SmilinKujo
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Chapter 67 – Eyes of the World
🕑 Added 2025-04-11 12:05:47 +0000 UTCThe World Security main meeting room was locked in a silence so sharp it could slice steel.
Dozens of high-ranking leaders, generals, and aides sat at the roundtable or stood in flickering hologram form. The hum of overhead monitors and the slow tick of satellites scanning Earth's atmosphere were the only sounds. But the tension was a living thing—thick, pulsing, afraid.
At the center of the room, Professor Charles Xavier is calm and composed, surrounded by a cluster of floating screens. His image was stable, his voice even, but the edge of judgment cut through every syllable.
“As a show of good faith,” Xavier began, “I’ve chosen to share with you our satellite feeds. What you are about to see is far clearer than anything your current technology can render.”
The screens around the room flickered—then sharpened. A hush rippled through the council as five crystal-clear video feeds materialized in sync. Each one tracked a different missile, each zeroing in on Krakoa from five vectors.
The clarity was staggering. The contrast, the detail—down to heat signatures and vapor trails—made even the latest military imaging tech look outdated by comparison.
Xavier’s tone darkened slightly. “And now, I will show you… what your votes have led us to.” No one dared speak. The feeds played simultaneously.
The first missile, from the north, surged toward Krakoa’s outer reef. But before it could reach terminal range, a concentrated beam of fire struck from below, wrapped in a cyclone of wind. In a brilliant display of natural and elemental power, the projectile detonated mid-air, the explosion bending harmlessly outward over the ocean.
The room gasped. “Sunfire,” Xavier said, “and Ororo Munroe.” On the opposite end of the table, Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama of Japan crossed his arms, watching the feed with silent pride.
“Our registered meta, Sunfire, was already authorized by the Japanese government to participate in this X-Men private mission,” he said calmly. “And as this event took place over international waters, we found it appropriate to let the X-Men coordinate with the U.S side.”
He glanced at the rest of the panel, especially France and the U.S. “We are under no obligation,” he continued, “to notify the entire world of our country’s meta movements.”
The French delegate—President Sarkozy—grimace. “And this is why it is hard to trust you.”
Hatoyama raised an eyebrow. “My vote not to launch the missile made our stance clear. I do not recall ever electing you as my supervisor.”
A few aides shifted nervously. General Ross slammed a fist lightly on the table, preparing to interject—BOOM. The second feed lit up.
The western missile had been intercepted—this time by a dazzling fusion blast, spiraling with red and white energy. The impact had been caught mid-air, and even through the feed, the aftershock was breathtaking.
“Scott and Alex Summers, with assistance from Petra and Bobby Drake,” Xavier narrated, voice almost reverent. “What you saw was a fusion of kinetic optic energy and plasma discharge.”
Ross clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Xavier’s eyes flicked toward the last three feeds. “Now,” he said, voice sharpening. “All that remains is the south, east, and southeast.”
The screens zoomed out, tracking three more projectiles, each screaming through the atmosphere.
And as the room held its collective breath, somewhere far above the clouds… Jack Hou was waiting.
…
One of Jack Clones stood confidently atop his drifting cloud, the vast expanse of blue stretched out beneath him. In his grip was the colossal 50‑meter-long, thick Ruyi Jingu Bang—wielded not as a weapon of war but as if it were a well-worn baseball bat. His smile was wide and mischievous as he prepared to face the incoming missile.
Like a lunatic, he split his voice into two distinct tones, as if the universe had provided him with his very own sports commentary.
“Voice 1: And here comes our batter—standing tall on Cloudy’s diamond, the one and only Jack ‘Home-Run’ Hou!”
“Voice 2: That’s right, folks! Look at that stance—pure perfection! His grip on the Jingu Bang is tighter than a closing pitch in the ninth!”
The missile blazed through the sky, its fiery tail marking it as a fastball straight from the enemy’s bullpen. The clone’s eyes sparkled with determination.
