Chapter 81: General Ross wants to slice Aaron? He wiped out the Military Base overnight
The wind across the Newark wasteland was still blowing.
Gunpowder smoke drilled into the nasal cavity, carrying a scent of burning substandard rubber.
General Ross stood by the edge of the mud pit.
His Military boots sank half an inch deep into the thick mud, and his trouser legs were caked with dark red blood plasma and engine oil.
That was the wreckage left behind after his armored brigade was crushed to pieces.
"Give me the satellite communicator!"
General Ross gritted his teeth, the muscles on his cheeks like two hard, sharp stones.
He snatched the black briefcase from his adjutant's hands, his fingers pressing roughly against the fingerprint lock.
His fingertips were trembling.
He watched that lingering red light in the air.
That was the direction where Aaron had disappeared.
Anger surged like magma, burning all the way up his blood vessels to his forehead, filling the corners of his eyes with bloodshot veins.
"Lock down the top floor of Stark Tower."
General Ross roared into the microphone, his voice as hoarse as if it had been ground on sandpaper.
"Activate the 'Gamma Squad'. I want that kid's coordinates, accurate to the centimeter!"
He looked down at the tank wreckage on the ground.
That was the pride of his decades-long Military career, and now it had become a pile of meaningless scrap metal.
"Aaron Parker..."
General Ross bit off the half-smoked cigar in his mouth and spat it into the muddy water.
"No matter if you are a god or a demon. As long as you are still on this Planet, I will slice you into thin pieces and stuff you into a microscope."
...
Manhattan, penthouse apartment.
The neon lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows were dizzying.
Aaron took off that pair of mud-stained crocodile leather shoes.
He walked barefoot on the long-pile carpet, his toes sinking into the fibers, and the warm softness made him let out a sigh of relief.
Gwen was helping Bruce Banner tidy up that black cashmere trench coat.
Banner, like a startled quail, shrank into the corner of the leather sofa, holding a cup of warm water and hiccupping continuously.
"Aaron, that old man doesn't look like he will let the matter rest easily."
Gwen took off her spider mask and casually messed up her blonde hair.
There was still a bit of dust on the tip of her nose, splashed on when the tank exploded just now.
Aaron didn't speak.
He walked over to the bar and poured a cup of Dahongpao tea.
Boiling water poured into the white porcelain cup, a few tea leaves tumbling and unfurling in the water, exuding a serene woody aroma.
He had just taken a sip.
The projection of Red Queen under the ceiling suddenly flickered, its color changing from light blue to a glaring dark red.
"Master, alert."
Red Queen's voice echoed in the living room, feeling a bit more mechanical than usual.
"Satellite lock detected from the Military Base in Nevada."
"Forty-eight modified 'Longbow' surface-to-surface missiles have entered the launch sequence."
"It is estimated that thirty seconds from now, this building will enter the firepower coverage area."
Banner's water cup dropped onto the carpet with a clatter.
The warm water soaked a large patch of fabric.
"He's crazy... General Ross is crazy, this is downtown Manhattan!"
Wanda was standing by the balcony edge.
The red light at her fingertips suddenly pulsed, and her long hair behind her danced without any wind.
"I'll go stop those tin cans."
"No need."
Aaron put down the porcelain cup, his fingers gently tapping against the rim of the cup.
The tea in the cup didn't even ripple a single bit.
"I just changed the glass, I don't want to hear the sound of shattering again."
Aaron spoke very slowly, his tone revealing a sense of disgust at having his afternoon tea time interrupted.
"Red Queen, send me the coordinates."
"Nevada, Underground Fortress No. 51. Depth four hundred meters."
Aaron nodded.
He raised his right hand and casually slashed through the Void Realm.
There was no dazzling bright light, nor any huge roar.
Space was cut open like a slit by a transparent paper cutter.
He stepped across into it.
One second ago, it was an Advanced apartment in Manhattan.
The next second, it was a secret command post buzzing with cold fluorescent tubes.
...
Nevada, underground fortress.
The air drifted with the scent of stale electronic components and the strong aroma of espresso.
Dozens of large computers emitted a low roar.
On the display screen, the red locking frame tightly grasped Stark Tower.
"Countdown five seconds!"
A technician shouted, his finger hovering above the launch button, slipping due to sweat.
General Ross stood on the command platform.
He had changed into a brand-new service uniform, holding a silver cane in his hand.
He stared at the screen, a flash of cruel pleasure passing deep within his eyes.
"Launch."
He ordered softly.
"I think you'd better forget it."
An abrupt voice sounded from behind him.
Carrying a lazy vibe, like afternoon greetings right after waking up.
General Ross's whole body stiffened.
He suddenly turned around, his cane knocking a dull thud on the metal floor.
Aaron was leaning against the water dispenser next to the command platform.
Still holding that steaming white porcelain cup in his hand.
"You... how did you get in?"
General Ross took half a step back, his hand already groping towards the self-defense pistol at his waist.
In the command hall, dozens of guards reacted, and the clicking sounds of bolt-actions merging into one piece.
"Walked in."
