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Chapter 65 – Five Arrows
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 06:40:10 +0000 UTCThe wind shifted subtly, almost like it knew. Jack stood amidst the settling petals, eyes half-lidded, face turned to the sky. Somewhere, high above the clouds, death moved on silent wings. "Hey, Cloudy," he said softly, eyes flicking to the nearby bush of mist curling near the peach tree. "I need a ride."
The cloud quivered—clearly still hiding. Jack smiled. "It's okay. We won't meet anyone new. No strangers. No stares. Just you, me, and a sky full of fireworks."
The cloud hesitated for another heartbeat. Then slowly, gently, it drifted toward him—low and humble, as if gathering its courage. Jack hopped on and patted it with care. "Atta boy. Let's go save the world or whatever."
Inside the Blackbird, chaos was unfolding on the HUD screen. Five red indicators, labeled with different trajectories, all pointed one way, Krakoa. "Five missiles inbound," Scott announced grimly, watching the targeting display with hard eyes. "Different vectors. They're splitting to avoid anti-air."
Sunfire stepped forward, fire already simmering around his shoulders. "I'll take the north one. It's closest—I can catch it before it hits low altitude."
Then—"HEY X-TEAM!" Jack's voice boomed through the radio—no device, just his voice piercing through the hull like thunder with a grin. "I'll take south, southeast, and east! Don't wait for me!"
Before anyone could answer, a flash of purple and gold shot past the canopy—the blur of Jack riding his cloud like a war god on a storm, already veering toward the southeast sky with a streak of wind behind him.
Alex stared. "Well, guess that leaves us with west and northwest."
Scott nodded. "Alex and I will handle west."
Alex added, turning to Petra, "If you can boost us with some elevation, we can get into range faster. Then my brother and I can blast it from the sky."
John looked between the brothers. "You sure you two can handle it?"
Scott allowed himself a smirk. "We've been waiting for a reason to try our combo."
John grinned. "Alright. We'll leave west to you guys. Gotta admit—my powers are useless against a missile."
Logan shrugged. "Same here. But I can keep these kids from gettin' vaporized."
John nodded, clapping his shoulder. "Appreciate it, Logan."
Sunfire stepped to the open hatch, flames rising. "Then I'm heading north. Ororo, you coming?" A gentle wind curled around her in reply. "I am," Ororo Munroe said, her voice calm as ever. "John, you're with us." John gave a two-finger salute. "Got your back."
Scott turned one last time to the group. "Alright. Sunfire, Storm, John—take the north. Alex, Petra, and I will intercept the west. Logan, Bobby—you're with us as guards."
The air hummed with energy. Everyone had a role. Everyone moved. The X-Men scattered like arrows loosed from a single bow—into the wind, into the sky, into the unknown.
…
The wind raced past as Jack stood tall on his cloud, cutting through the sky like a comet made of storm and silk. The distant trail of a missile shimmered on the horizon, fast, burning, and deadly.
Jack didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, hands behind his back like a boy on a stroll. "Hey, Cloudy," he said, voice barely above the wind. "Can I make a request?"
The cloud rippled beneath his feet, shifting shape slightly—like a confused shrug in the sky. Jack grinned. "Connect with my soul for a sec. I wanna make a clone."
The cloud paused, trembled. Jack nodded slowly. "I know. I know. It's a weird ask. But think about it—just like my staff here—" He tapped the earring on his left ear. THWUMP. The Ruyi Jingu Bang materialized in his hand in an instant, extending with a shimmer of divine power. "—you're not a tool. You're a being. A spirit. A storm. My friend. If you're not connected when I split my soul, the clone won't get a Cloudy of their own." He gave a small smile. "I don't want them to fall."
The cloud trembled again. Then, slowly, it shifted—a gentle jolt coursing through Jack's spine like cool water running through roots. Jack chuckled. "Kekekeke… Of course. After we deal with the fireworks, I'll sever the link. No long-term leashes. Promise." He placed one hand on the cloud's surface. Then his eyes closed.
