Chapter 37-Tomb of Heroes
The air stank of ozone and blood.
Nefaria lowered in the ruin of his machines, arcs of power crawling across his armor. He looked less like a man than a storm in velvet, a god wearing a corpse's grin.
The X-Men closed ranks. Their breaths came ragged, their uniforms lorn, but their eyes still burned.
Logan popped his claws with a metallic whisper. "Alrighty Count. Curtain call."
The fight was a brawl written in lightning Cyclops directed with military precision, ruby
beams carving lanes through the storm, Colossus locked fists with Nefaria, steel straining against the Count's crackling gauntlets Storm unleashed a hurricane in the sealed chamber, her lightning dueling his aura like gods at war.
Logan slashed, ducked, bled, healed, dove back in again every wound a toll paid to
keep him sharp. His hearing sphere and scent-map gave him an edge: he could smell where Nefaria's confidence faltered, hear the half-second quiver before each energy burst He danced through it like death with a cigar,
Blow after blow cracked the chamber: Colossus slammed Nefaria through a wall, rubble raining down, while Banshee's scream blasted open a path. "Hit 'in now, lads" he bellowed through the sonic wave.
Storm's voice rose like thunder, "By the skies, fall!" Her lightning arced, only to be caught in Nefaria's hand, redirected back in a jogged whip. She screamed, hurled into Iogan, both Tumbling across the Door in smoke and pain. Cyclops barked orders, visor flashing.
"Nightcrawler! Blink him blind!"
*bamf! Kurt vanished in a puff of brimstone, reappearing behind Nefaria to
hammer fists against his back only to be swatted away like an insect, crashing Into the console. Sparks burst The countdown ticked.
But Thunderbird on, Thunderbird he fought like a wildfire. Straight at the Count, fists hammering, roars shaking the chamber. He wanted glory Wanted to prove himself. And for a moment, it almost looked like he could take the mad king down alone
Until the blast hit.
A bolt of row power tore across the floor, caught him full in the chest, and hurled him against the far wall with a sound like breaking stone. Smoke curled from his body. He coughed blood, staggered upright, and still he
spat.
"Nor...cone yet."
Logan's stomach twisted at the scent of it -Thunderbird's will, burning hotter than his
breaking body. Pride. Rage. Recklessness. All tangled in blood.
"Damn kid," Logan growled, cutting his way back into the fight..
Together, straining muscle and will, they
finally toppled the Count. Iogan's claws
pierced the armor, Colossus's fists crushed
the gauntlets. Cyclops's visor beam hurled him to the ground. Storm crowned him with lightning, and Banshee's scream rattled the chamber until Nefaria's body went limp.
But even beaten, the Court laughed - that terrible, triumphant laugh "Go on... stop It. Be martyrs. The Doomsmith will drag you down
with me!"
And then came the silence. Just the countdown.
00:00:27 00:00:26
The X-Men froze. Bloodied, exhausted, staring at the console like it was an executioner's blade. One command. Stop the program. And
die with it.
Thunderbird, half-conscious, croaked: "Do it.... better us than the world."
Banshee spat blood, voice cracking. "That's madness! We're no bloody martyrs!"
Nightcrawler's golden eyes darted between them, fear plain. "But... If we let It run... millions, ja? Millions dead..."
Sturm's voice was heavy, solemn. "Our lives.... against the earth. It is the cruelest equation."
Cyclops's hand trembled over the panel. "If we shut it down... the chamber detonates. We
burn with it." He looked at each of them,
sweat glistening beneath his visor. "If we don't... every nation falls every city, Families.
Children."
Logan snarled. "So what's it gonna be, Slim? We die, or the world dies? Spit it out!"
Colossus's steel fists clenched. 'If sacrifice is needed... then let it be me. My life is not more than the world's,"
"No!" Storm's voice cracked. "Nut like this. Not thrown away by madness!"
The coun.down roared in their heads.
00:00:12... 00:00:11...
Cyclops whispered, hoarse: don't know. I don't know..."
And then-Charles Xavier's voice thundered in their skulls.
X-Men. Hold fast. The missiles will not fire.
Relief hit like a tidal wave. Xavier explained in
grim calm: Your... destructive entry compromised the systems. The Doomsmith is crippled. The Count's threats are ashes You
live. The world lives.
The team collapsed Into laughter, sobs, silence a wild mix of relief and disbelief.
Then Cyclops snapped, his voice sharper than any blast. 'Thunderbird. You nearly killed yourself. You nearly doomed the team."
John looked up, face bruised, chest scorched.
His Iip curled. "Ain't your business, one-eye. I'm a man. I fight like one.". The silence that followed was heavier than The mountain.
They delivered Nefaria to the military, bound and sneering, his madness dimmed bul not extinguished.
And then Westchester
Charles welcomed them home, his smile warm out battle. He praised their courage,
their victory, their survival. Yet behind his eyes was sorrow - the old X-Men gone, the family fractured. A new team forged in fire, standing
in the ashes of what was
He wheeled forward, hands folded, voice cam, "You did well, my X-Men. The world will never know what you saved it from... but I do. And I am proud."
Storm bowed her head. "We were nearly
broken, Charles, we nearly chose death"
"You chose lite, Xavier said softly. "Even in despair, you hold together. That... is what makes you X-Men."
Banshee rubbed his bruised ribs. "Well, Professor, a pint wouldn't hurt for the trouble."
A ripple of strained laughter passed through
the teams.
But Cyclops stood rigid, visor gleaming red. "They con't trust me. Not yet."
Xavier's voice was steady. "Leadership is not born in trust, Scott. It is forged in storms such
as this. They will follow you... in time."
Logan sniffed the air, catching that smell clinging to Charles Salt and sorrow. He
muttered, half to himself, half to Xavier: "You're proud, old man... but you're lonely too."
Charles met his eyes and said nothing.
The X-Men stood together. battered but alive. A beginning. A reckoning
And above it all, the unspoken truth: this was only the first war.