SmilinKujo
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Chapter 68 – Songs of the Sky
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 06:35:57 +0000 UTCHigh above the swirl of clouds, one of Jack's clones zipped through the air with irrepressible glee. "Kekekeke! I made a home run, babyy!" he cackled, his laughter echoing like a wild cheer from an empty stadium. In stark contrast, his twin—quiet, serene, the picture of composure—glided steadily, his expression as calm as a monk in meditation.
Soon enough, the prime Jack arrived, landing gracefully on a cloud. He glanced around to take in the two contrasting clones, one casually cackling while lounging on the cloud's edge, legs swinging carelessly over the side, and the other sitting upright, legs crossed with the dignity of a proper man. Shaking his head with a wry smile, Jack mused aloud, "I guess I'm really crazy, huh?"
The happy clone interrupted with mischievous glee, "What's crazy is you, naked, man! You know the satellite's got your dick on full display, right?"
"Shut up!" Jack retorted, a grumble mixed with affectionate annoyance. With a swift swipe of his finger, the clones dissipated into a flurry of golden light, leaving only himself behind.
Jack sighed, his mood shifting between amusement and reflection. He couldn't help but feel a surge of pride—his clone had broken through, developing a brand-new skill by combining a protective barrier with a freezing spell. The result? A dazzling freezing seal nestled within the barrier, an innovation both wild and wonderful that he needed time to digest.
He looked down at the drifting cloud beneath him and spoke as if it were an old friend, "Thanks, Cloudy. Should we cut our soul connection?"
The cloud shivered in response. Jack cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, "What? You want to keep the connection? Kekekeke!" Then, with a theatrical flourish, he leaned in to give the cloud a warm hug. "Let's make our journey one worthy of tales told beyond the heavens!"
His booming voice rang clear in the open sky, and after releasing the hug, he stepped back with a playful smirk. "Okay, but… what is your name then? I can't keep calling you Cloudy."
The cloud shifted and wavered, as if mulling over a response. "Whaaat? You don't have a name?" Jack teased. "Alright then Sir Floaty McFloa—"
Before he could finish, a playful zap of static energy cut him off. Jack laughed out loud, "Kekeke! Okay, okay…" He paused, racking his brain for a name that resonated with the airy spirit before him. Then, like a sudden inspiration carried on the wind, he smiled broadly.
"Zephyr!" he declared.
The cloud rolled gently as if accepting the name, its form softening with what Jack imagined was approval. Jack petted the drifting, newly christened Zephyr, his eyes gleaming with mirth and pride. "There we go," he said contentedly, "now our journey is truly one for the legends."
…
Aboard a high-altitude S.H.I.E.L.D. tactical VTOL transport, the interior thrummed with the low whine of engines and the muted chatter of equipment being double-checked. Black-clad soldiers sat along the interior, faces obscured by helmets and mission tension. This was a STRIKE team, handpicked and seasoned. Their mission? Investigate the anomaly that was the moving island.
Their captain stood near the rear of the troop bay, helmet under one arm, eyes narrowing as he received a fresh transmission over his comms. The message was crisp, clinical, and deeply frustrating.
He clicked off the channel. "Great," he muttered under his breath, voice laced with acid. "Fuckin' hell. Of course they'll be hostile now."
One of the operators to his left perked up. "How bad is it, Captain? Our mission compromised?"
The captain ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and gave a bitter laugh. "Compromised? No. But those fat fucks in the World Council—half of whom couldn't jog a mile if their life depended on it—just launched missiles at the damn island."
A few helmets turned in unison. "They did what?" someone asked.
"Yeah. Five of them. Failed. All five intercepted mid-air. And now we're supposed to 'continue the investigation' like it's business as usual."
A younger soldier—fresh-faced and too clean—spoke up. "So… possible combat scenario?"
An older operative scoffed. "Yeah, no shit, boot. Missile strike equals war greeting. We're landing on a moving island of metas who probably think we're the clean-up crew."
The captain turned to the group, strapping his helmet back on with a hard snap. "Ten minutes to drop. Gear up. Safety off, but no hair triggers. We go in calm, professional. We're not here to start a war—but be damn sure we're ready if one finds us."
The cabin dimmed slightly as the rear door hissed shut, and the STRIKE team shifted into action. Harnesses clicked, rifles loaded, breaths held.
Because on the other side of the cloud curtain… Krakoa was waiting.
…
The World Security Council was in chaos.
