The town still stank of metal and smoke. Magneto's broadcast—live, horrifying, impossible to ignore—had already gone nationwide. By the time the tanks rolled toward Axville, blood was still drying on Sixton's streets.
Ryuuto watched the countryside from the academy gate and felt the familiar ping of something about to snap. He wasn't home for sightseeing.
"War declared," Jean said quietly at his shoulder. "Charles thinks Magneto is using fear as bait. The army's heading for us—officials want hostages, leverage. They won't go after Magneto directly."
"Smart," Ryuuto muttered. "If I were them, I'd be scared, too."
He clenched his fingers without thinking. The earth answered.
[Ding! New Task Released.]
[Objective: Repel armed police incursion. Reward: 5 Life Potions.]
Shion's voice chimed in his ear—lazy, smug. [Congrats, Host. Five potions if you stop the police. Don't die on me—there's calibration tomorrow.]
Ryuuto rolled his eyes. "Of course. Five bottles. Cute."
Jean's brow tightened. "They'll use tear gas and stun rounds. They've got armored cars behind the wall."
Ryuuto glanced up. Ten police cruisers crouched beyond the academy's high perimeter, engines ticking like nervous hearts. Men in tactical gear crested the wall—gas masks, dark uniforms, the kind of squad that didn't come for a friendly hello.
He read them at a glance: coordinated, cautious, but nervous. Perfect.
He drew in the seal that had become second nature and kicked off the air. Earth Style — Light & Heavy Rock Technique. The ground under his feet balloons into a dense slab that launches him over the wall like a cannon shot.
Floating a meter above the playground, Ryuuto landed, hair whipped by wind. Gideon—looking like a doll even when wide-eyed—peered out the classroom window. He held up a trembling hand.
"Stay inside and don't come out," Ryuuto said, voice low. "Trust me."
Gideon nodded, and Ryuuto dropped toward the intruders.
They didn't expect someone hovering in the sky. For one stupid second they raised their rifles.
"Drop your weapons! Surrender—" a voice barked into a megaphone. The armed squad below wasn't here to negotiate.
Ryuuto's response was a grin. "Do you treat me like air?"
They opened fire. Bullets streaked up, bright arcs of intent. Ryuuto didn't dodge. He slammed both palms to the earth.
Earth Style — Heavy Rock Impact!
The slab he'd used to launch himself slammed down between him and the shots like a moving wall. Bullets struck the stone and exploded into dust. Sand and pebbles flew up, heat and pressure lashing faces.
Ryuuto landed on the approaching armored car as if he'd planned it.
The team aimed at his feet, then froze. Metal around them twitched—buckles, helmets, rifle barrels humming like a swarm of bees. Ryuuto tossed a casual hand sign and the mag-warp started: helmets popped off like corks, radios peeled away, belts unspooled. The squad's ammunition clattered into neat little piles at their boots, harmless and useless.
"Drop the weapons!" Ryuuto repeated, louder now. His voice had an edge—sharp and dangerous. "This is a government-protected property. You have no authority here."
One of the squad leaders spat on the ground. "We have orders. Stand down or we'll open fire."
Ryuuto's eyes narrowed. He thought of Sixton—the way metal had become a weapon in a single heartbeat. He thought of the town's people, the way fear could be fed to politicians and turn them into hounds.
He slammed his palm to the ground again.
A corona of packed soil burst up, forming a ring of jagged rock that swallowed the armored car's front wheels. The vehicle skidded, fishtailed, then tipped onto its side with a groan of stressed metal. The whole courtyard echoed with the crash.
Men scrambled for cover. Gas canisters began to arc toward windows—tear gas, calculated to flush students into the open.
Ryuuto's throat tightened for a second. "Not today."
A pair of officers lobbed a canister; he caught it in midair with a flick, holding it between two fingers. He pinched it, and the canister bent like tin foil. Sparks fizzed; chemical hiss died. He dropped the ruined can to the ground. It hissed once, then nothing.
One of the officers lunged for him. Instinct, not malice—soldier reflex. Ryuuto didn't hesitate. He moved like a blur, a phantom thief in broad daylight: a tap on the shoulder, a foot gently behind a knee, and the man crumpled, hand flying to his face, winded but alive.
Ryuuto held up his palms so everyone could see. "You want to make a stand? Fine. I'll break your toys. But I won't kill you for following orders."
Shion purred: [Nice restraint, Host. Five potions will taste sweeter that way.]
The squad's leader, face white with anger, barked, "Call it in! Use the backup! Detain that kid!"
Backup arrived—sirens screaming—but by then the students had rallied. Ororo and Bobby had taken positions: a flash of wind, a shimmer of ice. Piotr in steel form stood like a statue at the library steps. The academy wasn't defenseless. It was a nest of living blades.
Ryuuto took a breath. He could have cleared the field in seconds—sent the armored cars flying like toys—but he'd already made a choice. This wasn't a massacre. This was a defense.
The armored vehicles tried to move. The earth under them shifted, pulling them into mud. Tires sank. Men shouted, cursed, scrambled.
Then, from a distance, Jean's voice: "Ryuuto—more are coming. You need to—"
A thunderous boom answered her—somewhere out by the road—and everyone looked up.
On the horizon, the skyline looked wrong: a column of dark figures moved fast, metal glinting. The army hadn't come to negotiate after all. They'd come with a mission, and their orders would be brutal.
Ryuuto flexed his fingers and tasted the metallic tang of adrenaline. He was the academy's scapegoat, its protector, its laughing outcast. He was Red Mirage to a world that didn't respect him.
"Alright," he said under his breath, eyes hard and bright. "Showtime."