X-MEN
The First Class 7/10
Chapter Seven: Tide of Wrath
Above the Mid-Atlantic Coast — Aboard the Blackbird
Rain lashed against the wings of the jet as it carved through storm-thick clouds. Below, the Atlantic churned with rising waves, dark and dangerous, thunder cracking in the distance.
Inside the Blackbird, the X-Men sat under the low glow of red-lit panels, silent and tense. Straps buckled, uniforms on, heads bowed, every breath tight with anticipation.
Then the intercom hummed. Professor Charles Xavier's voice filled the cabin — calm, measured, unwavering.
"History has given many names to Namor the Sub-Mariner. You've seen him in your history books, during the Second World War, he fought the Nazis at Captain America's side. In more recent years however, he has clashed with many, most prominently with the Fantastic Four, he has sabotaged undersea drilling facilities and has left political messages scrawled into the ocean floor with excavation drones. But what has only now been confirmed recently… is that Namor is, in fact, a mutant. One of the earliest known."
Jean leaned forward, frowning. "So… he's one of us?"
"In genetics, yes," Xavier replied. "But ideologically? That remains to be seen. Ever since Bolivar Trask revealed mutants as the so-called 'next step in evolution,' governments have hunted for the X-gene anywhere they could find it. They tested Namor's blood. It was a match."
Scott adjusted his visor. "Why's he attacking the surface?"
Xavier's voice deepened.
"Atlantis is an ancient, hyper-advanced underwater civilization. Their technology outstrips much of ours, but they're constrained by the sea — most Atlanteans cannot breathe air without special filtration suits. Namor is the exception: the only known Atlantean who can survive above and below the surface. He has crowned himself king, and he is furious."
"About what?" Warren asked, awkwardly shifting to get comfortable.
"Pollution. Oil spills. nuclear dumping. Whaling. The systematic degradation of the oceans by human industry," Xavier said. "He views the cumulative damage not as isolated incidents but as an act of war by humankind. He demands accountability — the surrender of political leaders from nations he deems responsible for poisoning the seas. If he strikes the shoreline, the casualties could be catastrophic."
Everyone stayed quiet for a minute until Jean talked "Then we stop him," she said. And so the jet began to descend.
---
Ocean City — Washington Coast
Storm clouds raged over the crashing waves. On the sand, armored tanks, naval artillery, and soldiers from five nations — alongside UN peacekeepers — braced for the worst.
At the water's edge stood Namor. Bare-chested and regal, he wore scaled black armor from the waist down, trimmed with gold accents and Atlantean sigils. A sea-green cape hung from pauldrons shaped like shark fins. Salt spray braided the air around him; his dark hair whipped in the wind. Pointed ears and bioluminescent anklets marked him as something not entirely human.
Behind him, hundreds of Atlantean warriors stood arrayed in coral-and-shell armor. Some wore elaborate suits pumping water into shoulder tanks; others bore bio-masks woven from living jellyfish membranes.
Namor surveyed the human line with naked disgust. His voice carried oddly far over the surf.
"I am Namor, Son of Atlantis, First Blood of Neptune, the Avenging Tide! You poison my home, drown my people in filth, and call it progress. Now I demand recompense. I want your leaders — their heads, their names, their guilt. If not—"
He raised his trident.
"—then the sea shall reclaim your cities."
The Blackbird roared overhead.
Xavier's voice came through the team comms, calm but urgent. "This is it, X-Men. Diplomatic channels have failed. Namor recognizes strength — not words. We must contain him, not destroy him."
The X-Men dropped from the jet, landing between Namor and the military line. Jean hovered a few feet above the sand, held aloft by a shimmering telekinetic field.
Namor turned, an eyebrow lifting. "Children?"
Scott stepped forward. "We're the X-Men. We're here to stop this before it becomes a war."
Namor laughed, bitter and loud. "A group of youths in yellow — sent to speak for humanity. Arrogant. Insulting."
He turned to his warriors. "Crush them."
The first wave of Atlanteans surged forward — dozens of armored figures kicking up sand and seawater with every step. Their coral blades gleamed beneath the stormlight.
Cyclops fired in measured bursts, each optic blast sharp and controlled. The crimson beams ripped apart water tanks strapped to their backs, shattered fragile jellyfish masks, and forced many soldiers to retreat gasping into the surf. Others staggered onward, choking, until their bodies gave out and they collapsed.
On his flank, Iceman spread his hands, flash-freezing a wall of seawater into jagged ice spires. An Atlantean blade cleaved it in half, but Bobby simply snapped his fingers and reformed it. A brute loomed before him — over two meters tall, wrapped in heavy seashell armor, swinging a massive sword. Bobby dodged one strike, then another, the edge missing him by inches—until the third blow slammed him flat into the sand.
The brute's gauntlet clamped around his throat, hauling him up. Saltwater sprayed Bobby's face as the Atlantean raised his weapon for the kill.
"Not today, Aquaman knock-off—" Bobby gasped, his palm slapping against the brute's arm.
In an instant, the Atlantean froze solid, transformed into a jagged ice statue. Bobby slipped free, landing in the sand and brushing himself off. "If you'd been quicker, you could've had yourself an Iceman cone. But hey—SHIELD's good at dealing with frozen seafood. Probably." Another soldier lunged at him from behind, forcing Bobby to whip up a spiked ramp of ice in defense.
Meanwhile, Jean stood alone. Twenty-three minds circled, closing her in. Her friends were each locked in their own battles. She inhaled, raised her hands, and focused.
Suddenly, Atlanteans lifted off the ground like ragdolls, flailing against invisible gravity. Panic set in instantly. They kicked, twisted, tried to grab onto each other—but their bodies had no bearings, tumbling weightless. A few gagged inside their helmets, vomit flooding their breathing masks.
