SmilinKujo
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Chapter 64 – Bloom and Thunder
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 10:35:58 +0000 UTCJack opened his eyes.
Soft wind brushed against his cheek, and the scent of fresh blossoms carried through the air. Beneath him, the once-craggy form of Krakoa's island body—now pacified—had transformed. Vines curled gently across the surface. Flowers bloomed like scattered stars across the earth, in full color and unashamed beauty. Petals fluttered in the breeze, and where Jack had sat moments ago, nature now thrived.
He placed a hand against the mossy ground, sensing the pulse of life, calm and steady. "You're growing," he murmured. Then, the earth beneath shifted.
A swirl of flower petals rose, blooming into shape—coalescing into a humanoid form. It wasn't the pilot anymore. It wasn't anyone else. It was Krakoa himself, shifting and undefined, like a figure sculpted from wind and earth and memory. Inconsistent, but unmistakably his own.
Jack leapt lightly down from the petal-covered perch, landing with a bounce. "How's your ass?" he asked with a cheeky grin.
Krakoa groaned. "Hurt."
"Kekekekeke, don't be a baby," Jack said, patting his shoulder. "I kicked your soul's ass, not your physical one. Big difference."
Krakoa chuckled softly. Then, looking around at the flowers and vines, he turned to Jack again. "Can you… plant your tree here too?"
Jack tilted his head. "Oh? Why?"
Krakoa looked down, fingers curling into the soil. "To remember him. I think… he once told me, back when he was still alive, that his homeland had trees with pink flowers. I always wanted to make one. But everything I absorb… nothing ever worked."
Jack raised a brow. "You know I can only plant peach blossom trees, right? I think he meant cherry blossom. Different vibe, different fruit, different poetry."
Krakoa looked up, voice quiet but steady. "I can make it the same. As long as I have the base. I'll shape the rest."
Jack stared at him for a beat, then grinned. "You really are smarter than me, huh?"
Krakoa tilted his head. "Wasn't hard to reach above you."
"Kekekekekeke!" Jack burst into laughter, and Krakoa joined in—his laughter strange and earthy, like shifting sand mixed with rain.
As the last chuckle faded, Jack placed his hand to the soil and whispered something in an old tongue. From that single touch, a slender peach tree sprouted, its trunk glowing faintly golden, its buds trembling as though unsure whether to bloom yet or not.
Then Jack looked up. "Hey Cloudy," he called. "You can release the concealment now."
The mist that veiled the area shimmered, twirled, and then condensed. It spun inward, folding itself back down like a careful curtain. The cloud that had hidden them slowly returned to its fluffy, compact shape, hovering lazily above the ground. It descended toward Krakoa and circled him once. The sentient island let out a giggle, its massive form rippling as if being gently tickled.
"Thank you," Krakoa said, looking at the cloud. "I never appreciated your presence before. But you've been with me for a long time…"
Jack crossed his arms. "Hey, Cloudy. Why were you here in the first place?" The cloud twitched—then rippled, shuddered once, twice—shaking side to side like a floating shrug. Jack squinted at it. "Wait a second… your name's not Cloudy, is it?" The cloud paused. "…Cloudia? Stratus? Cumulus?"
Each name got a stern shake from the cloud, which now floated higher as if offended. Jack narrowed his eyes with a grin. "Alright then. By the will of the heavens, and by my questionable divine authority… I hereby name you…" He cleared his throat and raised both hands in mock ceremony. "Sir Floaty McFloatface."
ZAP! A tiny arc of lightning zapped Jack's shoulder. He yelped, then burst into laughter. "KEKEKEKEKEKE! What? You don't like it?" The cloud circled him again, now swirling faster in protest. "How about…" Jack tapped his chin, eyes gleaming. "Sir Cumulus Fluffington the Third?" The cloud let out a thundering puff of mist, clearly unamused.
Jack doubled over, wheezing with laughter. "Ohhh this is fun. Cloud, you've got a better sense of humor than most gods I read." As the laughter between man, cloud, and island filled the air, the tension of moments before faded like smoke in sunlight.
…
The mist had cleared. From the upper ledge, John Proudstar squinted down and tapped his earpiece. "Scott, recon the situation on the ground. Give us eyes." Scott's voice came crisp over comms. "Copy that."
He dipped the Blackbird down through the dissipating fog, engines humming low. His HUD adjusted, lenses locking onto the epicenter—and what he saw made his hand twitch off the trigger instinctively. "This… isn't a battlefield," Scott murmured.