Aaron took a sip of tea and pointed at the huge main screen.
"General Ross, your place is decorated really crudely. Four hundred meters underground, you don't even have a decent ventilation System."
"Open fire! Kill him!"
General Ross roared hysterically.
The guards pulled the triggers without hesitation.
Tongues of fire crisscrossed in the hall.
But when the bullets approached within half a meter of Aaron, space seemed to turn into viscous syrup.
Those warheads abruptly hovered in mid-air, their tails still carrying rotating weak air currents.
Aaron didn't look at those bullets.
He looked towards the preparation warehouse outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Parked there was the newest model 'Gamma Armor', along with dozens of standby heavy tanks.
"Do you think these things can kill me?"
Aaron put down the cup.
In those black pupils of his, a flash of red light vanished in an instant.
That was the reality modification of Chaos Magic.
"Since you like playing with toys so much."
Aaron raised his right hand, his five fingers suddenly clenching in the void.
"Then play to your heart's content."
Buzz—!
An indescribable ripple spread across the hall.
That was the sound of reality rules collapsing.
In the warehouse, the originally ferocious and terrifying 'Gamma Armor' emitted a harsh friction sound.
The metal was twisting and softening.
Under the eyes of everyone, the original dark green titanium alloy armor faded and deformed.
Click. Click.
That was the sound of plastic parts locking together.
Under the terrified gazes of that group of Advancedgenerals,
the powered armor worth hundreds of millions of U.S. dollars turned into a huge, brightly colored set of Lego blocks.
The armor helmet turned into a round yellow block head.
The mechanical claws that could originally tear tanks apart turned into two comical plastic hooks.
It wasn't over yet.
The main battle tanks in the outer warehouse collapsed into plastic blocks all over the ground amidst a dense sound of 'clicks'.
Red ones, yellow ones, blue ones.
Colorful plastic parts were scattered all over the floor, piled into several small plastic mountains.
Inside the missile silos that were originally primed and ready,
what flew out were no longer warheads carrying the aura of death.
Instead, they were dozens of huge yellow rubber ducks printed with smiling expressions.
Ejected by the pressure at the bottom, they let out 'quack' calls in the desert wind.
The gunfire in the hall stopped.
The automatic rifles in the guards' hands had now turned into water guns full of plastic texture.
An Agent subconsciously pulled the trigger.
"Puff—"
A small stream of warm water sprayed onto General Ross's crisp general's uniform.
Silence.
Death-like silence.
Only the dull thuds made by those few rubber ducks landing on the ground.
General Ross was like a duck whose neck was being choked.
He stared blankly at the screen.
His Empire, his technology, his pride.
At this moment, were casually turned into a huge children's playground by that young man.
"You... what on earth did you do..."
General Ross's feet went soft, and he directly knelt on the metal floor.
His knees crashed into the floor, making a muffled sound, but he couldn't feel any pain.
He only felt a bone-deep chill.
That was the instinctive physiological despair of humans when facing a higher-dimensional will.
Aaron walked up in front of him.
Leather boots stepped on a few plastic building blocks, making a crisp shattering sound.
Aaron leaned down, one foot stepping onto General Ross's aged and wrinkled face.
The pattern of the sole pressed several deep marks into General Ross's skin.
General Ross's nostrils twitched; he could smell the lingering dirt scent from the soles.
That was brought back from that wasteland he had destroyed with his own hands.
"General Ross."
Aaron's voice was very soft, yet it carried an unquestionable heavy pressure.
"My tea hasn't been finished yet, and you were already in such a rush to send ducks over. This gift, I accept it."
He took out General Ross's satellite phone that had just been dropped from his pocket.
Aaron's slender fingers swiped across the screen.
He threw the phone next to General Ross's ear.
"Now."
Aaron stepped on his face, exerting a slight force with his toe, watching a trace of blood squeeze out from the corner of General Ross's mouth.
"Give a call to that Master of yours in the White House."
"Tell him."
"If you dare to lock that satellite onto my house again, next time, I'll turn that white pillar in Washington into a pink utility pole."
A muddy tear slid down General Ross's eye corner.
That was a mental breakdown after being thoroughly ravaged.
On the other end of the phone, it had already connected.
A deep and majestic voice rang out.
"General Ross? How is the situation? Has that kid been caught?"
Aaron looked down at the satellite phone that hadn't breathed its last yet.
Chapter 82: President Enraged, Yet Discovers the Nuclear Missile Passwords Were Changed by Aaron
Deep underground in Nevada, the air floated with the burnt smell of electronics.
General Ross's profile was pressed tightly against the cold alloy floor.
His breathing was rapid, and every expansion of his lungs would inhale the metal dust on the floor, choking him into continuous coughs.
Aaron's leather boot sole still steadily pressed down on his face, like stepping on an insect that could be crushed at any moment.
In the satellite phone that had dropped beside General Ross's ear, that voice was still rising.
"General Ross! Speak! Is that brat already a puddle of mashed flesh?"
"I just authorized the Navy SEALs to stand by at the Pentagon. If you can't handle things over there, I'll wipe Nevada off the map!"