Jean flicked her wrists. The soldiers shot across the beach like skipping stones, hurled kilometers into the open ocean where the waves swallowed them whole.
Soldiers who had been rushing her froze, hesitating, then scattered toward the others.
All except one brute, bigger and heavier than the rest, who roared and charged at her, coral axe raised high. Jean only smiled.
Beast was a blur of yellow and blue, built with muscle and intellect, his body twisting and springing with gymnastic precision. He vaulted over a pair of Atlanteans, dislocating one warrior's arm mid-roll, then planted both feet into another's chest, slamming him face-first into the sand. When a third hurled a coral spear his way, Beast caught it in one hand, snapped it cleanly with the other, and tossed the fragments aside like twigs.
Above, Angel fought tooth and wing. He dove, grabbing two soldiers in a swoop and slamming them into the beach before rolling out of the way of a coral-plated rifle blast. His wings flared wide, dazzling in the lightning-lit sky, but every dodge left him closer to being clipped by Atlantean fire. He had the worst of it—always in the open, always a target.
The tide turned when more soldiers poured onto the shoreline. Not just human troops now, but SHIELD agents in dark blue body armor, carrying advanced rifles. They shouted orders in a dozen languages, pushing back Atlanteans with sheer firepower.
For a moment, the X-Men thought they had it—until the sea itself seemed to split.
Namor moved. One heartbeat he was watching, regal and unmoving. The next, he was in the middle of the battlefield, tearing through human lines like paper. Soldiers scattered, some hurled into the surf with a single backhand. Atlanteans rallied around their king, emboldened.
Cyclops fired an optic blast that struck Namor square in the chest. The Sub-Mariner barely flinched. Slowly, his head turned, eyes burning with insult.
Then he leapt. In an instant, he was airborne, ankle-wings carrying him faster than the eye could track. Angel tried to intercept, wings slicing through the air, but Namor vanished from his sight—until he slammed down like a meteor, the shockwave blasting sand outward in a ring. Beast was sent tumbling, his body bouncing across the dunes.
Namor's strikes came heavy, each one like a tidal wave. Iceman threw up walls of frozen seawater, jagged fortresses of ice, but Namor shattered them with single blows, his fists cutting through like hammers through glass. Bobby tried to freeze him, but Namor swatted him aside and delivered a punch to his chest that sent him rolling across the shore.
Angel swooped again—only for Namor to shoot skyward, catch him mid-flight, and hurl him down like a ragdoll into the dunes.
Cyclops gritted his teeth, visor blazing as he cranked up the power. His beams slammed into Namor, one after another, digging furrows into the sand—but Namor only advanced, step by relentless step.
Scott shouted, visor glowing brighter, on the edge of unleashing everything—
But Namor's hand clamped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly.
"You puny children," Namor growled, his voice like thunder rolling over the ocean. "Meddling in wars you cannot fathom. This is not your fight."
Scott gasped, clawing at Namor's wrist as his visor glowed. The X-Men were on the edge of collapse.
Then something unseen ripped Cyclops from Namor's grasp. The Sub-Mariner staggered back, eyes narrowing.
Jean stood a few yards away, one hand pressed to her temple, the other outstretched toward them both.
"Wait—no! He's too powerful!" Scott shouted, scrambling to his feet.
But it was too late. Namor's gaze locked on her. With a snarl, he charged. Jean's feet left the ground, and as she rose higher her power started thrumming around her like a storm. Namor leapt, closing the gap—until Jean pulsed outward with a telekinetic shockwave. The blast hurled him back, sand erupting in a spray.
Gritting her teeth, Jean pulled. Invisible hands gripped Namor's limbs, straining to pin him in place. His body jerked and resisted, muscles bulging as he dug his feet into the sand.
Jean pressed harder, sweat streaking her brow. She reached for his thoughts—only to find a wall. A storm-tide of fury slammed her back. "A strong mind," she gasped.
Namor laughed, his voice carrying over the waves. "Powerful… but still a child."
He surged forward despite her grip. With a single bound, he smashed a fist against her, but Jean conjured up a shimmering shield. The impact detonated like thunder, sending Jean hurtling through the air. She struck the beach hard, sand spraying as she struggled to rise.
Pain sparked into anger. She flung out her arms, lifting tons of debris — shattered steel, splintered tanks, broken coral. With a scream, she hurled them like meteors.
Namor swatted some aside, shattered others in mid-air. But one massive chunk struck true, staggering him backward until his heels kissed ocean.
Scott thought of something quickly, a plan had appeared on his mind and so he seized the moment. From the rear line, his voice cut across the chaos.
"Everyone clear!"
Jean dove aside.
Cyclops ripped open his visor.
FWOOOOOM!
A full-force optic blast roared forth, a crimson beam so intense it lit the beach like fire. It struck Namor dead-center, the raw force blasting him off his feet. The sea god couldn't even try to fight it, once instant he was in the beach and the next he had vanished into the ocean with a cataclysmic splash, a sonic crack echoing behind him.
For a heartbeat, all was still. The Atlantean soldiers froze—then, one by one, slipped back into the waves, retreating into the deep.
Silence.
Jean dropped to her knees, gasping, her body trembling from the strain.
"I—I'm okay," she managed, forcing a smile through exhaustion. The team rushed to her side. Scott extended a hand.
"You were incredible," he said.
Jean took it, steadying herself. "Next time, you distract the half-naked sea god."
Despite the bruises, Scott smiled.
Above, the Blackbird circled in silent vigilance. The storm clouds thinned, moonlight spilling across the battered shore.
To Be Continued...