The morning sun cast golden light over the ruins of Hammer Bay's Parliament building, its shattered columns and scorched walls standing as silent witnesses to the war's end. Before it, a sea of faces—human and Meta alike—stretched as far as the eye could see, their voices hushed in anticipation.
Prince Sai Von Morvayne stepped onto the makeshift podium, his black coat fluttering in the breeze. The crowd erupted into cheers, but he raised a hand, and silence fell like a blanket.
"[To my people,]" his voice carried, deep and resonant, "[for years of fighting, despairing, suffering, surviving… today, the battle is finally won.]"
A ripple of emotion passed through the masses. Mothers clutched their children tighter. Veterans of the GLF stood straighter, their scars gleaming under the sun.
"[Under David Moreau's tyranny, under the Press Gang's brutality, under the Magistrate's corruption—you endured. But no more.]" His fist slammed against the podium, the crack of wood echoing like a gunshot. "[Today, we are FREE!]"
The crowd roared. Tears streamed down weathered faces. Some fell to their knees, overcome.
The prince let the moment linger before pressing on.
"[They called Meta-Humans monsters. Freaks. A Myths.]" His lip curled. "[But look around you!]" He gestured to the crowd—where humans and Metas stood shoulder to shoulder, their differences meaningless in the face of shared victory. "[They are your brothers, your sisters! They bleed as we do. They FEEL as we do. They are GENOSHAN—as much as any of us!]"
A Meta with crystalline skin—one of the many who had fought in the GLF—let out a choked sob. A human woman beside her gripped her hand tightly.
"[Let Genosha be the first nation to embrace Meta-Humans not as outcasts, but as equals. Let us show the world that compassion triumphs over ignorance! That TODAY—]" His voice rose to a thunderous declaration, "[—the era of racism, of bigotry, DIES!]"
He thrust his fist into the air.
"[I, Sai Von Morvayne, Prince of Genosha, declare this war OVER! WE HAVE WON!]"
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The city exploded in jubilation.
"WE WON! YEAHHH!"
Strangers embraced in the streets. A burly human lifted a petite Meta off her feet, spinning her in joy. Songs broke out—old folk tunes, rebel chants, even drunken ballads—all blending into a symphony of freedom.
Melisa Connor, her scarred face streaked with tears, turned to Anton. "We've finally won, Anton. We won."
Anton—his lizard-like features softened by emotion—pulled her into a crushing hug. "We're free, Melisa. Truly free." He hesitated, then whispered, "I guess now I can finally ask for your hand, right?"
Melisa laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. "You can, my love. You can."
Two weeks.
That was all it had taken from the moment the Last Prince set foot on Genoshan soil. Two weeks to dismantle a regime that had ruled through fear for decades.
The world had expected failure. They had been wrong.
Among the crowd, April Parker of the Daily Bugle adjusted her camera, capturing the prince's triumphant stance. Her press credentials had been hard-won—few journalists had been allowed into Genosha during the final offensive. But now, as the prince's words echoed across the globe, the narrative was clear.
The underdog had prevailed. And as the cheers of a liberated people filled the air, one question lingered in the minds of those watching: What happens next?
The crackle of gunfire echoed through the Daily Bugle's live feed as April Parker's camera captured the horrors of Genosha's war-torn streets. The world watched, transfixed, as Prince Sai's forces stormed a government mining facility, breaking open rusted cages to reveal emaciated Meta-Humans—some no older than children—shackled and branded like cattle.
"This is April Parker reporting from Hammer Bay," her voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "What you're seeing are confirmed Meta-Human slaves, kept underground by the Genoshan regime. The prince's forces have uncovered evidence of systematic torture, forced labor, and—"
The feed cut to another scene: a hidden laboratory, its walls lined with glass tanks containing grotesque humanoid specimens floating in preservative fluids. Foreign insignias—SHIELD, HYDRA, even the CIA—were hastily scraped off equipment, but not quickly enough.
The world recoiled in horror.
For decades, governments had dismissed Meta-Humans as urban legends, conspiracy theories. But now? The evidence was undeniable.
In a London pub, a burly man slammed his pint down. "So, the bloody mutants were real all along?"
Across the Atlantic, a New York college student glared at her professor. "You said Magneto was a madman. But he was right."
The whispers grew into a roar. What else had they lied about?
Amid the celebrations in Hammer Bay, a SHIELD operative lurked on a crumbling balcony, his binoculars trained on Prince Sai as he descended the Parliament steps. Clint Barton's earpiece crackled.
"Sir, the Last Prince just declared their victory, and moving away from the stage," Clint Baton reported and was about to cleared out his hiding spot.
"[Roger that, proceed to extraction.]" Fury's voice was terse.
"Roger tha—bzzt!" Static screeched in his ear.
A chill ran down his spine.
Too quiet.
Clint spun—and froze. Sebastian Wilfred stood in the doorway, his pristine suit untouched by war, his ice-blue eyes sharper than any blade.
"Clint Barton aka Hawkeye, from Strategic Homeland intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division, from America…. apparently despite our warning for your government to not intervene with our personal crisis, you come and spied on us, furthermore, it was related to His Highness the prince, right after your failed assassination attempts, how brazen of you," Sebastian's voice was velvet wrapped around steel. "How disappointing. We warned your government to stay out of our affairs."
Clint's hand twitched toward his bow.
Sebastian moved.
One second, he was across the room. The next, his breath ghosted against Clint's neck, a Bowie knife pressed to his jugular.
"I have order to bring you in, and should you resist I have every right to kill you, so…I sure hope you would resist, right now…" Sebastian voice was cold, it sends warning all over Clint entire body.
Clint swallowed. Clint knew who this person is, Sebastian Wilfred, Morvayne Family head Steward and the GLF 1st second in-command, earned the nickname 'Iron Blood Commander', a Meta-Human that is so strong that he struts through the warzone without any armor and slaughtering enemies with just a single bowie knife.
"I'll come peacefully." Clint smiled wryly with cold sweat on his back.
Sebastian sighed, almost... mournful. "Tsk! then follow me," Sebastian annoyed but stay his hands, on the other side, Clint were sure that the butler was actually eager to kill him, thankfully he had made the right decisions.