That was the voice of the incumbent President Matthew Ellis.
Through the encrypted frequency-hopping signal, that overbearing majesty spanned thousands of kilometers, rattling the microphone with a static hiss.
Aaron bent down, his slender fingers picking up the dirt-stained black communicator.
He glanced at the ashen-faced General Ross.
"Your boss has a much louder voice than you."
Aaron released his foot that had been stepping on General Ross, and smoothly sat down on a tactical command chair nearby.
He crossed his legs and brought the phone close to his mouth.
"Hey, the one in the White House. If you want to wipe Nevada off the map, I suggest you take a look in your drawer first."
The other end of the phone fell into dead silence.
Three seconds later, President's voice was as cold as ice.
"Who are you? Where is General Ross?"
"General Ross is lying on the ground studying the floor patterns and has no time to deal with you for now."
Aaron's tone was casual, his fingertips gently swiping across the casing of that mobile phone.
A touch of crimson mist seeped out from between his fingers.
Following the phone's antenna, this cluster of mist, like living red thread, instantly plunged into the frequency band of the radio signal.
The reality manipulation authority of Chaos Magic began to flow upstream along the signal source.
It passed through the satellite transponders in the atmosphere.
It swept across the deep-sea fiber optic cables at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
It was like a red plague that could not be detected by any firewall, taking over all base stations along the way.
Washington, White House, Oval Office.
President Ellis suddenly stood up, slamming that pure black pen onto the desk.
"Guards! Connect me to the counterintelligence center! Intercept this signal, I want to make him die in—"
Before he could finish speaking, President's voice got stuck in his throat.
The scene before his eyes began to turn absurd.
The portraits of past Presidents originally hanging on the wall started to twist and blur in their frames.
All the faces turned into the outline of a black-haired youth in an instant.
All the electronic devices on his mahogany desk were now emitting a faint red light.
"Mr. President, something has happened."
The internal phone on the desk automatically popped open, transmitting the chief of staff's terrified shout.
"Our System... the entire Department of Defense Systemhas completely lost control!"
Immediately after, a secret compartment on the inner side of the office automatically slid open.
That black nuclear football briefcase, known as the "football", unexpectedly let out a harsh alarm sound at this moment without any authorization.
The alloy panel on the surface of the case began to soften, as if turning into a lump of translucent red glue.
Over in Nevada, Aaron stared at the red thread winding around his fingertips, his expression somewhat bored.
"Mr. Ellis, I heard there are some very fun buttons in your briefcase."
"I just conveniently helped you simplify those complicated numbers."
Washington.
President was shivering as he threw himself towards the melting nuclear case.
He tremblingly pressed the verification key, wanting to check the launch status.
The screen lit up.
The sixteen-digit dynamic passwords that were originally randomly generated every hour had all disappeared at this moment.
In all the input boxes, only a simple string of numbers was jumping: 1010.
That was the day Aaron descended into this World.
President felt like his heart was about to shatter his ribs.
He grabbed another desk phone, frantically dialing the Pentagon's emergency dedicated line.
"I am President! Reset the password! Immediately activate physical offline defense!"
"It's useless, sir."
What came out of the desk phone was no longer the Pentagon's duty officer, but that youth's voice.
That voice echoed synchronously through the telephone line, through the air, and through every loudspeaker in the White House.
"All your nuclear submarines, all your missile silos, their current opening passwords are all this."
"If you don't believe it, you can try pressing it down."
"See whether what flies out is a Trident missile or hundreds of thousands of pink plastic balloons."
President collapsed limply in the revolving chair, cold sweat soaking his Advanced shirt.
He looked outside his office window.
On the originally heavily guarded lawn, the Glock pistols in the hands of those Secret Service members in black suits had all turned into brightly colored water guns.
"You... what on earth do you want?"
President gritted his teeth, his lips bitten until they bled.
That sense of helplessness facing an unknown deity made every pore of his shrink.
Nevada.
Aaron yawned, casually tossing the satellite phone onto the command platform behind him.
"I said it long ago, I don't like being disturbed."
"General Ross wants to catch me for slicing, and you want the Navy SEALs to dismantle my house."
Aaron paused, his tone becoming cold and stern.
"I don't like playing this kind of joke."
"Do you understand?"
Washington.
President stared at the red light all over the wall, a desperate choking sound issuing from his throat.
"I... I understand."
"Very good."
Aaron's voice exuded a hint of fatigue.
"Take that old man General Ross back, have him go to Antarctica to count penguins, or go to the restroom to scrub toilets."
"In the future, my name must not appear in any classified archives."
"If there is a next time, I will turn that White House into a giant public restroom."
The red mist abruptly contracted.
All electronic screens returned to normal in an instant.
The portraits returned to their original places.
The briefcase quietly stayed in the secret compartment, and the password resumed random jumping.
But President Ellis knew that wasn't a dream.
He lowered his head to look at his palms, which were full of scratch marks left by extreme fear.
He tremblingly pressed the red button on the desk.
"Notify the World Security Council."
