast arc to position himself on a flank. His repulsors and micro-missiles fired in rapid bursts, distracting and damaging the Sentinels trying to flank the tower's position. Cyclops, understanding the strategy immediately, began sweeping the Sentinels' legs with his optic blasts, knocking them down to make them easier, immobile targets for the Inferno Tower's plasma beam.
Kael felt his main army, the one he had summoned in the garden, decimating the human forces. The battle against Stryker's soldiers and the regular army was being won. The primordial urge to press the advantage, to hunt and annihilate the retreating enemy, burned within him like an ancient fire. It was the war logic of his village, the doctrine of Clash: total destruction. But then, he remembered Xavier's calm but firm words. "Many of these men are just following orders." He looked at the dirty, terrified faces of the young injured mutants being helped by others near the mansion's entrance. This was not his anonymous village on a spiritual plane. This was his home. And you do not stain your home with unnecessary bloodshed, no matter how justified it seems.
He took a deep breath, the acrid air of battle filling his lungs, and suppressed the instinct. The battle here was won. The enemy's retreat was a victory, not a failure.
And to secure that victory, to end the Sentinel threat once and for all, Kael acted. His Elixir was nearly full again, the emotional turbulence and flow of battle accelerating its regeneration. With two sequential flashes that briefly illuminated Cyclops's tired face, two more Inferno Towers materialized at strategic points in the garden, forming a deadly triangle of fire. The combined roar of the three structures was terrifying. The air became almost unbearably hot. Orange beams extended, finding targets, locking on, and then transforming into the white, purifying jets of plasma. It was a systematic slaughter. The Sentinels, one after another, were touched by the beam, heated until they became embers, and then reduced to steaming puddles of molten metal. The efficiency was horrifying and magnificent.
Their resistance broke. Under the coordinated fire of the Inferno Towers, the X-Men, and P.E.K.K.A.—who continued her path of destruction—the last operational Sentinels were obliterated. As the final one collapsed in a muffled explosion, a heavy silence began to descend upon the property, broken only by the crackle of flames and the moans of the wounded. The sound of engines was retreating. The army, and what remained of Stryker's forces, were in full, desperate retreat.
Kael turned and ran back to where most of the wounded were gathered. The air smelled of burning, ozone, blood, and charred flesh. Several of the younger X-Men, reserve team members who had joined the fight driven by courage and necessity, were lying down, moaning in pain from laser burns, shrapnel wounds, and broken bones.
He did not hesitate. From his personal reserve, he pulled a Healing Spell. But he did not give it to a single person. Instead, he threw it to the ground, in the center of the group of wounded. The vial broke, and instead of spreading, the dense, golden liquid vaporized into a bright, intensely curative mist that rapidly expanded in a large circular area, enveloping everyone within a ten-meter radius. It was the Healing Spell in its purest, most potent form, a blessing from his spiritual realm. Cuts closed before their eyes, terrible burns disappeared leaving behind new, healthy skin, and broken bones knitted together with a muffled grinding sound. Within seconds, the collective moan of pain was replaced by deep sighs of relief and looks of astonishment and gratitude directed at Kael.
It was then that he found Tony Stark. The man's armor was deeply damaged. Deep dents marked the chest and shoulders, the red and gold finish was scorched and scratched down to the base metal in several places. One of his shoulder plates was missing, revealing the complex, glittering circuitry beneath. The glow of the Arc Reactor in the center of his chest seemed an unshakable beacon on a shipwrecked hull.
"Looks like you decided to dance with everyone, Stark," Kael said, his voice hoarse from smoke and shouted commands.
Tony lifted the faceplate, revealing a face sweaty, smudged with soot, and etched with fatigue, but with a glint of respectful incredulity in his eyes. "You should see the other guy. Or, the other hundred." He looked at the three pools of molten metal that were Sentinels, then at the Inferno Towers that now hissed silently, their heat still radiating. "That... was a statement. You and your... apocalyptic theme park."
"They attacked my home," Kael replied simply, the most fundamental and powerful explanation that could exist.
Tony Stark nodded, a silent, profound understanding passing between them. He was not a mutant, he never would be. But today, in the line of fire, he had chosen a side, and that side was the defense of this house and the people in it. He looked around at the gathered mutants, young and old, then back at Kael, his expression turning uncharacteristically grave.
"Then let me make a statement of my own," Tony said, his voice firm, carrying the weight of his public persona. "What happened here today... the world needs to know. They need to see the cost of this fear, this hatred. I'll make sure they see it. And if you need back-up," he added, looking directly at Kael and then at Professor Xavier, "if any of you need help, you can count on me. Iron Man is in your corner."
Without another word, he closed his faceplate with a metallic click and took off, the sound of his thrusters a lone buzzing departure amid the post-battle calm.
The X-Men, exhausted but victorious, began to regroup and move towards the mansion, helping those who were still stunned. It was then that a shadow fell over them, not from one of Storm's clouds, but from a floating platform of polished metal.
Magneto descended smoothly, his crimson cape flowing dramatically behind him like a standard. He landed on the devastated ground, his boots making no sound on the charred grass. His eyes behind the classic helmet scanned the scene of destruction with an expression that was a complex mix of approval, bitterness, and a tinge of reborn hope. The silence that followed was as heavy and charged as the moments before the battle.
Kael broke the ice, a tired, cynical smile touching his lips. "You're late for the party. Again. Seems to be a habit."
Magneto laughed, a low, rough sound full of history. "The ruthless efficiency with which you handle your enemies, young Architect, never fails to surprise me. It is... inspiring." His gaze then passed over Kael, dismissing the remaining troops, and fixed on Professor Xavier, who had been brought by Jean Grey to witness the encounter, his chair floating smoothly over the uneven terrain.
The eyes of the two old friends and enemies met. Decades of ideological conflict, of fierce battles and fragile truces, of stubborn hope and deep despair, hung between them on that smoldering battlefield, in the sweet, metallic smell of mechanical death.
"Old friend," Magneto said, his voice losing some of its usual hardness, sounding almost... weary, but resonating with a solemn seriousness. "I think we need to talk."
Charles Xavier looked around. He saw the scorched, black earth, Kael's ghostly troops beginning to silently disappear, the bodies of the destroyed robots like fallen giants, and the faces of his students, bruised and dirty, but alive, united, and resilient. He looked at Eric, and in his deep blue eyes there was no trace of triumph or accusation, but a profound, sad, and clear understanding that the world had just changed.
"Yes, Eric," the Professor replied, his voice calm but firm, laden with the weight of the moment and the responsibility for the future that loomed ahead. "I think we do."
Just a question, Genosha or Krakoa? Or any other suggestions.