“Voice 1: Oh, but here it comes—the missile is coming in hot, a real heater, folks! Can our handsome slugger connect?”
“Voice 2: I’m telling you, this batter is so super handsome that the stadium is empty—every woman in the bleachers is already passed out from pure admiration!”
The missile’s trajectory was nearly on-target as it drew dangerously close. With a swift motion, Jack Clone swung his giant staff in a graceful, powerful arc. The impact was monumental—a resounding crack split the air as the Ruyi Jingu Bang connected with the missile.
Collision. BOOM.
A shockwave erupted from the point of contact. The missile shattered into a dazzling spray of fragments and molten metal, debris scattering across the sky like confetti at a victory parade. The kinetic energy from the impact rippled outward, bending clouds and distorting the bright blue canvas overhead.
The force was so intense that even the drifting clouds around the clone shuddered in response. For an instant, the space between heaven and earth lit up with a burst of explosive light, and the silence of the expanse was replaced by the roar of power.
Back in the S.H.I.E.L.D. World Security meeting room, the array of holographic screens displayed the astonishing spectacle with stunning clarity. The world leaders and military strategists watched in stunned silence. They saw, clear as day, the missile disintegrated mid-flight—destroyed by what appeared to be nothing more than a well-placed baseball swing.
A low murmur rippled through the room as the screens zoomed in on the spectacle. One official muttered, “That… was almost too… comical.” Another added, “It’s like the missile was hit out of the park by sheer charisma.”
None of them could hear the clone’s commentary—but the vivid imagery on the display told the tale. Jack Clone had intercepted the missile with the air of a superstar play, turning an act of high-stakes defense into a moment of uproarious, defiant joy.
And high above, the clone laughed—a deep, triumphant laugh that echoed across the void as the remnants of the missile scattered into stardust, a stark reminder that even in the face of impending doom, irreverence and style could make a difference.
…
High above the chaos of missiles and shattered clouds, a second Jack clone—the one assigned to the southeast vector—rode his cloud in quiet contemplation. His expression was solemn, almost pensive. In his mind, memories of Jack’s past life as a gangster drifted unbidden.
Back then, a gang lieutenant would settle differences with rough and ready brawls—a savage language of fists rather than the high-stakes diplomacy of modern mutant warfare. Yet even among thugs, there was a code, a form of civilized resolve. Now, as he soared in isolation, he wondered silently, why had they decided to strike first and speak later?
A subtle tremor ran through the cloud beneath him, as if it too sensed his inner turmoil. “Oh,” he murmured, “are we there?” His voice was quiet—a low echo amid the billowing atmosphere.
Before him, the approaching missile loomed—a fiery projectile cutting through the thin air, intent on devastation. With a deep, measured breath, the clone spoke again, his tone resolute. “Alright, take me up, could you?” At his command, the cloud surged upward, climbing higher than the missile’s altitude until they hung almost at the edge of the stratosphere.
Drawing upon his inner strength, he extended his hand and grasped the massive Ruyi Jingu Bang. In a deliberate, fluid motion, he swept the staff through the air, tracing a complex barrier—a pattern etched in energy and ancient intent. Within the intricate swirling line, he guided the missile as if it were a stray comet.
Then he chanted softly, invoking a body-freezing spell that merged seamlessly with the barrier. Time inside the drawn circle gradually stilled, the missile's relentless momentum halted, locked in stasis as if suspended in a moment outside of time.
A soft, almost wistful smile touched the clone’s lips as he regarded his handiwork. “I know I can combine things,” he whispered to himself—a quiet affirmation amid the relentless storm of battle.
His mind drifted briefly to his earlier conversation with Krakoa and the promise to plant a peach tree. That memory, filled with possibility and renewal—“I can make it, as long as I have the base. I’ll shape the rest”—resonated deeply with him. In that silent moment, he resolved to forge something uniquely his own, separate from the influences of his master and the weight of his past.