President's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, and he slumped in the chair like a pile of mashed flesh with its bones extracted.
"Emergency meeting... convene it immediately."
"What we are facing is not some superhero."
He stared at a certain point in the Void Realm, his gaze scatterbrained.
"It's a... monster that can casually play with this Planet."
Ten minutes later.
Top-secret signals from all over the globe connected to the same encrypted space.
Five avatars hidden in the shadows lit up one after another.
The emergency meeting of the World Security Council officially kicked off under the moonlight of Manhattan.
Chapter 83: The World Security Council Bows Down, Aaron's Transcendent Status
Switzerland, deep in the Alps.
The six-meter-thick alloy floodgates were tightly shut; this was a top-secret stronghold of the World Security Council.
A biting smell of ozone drifted through the air, the trace of the high-efficiency air filtration System operating.
Inside the conference room, the light was dim, with only five huge high-definition screens casting a faint blue glow.
Five blurry figures presided within, representing the five most powerful seats on this Planet.
"The Base in Nevada is ruined; two hundred tanks have become Lego bricks."
The British representative heavily tapped a finger on the dark brown teak long table, cold sweat still lingering in his fingernail gaps.
"The President's briefcase password was changed to that boy's birthday. This is a provocation, a trampling on the entire civilized order."
"Are diplomatic sanctions useful?"
The French representative's voice was hoarse; a layer of white film had already formed on the cold coffee in front of him.
"He can take over satellites and modify nuclear bomb passwords. Even Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. have become his bodyguards."
"This kind of existence has already exceeded the category of 'Mutant'. He is a mobile, uncontrollable natural disaster."
The Chinese representative kept staring at the pen in his hand, his knuckles turning pale and bluish from the force.
"The current suggestion is to freeze all economic transactions under his name. Cut off the connection between Osborn Industries and Stark Industries with him."
"We must make him understand that even with Divine Power, he must live under the social contract."
Clack.
A soft sound.
That was the sound of a pop-top can being pulled open.
In the dead-silent sealed conference room, this sound was so crisp that it felt like someone flicked the back of everyone's head with a finger.
At the very top of the conference table, in the main seat that should have been vacant.
Aaron was sunken into a spacious leather chair, his legs crossed and resting on the tabletop.
A bottle of iced cola was emitting wisps of white vapor, water droplets sliding down the metal can body, leaving a circle of water stains on the expensive teak tabletop.
"Social contract?"
Aaron swallowed a mouthful of cola and let out a tiny burp.
He didn't even raise his eyes to look at the big shots on those screens, only staring at the ingredient list on the cola can in his hand.
"The soundproofing here is indeed not bad, but the sofa here is too hard; it hurts my back."
The dark shadows behind the five screens stiffened simultaneously.
Some representatives suddenly retreated, bumping into the backrests behind them and making a messy sound.
This was a restricted area located one hundred meters underground.
There were no alarms, no surveillance warnings, and not even the airflow had changed.
"How did you get in!"
The U.S. representative's voice went out of tune, and he slammed the table fiercely, causing the porcelain cup on the table to jump up and spill coffee all over the floor.
He grabbed the secret communicator beside him and roared, "Security! Where is the guard company? All of you, get in here!"
"Stop shouting, your throat will get hoarse."
Aaron bent his fingers and gently tapped twice on the tabletop.
"Those guards are busy playing. I changed their assault rifles into colored crayons. Right now they're probably drawing little red flowers on the corridor walls."
Aaron took a five-cent coin out of his pocket and spun it on his fingertips.
The silver light and shadow leaped between his finger gaps, like a nimble metal moth.
"I heard you guys talking about freezing my bank cards just now?"
Aaron tilted his head, his gaze sweeping across those five huge screens.
"That idea isn't very smart."
He waved his hand casually.
The large screen that originally displayed the military distribution map of various countries instantly jumped into action.
Innumerable red numbers swept across the screen like a torrent, at a speed exceeding the capture limit of the human retina.
"This is the backend interface of the global financial market."
Aaron changed his posture, his tone lazy.
"The New York Stock Exchange, London Gold, the TokyoStock Exchange. And those secret accounts of yours in Swiss banks that dare not see the light of day."
Aaron lightly pressed his finger on that coin.
Crack.
The coin shattered into powder.
Meanwhile, the numbers on the five large screens stopped abruptly.
On the private computers in front of all representatives, the balance column completely turned into a constantly mocking "0".
"In that very second just now, I wiped out one-third of the World's virtual currency."
Aaron patted away the metal powder on his palms, his voice as light as if he were talking about today's weather.
"In another five seconds, I will make this World's monetary System regress back to the Stone Age of bartering."
"Do you think your votes will be useful by then, or the cola in my hand?"
The conference room fell into a suffocating silence.
Only the popping sound of bubbles in the cola can echoed.
These five old foxes who controlled the lifeblood of Earthfinally smelled the scent of death at this moment.
That was not the fear of being pointed at by a gun.
Rather, it was discovering that the World they prided themselves on was just a piece of plasticine on the other's fingertips that could be kneaded into pieces at any time.