Dozens of holographic projections lit up the circular chamber like a neon bonfire—prime ministers, presidents, military leaders, and intelligence directors, all yelling over one another in a cacophony of blame and backpedaling.
"We should've known this was a provocation—"
"Your veto delayed the scramble—"
"Why didn't S.H.I.E.L.D. detect the anomaly earlier—?"
"You told us the island is a threat!"
On the central platform, Nick Fury stood still, jaw clenched, arms crossed, silent as the eye of a growing storm. The conversation—if it could still be called that—had spiraled far beyond diplomatic formality.
And then came the last straw. "We'll let the STRIKE team continue the recon mission," announced the British Prime Minister, voice clipped and resolute. "We need boots on the ground, now more than ever. The world has to know what's truly on that island."
Fury's eyes narrowed. His fingers flexed against the polished surface of the desk. "You want my men," he said slowly, each word weighted like lead, "to keep running a field mission… after what you just fucking did?"
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. The French President scoffed. "Director, watch your tone."
Fury slammed both fists on the table, hard enough to rattle the feed. "Fuck my tone! Most of you couldn't hold your positions without kissing someone's ass, and now you've got the nerve to lecture me?"
"Director—" someone started.
"You voted—voted—to drop five island-class destroyer missiles on an unknown island with living people on it. And now you want to act like this is just another routine recon job?"
"Perhaps," said Pierce, speaking coolly from his place at the table, "we should acknowledge something deeper. As much as I disagree with Director Fury's colorful approach… I agree with his message."
Fury looked over, surprised.
"This council," Pierce continued, tone calm and cutting, "has done nothing but sabotage S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reach, capacity, and influence for years. As a former director of this agency, I support a motion—an official one—to reform the very shape of this council."
Murmurs turned to stunned silence. "Reform?" said the Saudi Prince, raising a brow. "You're suggesting restructuring the entire World Council?"
"Damn right," Fury snapped, stepping forward. "I stand with that motion. I'll say it plain. Your votes? Your meddling? Your bureaucracy? It's done nothing but fuck up everything I and my teams work for."
President Obama, quiet until now, finally spoke. "Then how do you propose we restructure it?"
Fury didn't hesitate. "Cut the fat. Strip the whole thing down. No more puppet seats for generals. No more career politicians using this table for pissing contests. Get rid of every government-tied voting member and purge the council of all bureaucratic bullshit. Keep only operational experts and intelligence veterans who actually know what they're talking about."
Uproar. Dozens of voices shouted over each other. Cries of overreach. Accusations of mutiny. National defense ministers throwing diplomatic tantrums. Presidents demanding order. Delegates calling for votes of no confidence.
Fury stood in the storm, unmoving, unmoved. "I don't give a shit what titles you wear," he said above the noise. "If you voted to bomb that island without knowing what or who was on it—then you have no business being part of the world's protection."
The fire had been lit. And the council would burn or rebuild—depending on who survived the fallout.
…
The VTOL transport descended with military precision, kicking up white sand and salt air as it touched down along the outer shore of Krakoa. The rear hatch dropped open with a hydraulic hiss, and the STRIKE team moved with practiced ease.
Boots hit the beach—twelve sets in perfect rhythm, each step sinking slightly into the soft, pale sand. Weapons were up, sensors active. Formation tight. Tension high. The Captain stepped forward, gaze sweeping the dense green jungle ahead. But something strange happened the moment their boots touched the sand.
The forest moved. Not violently—not with hostility—but like a living creature gently shifting in its sleep. Trees bent and slid aside, vines pulled upward, and flowers rotated their faces toward the sun. Before the soldiers' eyes, the terrain rearranged itself, revealing a clear, wide path leading directly toward the heart of the island.
The Captain muttered, "Island's sentient, alright. Knows we're here." He raised a hand. "Eyes open. Stay sharp. We move."
They advanced, boots crunching over softened soil, shoulders tight, rifles trained in all directions. The canopy above offered strange glints of colored light. Despite the beauty, they were trained for the worst. Unknown biosphere. Unknown threat.
Then they heard it. A sound on the wind. "Kekekekeke…" A laugh. Faint. Teasing. Impossible to tell where it came from.
"Did you hear that?" one soldier muttered. "Yeah," said another. "What the hell was that?" As they crept forward, the trees parted again. This time, it wasn't more forest—it was a clearing, and in the middle of it, floating above a patch of flower petals and lounging casually on a fluffy, low-hovering cloud, was a man. A very familiar man. Jack Hou.