Below him, nestled between the once-fractured ridges of Krakoa's body, was a garden. Not just flowers. Not just vines. It was an explosion of color and calm—peach blossoms blooming in wild harmony, petals drifting through the air like whispered dreams.
And in the middle of it stood Jack, laughing as he swatted playfully at a hovering cloud, being zapped with what looked like tickle-level lightning. Nearby, a humanoid figure made entirely of wind and flower petals shifted beside him—Krakoa, reborn in his own form.
Scott blinked. "You're not going to believe this."
Sunfire leaned closer to the edge, eyes sharp behind his mask. "Let's check it ourselves."
Logan, arms folded, grunted. "Doesn't smell hostile."
John nodded. "Alright. But Ororo, Scott—you two stay airborne. Be our eyes."
Ororo's voice crackled with her usual grace. "Copy that. Stay safe, team."
Scott replied with a firm, "Yes, sir."
As they descended toward the now-welcoming terrain, something strange happened. The island shifted. Roots and stones retracted. The ground opened like a polite usher, giving way beneath their boots as if inviting them closer to its heart. Even the wind seemed gentler. And when they finally stepped into the garden, they saw it. Just as Scott had said.
Jack stood in a field of peach blossoms, arms out like a cartoon villain explaining his grand plan—except his plan right now was clearly annoying a sentient cloud. "I said I was joking!" Jack laughed, jolting again from a tiny spark. "Look! We've got guests!"
The cloud, noticing the new arrivals, froze in mid-spin—then with a whoosh, zipped up into the sky. Jack waved a hand after it. "It's okay, he's just shy. Not like he's afraid of Logan's glare or anything."
Some of the younger team members chuckled nervously. Logan, however, growled low. Jack turned, smirking. "What's up, Badger? How's the back?"
The growl turned into a snarl, and shing!, the claws came out. Logan charged. "Wait—Logan!" John shouted, reaching out—but it was too late. Jack barely flinched. He snapped his fingers. —SNAP!.
Logan froze mid-lunge, muscles locked in place, one claw inches from Jack's throat. He walked casually around him, hands behind his back. "See, I've always been fascinated by this adamantium business. You know I've taken direct hits from tank shells, yeah? Didn't even bruise. But your claws…"
He leaned closer, inspecting Logan like an art collector eyeing a cursed sculpture. "They cut me. Just a bit. Which is weird."
Bobby Drake stepped forward, wide-eyed. "Wait—how do you know all that?"
Jack grinned without looking back. "You don't wanna know, kid. Just trust that I test things personally. But don't worry. I won't test anyone else. I hate being a lab rat. I wouldn't do that to others."
Then another snap. —SNAP!.
Logan unfreezed mid-motion and stumbled forward, catching himself. "Give me back my bike, you psycho!" he snarled. Even without context, John Proudstar instinctively grabbed Logan by the arm. "Logan—seriously! Not here." Logan resisted, claws twitching.
John muttered, "You want to make an enemy out of this guy? Really? We've got enough trouble with the Brotherhood." Logan let out a sharp exhale through his nose and retracted his claws—reluctantly.
Jack, still grinning, pulled a small peach blossom from a branch and tucked it behind his ear. "Aww, come on. You guys always make everything so serious. Me and Krakoa are besties now. See? No soul-punching left."
The petal figure beside him shifted again, and this time it nodded. John looked from Jack to Krakoa and then to the still-glowing peach tree behind them. "…I don't get it," he muttered.
"You don't have to," Jack said. "You just have to enjoy the flowers before the next war burns them away." The team fell into silence at that. Even Logan. The team stood dumbfounded in the field of peach blossoms, unsure if they should laugh, flinch, or both.
But Jack was already waving to the sky, grinning like a lunatic.
"Heeeyyy~ X-Milf!" he called, voice echoing through the trees, "You can come down now so we can lay on the flower bed together!" He paused mid-wave, squinting toward the descending Blackbird. "Ugh, I guess you too, Scott. Come down. Just—don't expect me to lay with you. I have standards."
Sunfire leaned closer to Alex Summers. "Who is this young man?"
Alex gave a half-smile. "Don't get caught up on his age. He looks our age, but he plays with Logan like it's nothing."
Bobby added, "Yeah. And it looked like he was just toying with him too."
Petra snorted. "Can you imagine if he used that enlarging staff move on the mansion?"
The idea alone made Bobby wince.
Then, with a crackle of wind and grace, Ororo descended from the skies, stepping into the garden like a walking breath of spring. Moments later, Scott followed—only his landing, unlike hers, was… less divine.
The Blackbird thudded against the soil, awkward and jarring. Bobby and Alex opened their mouths, grins locked and ready for the roast—Until Scott burst from the hatch, eyes wide.