As if responding to his internal vow, his energy flared. One by one, delicate peach blossom petals began to form around him, glimmering like scattered stardust. They multiplied quickly—first a single petal, then another, until soon the entire sky was awash with soft pink hues, drifting in slow, mesmerizing spirals.
Raising his voice in a low, rhythmic chant, he recited a sutra his master once taught him. “All things that fall from heaven… can rise again with grace.”
The petals responded as if stirred by divine will. They drifted closer to the suspended missile, swirling around it in a hypnotic dance. Each petal acted like a finely honed blade, slicing through the missile’s steel shell, severing connections and fibers until its very core was rendered vulnerable.
Then, with perfect timing, the clone unsealed the area—undoing the time freeze that had held the missile captive. Suddenly, the missile erupted in a massive, cataclysmic explosion. The force of the blast sent shockwaves rippling across the seas, yet the clone remained utterly composed.
He watched the explosion unfold, his expression unchanging and solemn—a quiet witness to the power he had harnessed. In that single, explosive moment, he embodied both the fury of his past and the serene resolve of his new path.
…
High above the fractured horizon, the main Jack stood on his cloud—a swirling platform of freedom and mischief. Today, he felt every emotion. The sadness of Krakoa’s past, the wild cheerfulness of his first clone, and the somber reflection of his other self. Now, as the missile loomed ever closer, Jack grinned with that maddening blend of irreverence and bravado.
He adjusted his stance, tapping his left ear where his earring usually marked a moment of connection. With a flourish, he drew the colossal Ruyi Jingu Bang—its polished surface gleaming—and took a dramatic throwing stance.
For a split second, though, he looked the wrong way, and his foot slid backward as if he’d misread the play. The missile, an inferno streaking through the sky, roared past him—its proximity marked by the sound of a rushing wind as it whizzed narrowly by.
Undeterred, Jack’s eyes narrowed. In a flash of madness he enlarged his staff to epic proportions, reminiscent of an Olympic javelin thrower gathering every ounce of kinetic promise. He leaped off the cloud in one fluid, audacious motion.
As the staff sailed through the sky, Jack landed directly on it, balancing as if the world itself had been choreographed for this moment. The trajectory of his airborne weapon now aligned perfectly with the incoming missile.
Jack turned to face it, adopting a fierce punching stance. With a maniacal cackle—“kekekekeke”—he lunged forward and delivered a punch so explosive that it sent a thunderous shockwave across the sky. The missile erupted in a brilliant, shattering—BOOM. Fragments scattered into the sky as if time itself shuddered in response.
The force of the collision was so cataclysmic that it launched Jack upward like a firecracker. Yet, his body remained unscathed—only his clothes had become ragged remnants, clinging to him in tattered strings that barely covered anything. Exposed against the sky, his prized manhood hung free, while his eyes shone a fierce, golden intensity.
Unwilling to let the moment slip into solemnity, Jack thrust both middle fingers skyward in a salute of defiance, and roared with a wild chuckle, “Kekekekeke—One can defeat a missile by punching it. Trust me—I tried, KEKEKEKEKE!”
…
Far below in the S.H.I.E.L.D. World Security meeting room, the live feed burst onto every screen. Officials and world leaders alike winced as they watched the surreal spectacle—a grown man, virtually naked except for the glint of cocky pride, celebrating his victory with nothing more than audacity and a punch.
Professor Xavier’s holographic presence flickered across the panel as he smirked. “Hah—looks like our technology isn’t advanced enough to spy on him.”
The image of Jack’s chaotic triumph—his irreverent middle fingers raised in mocking salute against the backdrop of defiance—lingered like a challenge. In that outrageous moment, the world was reminded that sometimes the most unpredictable forces could turn the tide of fate with nothing more than sheer, unbridled style.
Comments
Vrael333
Thx for the chapter :)