Golden eyes gleaming, wild hair tossed by the breeze, wearing what looked like an oversized X-Men trainee shirt that hung off one shoulder and draped down to his thighs… and absolutely no pants.
He was juggling flower petals with the wind and idly kicking his feet over the side of the cloud like a kid on a swing. "Oh hey~ officers," Jack chirped, waving lazily. "How's your day? Mine's good. Y'know, punched a missile an hour ago. Classic day."
The Captain froze, eyes narrowing. "Jack…?" The team raised their weapons instinctively, eyes scanning, expecting an ambush. But Jack just smiled wider, tilting his head as the petals danced around his hands like butterflies. "Yep, that's me," he said. "Golden menace, Handsome Slugger, Cloud Dad™—all the titles, really."
The Captain's voice went harder. "Where are the others?"
Jack blinked innocently. "Oh, they left just now. Said they'll come back to 'iron out the details' with Krakoa, whatever that means. Also—" he lifted a hand and pointed at his lower half "—they said they'd bring me clothes. Which I would really appreciate, by the way. Got any spare pants?"
The STRIKE team was stunned. They had been prepped for war. For ambushes. For mutants gone rogue. What they got instead was Jack Hou, possibly the most dangerous being alive, floating half-naked on a cloud like a mischievous deity dressed from the waist up in borrowed X-Men merch.
One of the soldiers whispered, "Is this a… joke?" Another muttered back, "I don't know what the fuck this is." The Captain stared at Jack, speechless for a beat.
Jack flashed his teeth in a grin, arms wide like a magician presenting the grand finale. "Welcome to Krakoa," he said. "You're just in time for tea and emotional breakthroughs."
…
The Xavier Mansion was quiet.
The lights of the hologram projection room dimmed one by one, fading into silence as Charles Xavier turned away from the circle of flickering world leaders now shouting blame instead of taking responsibility. He left before he said something he couldn't take back.
He moved slowly through the polished corridors of his school, the echoes of boots and arguments trailing behind him like a ghost. His mind churned.
What's happening to me? he thought. I used to be better at this. Calm. Measured. But… they knew. They knew my family was there. And they still launched those missiles.
He stopped by the large bay windows of the west wing, sunlight creeping gently across the floor. His reflection stared back at him, tired and thoughtful.
First they divided me and Erik. Now they threaten us again—with fear. With fire. He sighed, voice a whisper. "Do you think… what Jack Hou did can be a guide for us? For mutantkind?"
A soft voice answered beside him. Moira MacTaggert stood there, hands in her coat pockets, eyes equally tired but steady. "It's normal to feel emotional, Charles," she said gently. "It doesn't make you weak. And it doesn't undo our progress toward peaceful coexistence."
Xavier nodded faintly. "But I see Jack Hou—doing everything his way. Breaking the rules. Punching missiles. Turning war into laughter. And still… somehow, he moves the world." He looked down at his hands. "And here I am—still playing diplomat. Still asking for the world to listen, while they aim to silence us."
Hank McCoy stepped out from the shadow of a bookshelf behind them, folding his arms. "Are you implying," he said cautiously, "that violence might be the solution to our mutant dilemma?"
Xavier turned to face him. "No. Not violence. What I'm saying… is that we may need to evolve, too. Not just politically. Ideologically." He placed a hand to his chest. "We adapt, as we always have. But we must do it without betraying what we believe in. Without compromising the soul of what makes us X-Men."
Just then, a low rumble echoed through the mansion. The underground hangar's roof panels began to part, letting in a golden slice of afternoon sun that crept across the hangar floor. The Blackbird descended. As it touched down, students and staff began to gather, pouring in to help. The sleek ramp dropped, and the first team, bruised but alive, emerged.
Logan led the way, carrying Jean Grey carefully in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, unconscious but stable. Hank immediately moved forward, and Xavier followed in step as they made for the medbay.
Behind them, John Proudstar and Colossus took charge of the rest of the squad, guiding them through a triage corridor where Moira and her team were already setting up medical scans.
Further back, Ororo Munroe and Sunfire exchanged a nod, and without ceremony, Ororo took to the skies once more, she took the Blackbird, intending to personally return Shiro to Japan.
Even in peace, the world was moving. The cracks had deepened. But somehow, everyone survived the fire. And somewhere far away, on a living island and riding a cloud, a golden menace had punched fate in the face… and made the world watch.
Comments
Vrael333
I can’t believe Jack showed his willy to the world leaders xD Thx for the chapter :)
Eonwe
Tftc