"Guys!" he shouted. "Emergency! I just got a priority alert—our satellites show a missile launch heading straight for Krakoa!"
"WHAT?" the team shouted in unison. Adrenaline snapped them to motion. Bobby, Alex, Petra, Sunfire—all sprinted toward the ship, minds already shifting into crisis mode. Logan growled and popped his claws again. "Who the hell is dumb enough to bomb this island?"
As they piled into the cockpit and scrambled to access intel, only one person didn't move. Jack. He stood still. His body loose, his gaze distant. And then—he breathed in, slow and long, like a monk before meditation. The peach blossoms rustled. The wind swirled.
He reached out with his senses—not sight, not sound as humans understood it. But something else. The natural rhythm of the world. The breath of the clouds. The whisper of gravity. The disruption.
He found it—cutting across the air, slicing above the clouds like a firestorm. "Hmm," Jack muttered. "That's not a bluff." Then, in a voice as calm as the breeze, he said. "…That's a real missile." He closed his eyes, shoulders rising slightly. "Looks like nap time's over."
…
Several minutes earlier…
In the cold, dim light of the World Security Council's main meeting room, the tension was a living thing—buzzing like static in the air.
Nick Fury stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a halo of projected holograms, each one showing the faces of world leaders, presidents, generals, prime ministers. All scowling. All afraid.
Barack Obama, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, pointed a finger into the air like it was a loaded gun. "Fury, what is this new moving island? You expect us to just ignore the fact that it suddenly appeared out of thin air on every satellite feed we have?"
Nick Fury, ever the composed one, let out a breath. "We don't know yet. That's exactly why we're sending a recon strike team to investigate. They're en route now."
A clipped, aggravated voice cut in from the French window. Nicolas Sarkozy, face pinched and tight: "This is unprofessional beyond reason. S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to shield us, not stand there clueless. How can you protect us if you don't even know what we're facing?"
Gordon Brown, the British Prime Minister, leaned in, fingers tented under his chin. "You're wasting time. Send a missile. Simple. There's no verified presence on that island yet. No signs of civilian activity. Just flatten it."
Fury's brow twitched. "You're proposing we bomb it before we even know what it is?"
Brown shrugged. "Better to regret overreach than underestimate a threat."
From the side, General Ross stirred. "What—you want us to nuke it?"
Brown raised both hands. "No, of course not. But surely we have a missile strong enough to sink an island. Something conventional but decisive."
Alexander Pierce, calm and sharp as ever, finally chimed in. "Let's not be hasty. We need more data. Even with satellite interference, we should wait for intel from the recon team."
Then one of the technicians brought something up—blurry satellite footage from one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most advanced orbital eyes. A dot. A blur. A shadow of a jet—sleek and familiar. The Blackbird. Someone leaned forward. "That's X-Men tech, isn't it?"
Stryker's eyes narrowed like a snake's. "So it's the mutants again. Of course it's them. All this time we're trying to build peace, and they go and birth an alien island out of nowhere? You know what? Screw it. We'll do them a favor." He pointed sharply, eyes glowing with zealous fire. "Launch the missile. Hit it now. Annihilate it—let them feel the price of hiding monsters among them."
Fury's hand slammed down on the console. "No one touches that island until I say so, motherf—"
"Wait." Ross's voice, low and venomous, interrupted. "Jack Hou is on that island, isn't he?"
Fury paused. All eyes turned. A long breath. "…We suspect there's a similar energy signature. It might be him."
Ross sneered. "Then I support the strike. Jack Hou alone is reason enough. For all we know, he's the one who conjured that island—some mystical ploy to take land." He leaned forward, tone sharpened. "Yesterday part of New York. Today an island. Tomorrow Africa. Then Europe."
Sarkozy nodded, eyes dead cold. "France will support this."
And just like that, the ball rolled. Country after country raised their hands—virtually and otherwise. Votes of fear. Votes of anger. Votes of ignorance. The majority swung—past reason. Past caution.
Obama rubbed his temples, jaw tight with frustration. "It's in international waters. The United States does not condone this. And I will fight this motion at the UN."
But it didn't matter. The vote had passed. The authorization was granted. And somewhere, beneath a hardened bunker of steel and wires, a sleek black missile was loaded into its rail chamber. Engines powered. Coordinates locked. The target is one and only, Krakoa.
Comments
Drake
obama being a real one and trying to play peace
Vrael333
Oh man🤦🏼♂️ Well… Those guys will probably regret this decision in the near future. Thx for the chapter :)