"You want... what do you want?"
The British representative spoke, his breathing becoming rapid, the golden medal on his chest trembling with his heartbeat.
"I want quiet."
Aaron stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and overlooked the glaciers outside.
"From now on, do not try to investigate me, do not try to lock onto my coordinates."
"Even when your satellites sweep across the sky above New York, remember to close one eye."
Aaron turned his head back, his black pupils devoid of anger, holding only the indifference of a deity overlooking ants.
"Get me an identity. Not a Mutant, nor some superhero."
"I want to walk sideways across this Planet, with no one daring to check my ID or manage my private life."
"Can you do it?"
The five people behind the screens looked at each other.
Even across the screens, they could smell the scent of cold sweat on each other.
This was no longer a diplomatic game; this was a treaty under the city walls.
"We can draft an agreement."
The Chinese representative calmed down first, changing to a new pen, his knuckles turning white from exertion.
"An... unprecedented privilege bill."
Half an hour later.
A top-secret document only one page long, encrypted through the joint fingerprints of the five seats, permanently entered the World United Government's highest safe.
"Aaron Privilege Act"
The full text of the act has only three articles:
First, Aaron Parker and his designated personnel possess absolute diplomatic immunity on a global scale.
Second, all activities of Aaron Parker do not accept supervision, wiretapping, and intervention from any official institution.
Third, Aaron Parker has the right to prioritize the mobilization of any resource globally without fulfilling any legal procedures.
When the last seal fell on the screen, Aaron stretched lazily.
He casually took away a box of Cuba cigars on the table.
"The smoke smell in this place is too heavy. Next time we have a meeting, remember to prepare a softer cushion for the main seat."
A red phantom flashed.
Only the empty pop-top can was left in the main seat.
The remaining liquid in the cola can dripped along the table cracks onto the expensive carpet, as if mocking the highest power of this World.
...
New York, S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, the Triskelion.
Nick Fury sat in the office, with a newly transmitted copy of the act placed in front of him.
His single eye stared fixedly at the five words "absolute diplomatic immunity", completely unaware when the ash from the half-smoked cigarette at his fingertips fell onto his trouser legs.
"The act has passed?"
Agent Hill walked in, her voice carrying an unbelievable sense of absurdity.
"From now on... when we see him, not only can we not arrest him, we even have to salute him?"
Fury took a deep drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his somewhat blackened eye sockets.
He crumpled the copy of the act into a ball and casually threw it into the shredder behind him.
The shredder turned with a creaking sound.
"Salute? Hill, don't you understand yet?"
Fury stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the towering Stark Tower in the distance.
On the top floor of that building, that boy might be teaching the girl named Wanda how to cook noodles.
"We used to think Thor was the son of God, and Captain America was the Soul of the United States."
Fury turned around, his single eye full of worldly-weary fatigue and helplessness.
"But now..."
He paused for a long time before slowly opening his mouth, his voice hoarse and heavy.
"God has finally changed places to live."
"And now he lives in New York."
Fury pushed open the window, the cool night wind blowing his black overcoat into disarray.
The neon lights of Times Square in the distance were still flashing, but in the eyes of this single-eyed overlord.
The rules of this World had, at the exact moment that iced cola was popped open.
Completely collapsed.
Chapter 84: The Mutant Crisis Emerges, X-Men and the Brotherhood
In a penthouse in Manhattan, the climate control Systemkept the room temperature stubbornly fixed at 25.5 degrees.
Aaron sank deep into the velvet sofa, his head resting on Wanda's crossed thighs.
Wanda's fingertips were wreathed in a viscous red light as she gently massaged Aaron's temples.
When the red light touched his skin, it turned into tiny, warm currents that burrowed into his Acupoints, bringing a slight tingling sensation.
"Is the pressure right?"
Wanda lowered her eyelids, her long eyelashes casting faint shadows in her eye sockets.
Her movements were very steady now, no longer as constrained as when she first arrived at the apartment.
With his eyes closed, Aaron's nose was filled with the faint, vanilla scent of shampoo lingering on Wanda.
A vague nasal sound squeezed from his throat served as his response.
He could live a life like this—without needing to think or move—for ten thousand years.
Pietro was tinkering with a top-of-the-line coffee machine that had just been delivered behind the bar counter.
The grinding sound of the beans seemed somewhat abrupt in the quiet living room.
He held a crumpled instruction manual in his hand, his brows knitted into a knot.
"Aaron, are the parts of this thing assembled backwards?"
Pietro picked up a silver metal funnel, his fingertips blurring into afterimages.
"I pressed the button three times, and it only spewed out a bunch of smoking black slag."
"That's because you didn't add water, idiot."
Before Aaron even opened his eyes, Red Queen's phantom had already solidified on the bar counter.
The holographic projection in the shape of a little girl pointed to the transparent water tank on the side of the machine.
"Also, Master does not like beans with a burnt taste for breakfast."
Pietro rolled his eyes, just about to retort.
Red Queen's image suddenly flickered.
The originally gentle blue halo instantly turned into a chilling red, like a drop of ink dissolving in clear water.