Inside the Soulscape
The wind was still. Jack stood inside the Main Temple of Mount Huaguo—his core. And now, within that sacred space, a new presence drifted freely. The Cloud. Its spirit form zipped through the rafters like a laughing breeze, circling around beams of light.
Behind it, the staff bounced after it in full pursuit—twisting, stretching, clearly enjoying the rare game of tag. Jack chuckled from the center of the hall. "Kekekeke... I know you're always lonely, but come on—don't bully the guest."
The staff slowed, twirling once, then drifted down with a soft, apologetic bop against the floor. The cloud buzzed above Jack's head, then vanished into the air.
Jack's eyes fluttered open.
He smiled. "Alright." He reached up, grabbed a single strand of his hair, and plucked it. Then, without hesitation—he bit it in half.
Poof. With a shimmer of peach-colored energy, two identical clones of Jack appeared beside him—each landing on their own miniature clouds, now alive with spirit and speed.
The real Jack pointed toward the sky. "Alright boys—missiles incoming. Let's see who can make the most spectacular takedown."
One of the clones cracked his knuckles. "Who's judging?"
Jack tilted his head toward the cloud. "Cloudy, obviously."
The other clone smirked. "Then I better make him proud. Or her. Or them. Honestly, still not sure."
"Kekekeke!" Jack laughed, lifting his staff. "South missile is mine. You two—take southeast and east."
The trio nodded in unison. And then they split apart, streaking across the sky like comets of rebellion, defiance, and divine chaos.
…
The air in the World Council War Room was already thick with tension when a new light shimmered into existence above the center console. A holographic projection formed—composed and unmistakably calm. Professor Charles Xavier.
The faces on the surrounding hologram panels lit up with alarm. Stryker stood abruptly, finger jabbing toward the projection. "You used your mutant power to spy on us, didn't you?"
Charles' gaze was sharp, almost amused. "I didn't have to. I have some of the brightest minds on my side. And your firewalls? Please. With our tech, even your highest clearance security is like a screen door in a hurricane."
General Ross slammed a hand on the table. "Just because you've got five years of tech ahead of the rest of the world doesn't mean you can strong-arm us, Xavier!"
Charles turned his head slightly, voice even colder. "Five years ahead in technology is the difference between spears and ballistic missiles, General. History says that's enough to change the world—over and over again."
Nick Fury raised a hand. "Enough. I invited him." He turned to Charles. "Say your piece."
"Thank you, Director Fury," Xavier replied, nodding politely before facing the rest of the council. "I've come to demand an explanation for the missiles you deployed against my team."
One of the world leaders spoke up defensively. "We didn't know your people were there."
Charles smiled, but it was devoid of warmth. "Oh sure. It's not like your so-called brand new, cutting-edge satellites could've missed a massive black jet parked above a moving island. Right."
President Sarkozy leaned forward, voice sharp. "And here I thought you wanted peace, Professor."
Xavier's expression hardened. "Don't mistake pacifism for submission. Just because I choose not to strike doesn't mean I won't defend."
Stryker scoffed. "You're no different than Magneto. Maybe it's time we treat you the same. Label the X-Men terrorists, raid your school, shut you down—"
Charles cut him off, voice like steel. "Let me remind you—the only thing standing between your nations and an all-out war with the Brotherhood is us. The X-Men. My students. My family."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Then President Obama finally spoke. "Let's just respect each other's perspectives. We all want a better world."
Xavier turned toward him. "Respect?" he echoed softly. "Since when have any of you respected us?" His tone sharpened, cutting through the room like glass.
"Because even now—this very second—there are experiments being performed on mutants in secret. Funded by your governments. Mutants in cages. In labs. In cold rooms with no names—just numbers."
He paused, letting the silence speak. "So let me ask you this…" His voice lowered, dark and clear. "When should we start respecting each other?"
Outside the hologram projection chamber, in a glass-lined corridor, Hank McCoy and Moira MacTaggert watched silently.
Hank adjusted his glasses. "Do you think… it was a bad idea accepting Fury's invitation? While Charles is still burning over the missile thing?"
Moira didn't look away. "They'll keep stomping on us, Hank. Again and again. We've seen what happens when we wait. When we ask for change."