"Master, an emergency signal from Hells Kitchen has been intercepted."
Red Queen waved her small hand, and a holographic map unfolded in the center of the living room.
Red dots flickered frantically in the Clinton district.
The screen popped up.
That was a dark alley in Hells Kitchen.
Rainwater mixed with the smell of rust trickled down the brick walls.
A Mutant teenager whose body was covered in green scales was clinging desperately to a crack in the wall, his fingernails gouging bloody marks into the masonry.
Behind him, a huge purple metal arm burst through the wall.
At the fingertips of that arm were five sharp spiral drills.
The drills rotated at high speed, kicking up a teeth-setting screech.
Pchhh.
The drill pierced the teenager's chest, pinning him to the damp, cold red brick wall like an insect specimen.
"Trask Industries, the prototype of the Sentinel program."
Red Queen's voice lost all emotion, mechanical enough to make people chill.
"This is the seventh victim tonight."
"The Military has passed secret funding and is testing detectors targeting the X-gene in Hells Kitchen."
Aaron opened one eye.
He looked at the cold, purple mechanical remnant on the screen.
Due to the rewritten reality rules, Hells Kitchen should have been his private territory.
Now, someone had walked in holding a drill.
He sat up, and Wanda smoothly withdrew her hand, the lingering red light on her fingertips dispersing into the air.
"The Military again?"
Aaron pulled a mint candy from his pocket and bit into it.
The cooling flavor rushed to the top of his head, but failed to dispel the slight disgust of being disturbed.
Meanwhile, in Westchester County, Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
Charles Xavier sat in that pitch-black wheelchair.
Through the huge floor-to-ceiling window, he stared at a teenager practicing fire control on the distant lawn.
His fingers pressed gently against his temples, his knuckles appearing somewhat pale from excessive force.
"Charles, you have been sitting there for three hours."
Hank pushed the door open, holding a steaming cup of black tea in his hand.
"The feedback from Cerebro is very unstable, and over in Manhattan... there is a black hole."
Charles turned his head back, a layer of fine, cold sweat seeping across his forehead.
"That is not a black hole, Hank."
"That is some kind of dimensional will that I cannot understand."
"I tried to search for captured compatriots in that area, only to almost be shattered by the spiritual energy overflowing from there."
He picked up the black tea, the porcelain cup clicking slightly against his fingertips with a jingle.
He thought of those top-secret videos sent back by General Ross.
A teenager who casually turned nuclear weapons into building blocks.
That was a casualness that even the Phoenix Force might not be able to achieve.
"He is too dangerous."
Charles put down the teacup, ripples of unease spreading across the water surface.
"If he stands on the side of the Sentinel program, Mutants will have no future."
"Hank, have Ororo and Jean go to Manhattan and bring a gift."
"Even if it's just to stay there, we must determine his stance."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, an isolated island base converted from a decommissioned submarine.
Eric Lensherr stood on the towering metal deck.
The sea breeze ruffled his silver hair, and the purple cloak behind him snapped in the wind.
He held a deformed coin in his hand.
Under the control of his magnetic field, the coin fluttered lightly between his fingers like a docile butterfly.
"Leader?"
Mystique Raven walked out from the shadows, her skin displaying an eerie deep blue.
"The stronghold in Hells Kitchen has been uprooted, and those tin cans are getting more and more arrogant."
"Let them make a fuss."
Magneto sneered, his fingers clenching abruptly.
The coin was instantly crushed into an irregular lump of metal in his palm.
"I have already found the true way out for Mutants."
He looked at the large screen on the wall.
On the screen, Aaron was sitting in General Ross's command hall, leisurely sipping tea.
"This kind of power should not be wasted by a bunch of politicians in suits."
"He is a born leader, the ultimate answer to evolution."
The old man turned around, a trace of fanaticism burning in the depths of his eyes.
"Prepare a helicopter—no, we don't need that kind of baggage."
"I am going to see him in person."
"Tell the one in Manhattan that the Emperor of Mutants has come to say hello to him."
...
Manhattan, the top floor of Stark Tower.
The humidity in the air suddenly plummeted, and a sense of oppressive current danced across everyone's body hair.
Aaron was holding a silver nail clipper, leisurely trimming his nails.
Snap.
The clippings fell onto the white jade coffee table.
"Master, high-frequency magnetic field anomaly detected."
Red Queen's projection was somewhat distorted, blue electric sparks jumping at the edges of her phantom.
"Metal products within a one-kilometer radius are resonating."
"The stress coefficient of the special steel on the building's exterior facade has reached a critical value."
Pietro abruptly dropped the instruction manual, his figure flashing as he blocked in front of Wanda.
He could sense that a heavy pressure was climbing rapidly along the elevator shaft.
Outside the window, New York's originally clear night sky instantly turned pitch black.
That was not clouds.
Those were countless metal parts stripped from streets, underground manhole covers, and even building billboards.
They converged in the air, resembling a colossal steel dragon blocking out the sky.
Aaron stopped the nail clipper in his hand.
He looked up at the induction door that was a full ten meters high.
Outside the door, there were no footsteps at all.
But the humming sound caused by the extreme magnetic field distortion made the chandelier on the ceiling sway from side to side.
Boom!
The two heavy alloy doors did not open inward.
Instead, like two fragile sheets of tinfoil, under the kneading of some immense force, they instantly curled into two solid spheres.
The metal spheres rolled to the ground, smashing two deep pits into the marble floor.
The dust and smoke cleared.
A dozen figures appeared at the end of the corridor behind the door.
The person at the very front wore a dark red battle suit, with a purple cloak hanging down to his ankles.
He wore that iconic metal helmet, and due to the interference of the magnetic field, the air around him was slightly distorted.
Magneto.
Behind him stood the burly Sabretooth and the gloomy-faced Toad.
Further away on the building's terrace, several streaks of blue lightning flashed across.
Storm Ororo floated in mid-air, her white hair dancing in the thunder light.
Jean Grey followed closely behind, with golden flames faintly leaping in her green eyes.
Two forces capable of destroying a city were, at this moment, simultaneously blocking Aaron's front door.
The air was as cold as ice.
Magneto moved his steps, his leather boots stepping on the metal fragments, making a teeth-setting friction sound.
He stopped three meters in front of Aaron and slowly took off his helmet.
On the old man's weathered and majestic face, a stiff smile appeared.
He did not look at the girls, his gaze locked firmly onto Aaron.
"Mr. Parker."
Magneto spoke, his voice low and carrying an unquestionable weight.
"I am Eric Lensherr."
"I think we should have a lot of common topics between us."
Aaron tilted his head, his nail clipper spinning a circle at his fingertips.
He looked at the metal fragments all over the floor, and then at the completely ruined door.
The laziness in the depths of his eyes was gradually replaced by a dangerous, blood-tinted impatience.
The gravity of the entire living room, at that instant, plummeted downward abruptly.
Chapter 85: Magneto Wants to Win Me Over? Old Man, Take a Punch from Me First!
The gravity sensor in the living room emitted a harsh hum.
That was the physical manifestation of magnetic field strength overload.
Two metal spheres were still spinning in the depression of the floor, emitting a slight frictional sound.
Magneto Eric was hovering half a meter off the ground.
His dark purple cloak swayed slightly in the windless indoor space as if it had a life of its own.
The metal debris behind him automatically arranged itself, forming a ring of scale-like defensive array.
"The World is sick, Mr. Parker."
Eric spread his hands.
An invisible Storm seemed to be held in his palms, and the surrounding air produced visible refraction due to electromagnetic disturbance.
"Those Mortals hide behind suits and laws, trying to use anesthetics and iron cages to restrain evolution."
Aaron tilted his head.
The nail clipper in his hand had not been put down yet.
The half fingernail he had just clipped fell onto his knee, and he flicked it away casually.
"The color of your cloak is quite old-fashioned."
Eric did not care about this trash talk.
He had lived too long and had seen too much of this fledgling arrogance.
"Look at the girl behind you."
He pointed at Wanda, his eyes revealing a kind of patriarchal fanaticism.
"She wields the great power to alter probability, yet she is here massaging your shoulders and making coffee for you."
"This is a desecration of talent."
Eric's voice rose by a notch, vibrating the glasses on the bar counter to hum.
"Join me, Parker. We don't need to explain to anyone, nor do we need to lurk in the dark."
"We will carve the name of the Mutant on every step of this Planet."
Aaron put down the nail clipper.
He raised his head and glanced at the ceiling.
The originally gorgeous chandelier was now twisted into a lump of scrap iron, hanging and swinging in mid-air.
That was a limited edition he had Harry Osborn send over just last week.
"You don't knock when you enter."
Aaron wiped his hands and stood up slowly from the sofa.
"You broke my door and shattered my lamp."
"And now you keep buzzing in my ear like an insurance salesman."
On the outdoor terrace.
Storm's silver hair danced in the fierce wind, and the whites of her eyes had completely turned blue-white.
Thunderclouds accumulated over Manhattan.
Jean's fingers pressed against her temples, her expression extremely solemn.
"Eric, stop."
Jean's voice rang in Magneto's mind through telepathy.
"I can't see through him... That man's mind is a blank slate, like an abyss swallowing everything."
Magneto had no intention of stopping.
He felt the all-defying laziness on Aaron's body.
In his view, this was an uneducated arrogance.
If absolute upper-hand suppression was not demonstrated, this young man would never understand the meaning of the word "leader".
"It seems you need a little lesson to learn respect for your elders."
Eric's fingers suddenly clenched.
He caught countless beating magnetic field lines in the air.
This was his absolute Domain.
The electron cloud around every atomic nucleus was under his control.
What he was best at was directly stripping the trace iron elements in the enemy's blood and turning them into sharp blades piercing the heart.
Hum—
An overbearing electromagnetic wave instantly covered Aaron's entire body.
Eric's pupils flickered with the cold light of metal.
He tried to guide the iron elements in Aaron's body to riot, trying to make him kneel before gravity.