She turned to him now, her expression unreadable. "We saw Jack Hou unleash hell on those who tormented Hell's Kitchen. Not with words. With force."
Hank sighed. "Don't even think about it."
Moira blinked, feigning innocence. "Think about what?"
"I know that tone. That pattern," Hank said, narrowing his eyes. "I know what you're about to say."
She smiled gently. "Maybe if Charles and Erik hadn't split… maybe we'd be in a different position."
"Different doesn't mean better," Hank murmured.
Moira looked back toward the room where Charles stood defiant before the world. "From where I'm standing, Hank… it absolutely does."
…
Far from Krakoa, beneath the ruins of an abandoned industrial district, a reinforced steel door groaned open. Stryker's assistant stepped inside, her heels echoing through the dark, red-lit corridor. The air was thick with sweat, metal, and power.
To her left, the ring was alive. Inside, Blob danced surprisingly agile on his feet, shadow-boxing a sparring dummy into pulp. Grunts and heavy thuds reverberated through the space.
Off to the side, Sabretooth hunched over a bloodied carcass—unidentifiable and not worth identifying—tearing chunks with lazy brutality.
As the woman passed, the mutants of the Brotherhood acknowledged her with nods, some even giving curt salutes. Despite her disguise, her presence commanded respect.
Finally, she reached a large sealed door. Pyro stood guard, leaning against the frame with a lit finger, toying with flame butterflies in the air. He glanced up. "He's waiting for you."
She nodded. Pyro opened the door with a hiss. Inside stood a figure of silent authority, magnetic energy humming faintly in the air. The shadows clung to his form, only retreating as the light gleamed off the polished surface of his helmet.
Magneto. He turned slightly as she entered. "Raven," he said, his voice rich with warmth. "Good to see you back."
Her form shimmered—flesh becoming blue, face sharpening into the familiar, sharp beauty of Mystique. "It's good that you heeded my words," she said, walking across the room with the casual grace of a serpent.
Magneto chuckled, resting his hands behind his back. "I trust the judgment of my most loyal side over false rumors meant to draw us out."
Mystique nodded. "It was indeed a trap. Stryker himself orchestrated it. An obvious one. But... there's something more interesting."
Magneto's eyes gleamed beneath his helmet. "Oh? Do tell."
"A month ago," she began, "Stryker went to Ross's base—in person. Unusual already. He claimed they'd captured a new kind of mutant. Something unlike anything they'd catalogued."
Magneto raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess… the newly crowned Prince of Crime, Jack Hou?"
Mystique blinked. "You already knew?"
Magneto chuckled. "Toad has been non-stop raving about him. Claims we should 'carve out our own piece of America while he's warming up the map.'" He smirked. "He's dramatic. But he's rarely wrong about threats—or opportunities."
Mystique leaned against a console. "Well, Jack didn't disappoint. As soon as he landed, he started dancing. Literally. Started singing 'It's Gonna Be Me' and twirling through the corridor like he was on Broadway."
Magneto paused. "NSYNC?"
"Yes." She shook her head, amused. "But that wasn't the disturbing part."
Magneto tilted his head.
"He stopped when he saw me. Not just a glance—he saw. Through every strand of my disguise. Every layer. It felt like he peeled my identity off with his eyes."
Magneto's tone dropped an octave. "Could it be… his mutation lies in his sight?"
Mystique folded her arms. "No. He's not a mutant, Erik." He stiffened slightly.
"I've lived long enough to know mutants," she continued. "Feel their resonance. He… isn't one of us."
She turned her head slightly, voice low. "He's something else. Something more."
Magneto was silent for a moment, then moved to the center of the room, where a floating globe of magnetic data shimmered. "If that's true… then the world has more to worry about than mutant, Xavier, or even me."
He raised his hand, and the globe spun, shifting its focus to Jack's location. "Perhaps… it's time I met the Prince of Crime myself."
Comments
Vrael333
Oho!!! The Prince of Crime! I wonder how the Monkey King will react to this nickname. After all Fisk was the Kingpin of Crime. He could see it as an insult xD Thx for the chapter :)