However.
Aaron just stood there.
His shirt didn't even produce a single wrinkle.
Eric's expression changed.
In his sensory World, the coordinates where Aaron stood turned into a stubborn reef.
No.
That was not a reef.
That was an absolute physical constant that did not belong to this dimension.
The magnetic field lines he emitted, the moment they touched Aaron's skin, seemed to hit a nihilistic wall.
There was no rebound, no consumption, it simply... failed.
"Your ability is playing with magnets?"
Aaron took a step forward.
His leather boots stepped on the metal debris, making a crunching sound.
He walked extremely steadily, as if the magnetic field pressure on his body, which was enough to crush a tank, was merely a breeze brushing his face.
"This is impossible..."
Eric let out a low roar.
Two veins bulged on his forehead, and he pushed his hands forward horizontally.
All the metal furniture, broken steel bars, and even the cables buried in the walls in the living room were all pulled out.
These metals rotated rapidly in the air, forming a huge, high-temperature metal drill bit.
The drill bit aimed at Aaron, bringing up a harsh sound of breaking the air, and directly crashed over.
Aaron didn't dodge.
He didn't even raise his hand to block.
He just kept walking forward.
Bang!
The high-speed rotating metal drill bit suddenly exploded half a meter away from Aaron's chest.
It was like hitting an invisible nuclear bomb.
Countless metal fragments shot backward, piercing into the back wall with clattering sounds.
Aaron's fused [Superman Steel Body] was blessed with [Conceptual Defense].
This defense was not only hardness, but also disregard for the basic forces of the Universe.
When he didn't want to be controlled, things like magnetic fields couldn't even blow a single hair of his.
"Too noisy, old man."
Aaron disappeared abruptly from the spot.
Magneto Eric's combat instinct made him instantly contract his whole body's magnetic field shield.
The dark purple energy shield was condensed to the extreme, thick enough to withstand close-range shooting from anti-materiel rifles.
The next second.
Aaron appeared in front of Eric's nose tip.
The two were extremely close, and Eric could even clearly see the deep pool-like calmness in Aaron's pupils.
Aaron clenched his five fingers into a fist.
There were no extra movements, no special effects of gathering strength.
He just swung it out mundanely.
Dong!
This punch hit the magnetic field shield, but the sound emitted was like beating a thousand-jin heavy bronze bell.
Ripples exploded in the hall.
The coffee maker on the bar counter instantly shattered into parts, and Red Queen's holographic projection flickered three times before stabilizing.
Eric felt an incomprehensible brute force.
That was kinetic energy pure to the extreme.
His proud magnetic field shield, which could even bounce away missiles, was like a crisp soda cracker in front of this punch.
Crack—
Countless white cracks exploded on the surface of the shield.
The cracks spread rapidly, and finally, amidst Magneto's terrified gaze, shattered completely.
The fist edge did not stop.
It directly imprinted on Magneto's dark red breastplate.
"Puff-ha—!"
Eric spat out a mouthful of bloody spit.
He felt all his ribs dislocate in this instant, and his heart was almost squeezed to his back.
That force was not penetrative, but push-forward style.
It was like a miniature Planet hitting his chest at a speed of ten thousand kilometers per second.
Boom—
The huge bulletproof glass of the floor-to-ceiling window was shattered into dust all over the sky by the leaked fist wind the moment Aaron threw his punch.
Magneto turned into a dark red streak of light.
He crashed through the exterior facade of Stark Tower.
Smashed two Military drones that happened to fly by.
And cut through Manhattan's gloomy rainy night.
"Eric!"
Storm on the terrace let out a scream.
She tried to catch Magneto with a violent wind, but the impact force was too huge.
As soon as the wind vortex touched Eric's body, it was directly torn apart by that violent inertia.
Under the horrified gazes of that group of Mutants.
Magneto was like a purple cannonball spanning the sky.
Carrying a shrill whistle.
Traversed the entire New York City urban area.
And then plunged headfirst into the depths of the turbulent Atlantic Ocean.
A hundred-meter-high wave exploded on the sea surface.
White sea foam rolled under the moonlight and did not subside for a long time.
In the living room.
Aaron shook his hands, as if he had just slapped to death an annoying fly.
He glanced at the frozen X-Men on the terrace and pointed at the crack-filled bar counter.
"Red Queen, put it on the tab."
Aaron turned around and walked toward Pietro who was still dazed.
"Go buy a new coffee maker."
"If you don't come back within five minutes, you'll go swimming with that old man from just now tonight."
Pietro shivered.
He glanced at the huge hole that was crashed open, and then looked at Aaron's calm back.
With a swish.
He turned into a silver lightning bolt and rushed toward the distant shopping mall.
Aaron sat back on the sofa and patted the metal dust on his trouser legs.
He looked up straight ahead.
There, Jean Gray and Storm were trembling as they stepped on the edge of the ruins.
The ability light in their hands was so faint at this moment like a candle about to go out at any time.
"You guys..."
Aaron changed his posture, his tone lazy.
"Are you also here to sell insurance?"