Chandilar, Throneworld of the Shi'ar Empire
Within the prestigious Hall of Governance, there was a suffocating silence throughout the room. The chamber's central holo-table pulsed red, projecting the grim aftermath of a failed mission.
Ten elite Death Commandos, nine incapacitated and one retreating, scarred by psychic branding. Majestor D'ken Neramani sat unmoving on his obsidian throne as his High Chancellor, Vaor, stepped forward on trembling steps.
"Majestor, we have confirmation. Nine of the ten Death Commandos were incapacitated. The sole survivor returned fractured, visors shattered, armor burned, mind marked. We attempted recovery protocols, but… the psychic readouts match a Phoenix-level signature." Vaor said in explanation.
Sudden tension reconfigured the room. Councilors shifted in their seats, magnates, governors, military commanders, each wearing iridescent armor and collars of gold. They glanced uneasily at D'ken, who remained steadfast in the stillness.
"One failed strike and now we bleed? Why did he return? Doesn't he know Death Commandos die in battle?" D'ken said, his anger bubbling up.
Vaor almost choked on his words as he heard that, quickly responding to try and appease D'ken, "He may have been spared… perhaps even left with a message, Majestor."
D'ken's hand flicked to his chin, tracing cruel patterns in the air, "A message…"
Vaor added swiftly, "He spoke of the 'host' being protected. Spoke of 'defenders.' Their psychic imprint suggests intent, not panic."
Whispers rippled through the chamber. One Councilor leaned forward, voice strained as he spoke, "Majestor, this changes everything. If the Phoenix is protected—and Earth has the means to shield it, "
D'ken cut him off, voice blazing like star-material, "Do not insult me with fear! Ten thousand worlds have bowed before me. This… Earth puppet? Oversized host? Insignificant."
He rose, the hem of his robes spiraling dramatically, toes on the footpad of his throne clicking. A hush fell. He turned to the panel on the holo-table, eyes narrowing on the burning dot signifying Earth.
D'ken, "We do not parley. We do not negotiate. We scorch. We dominate. We conquer. They have dared to strike at us, and failed."
He turned back to the High Chancellor, "Mobilize the Royal Armada. Double the deployment fleet. Send the Imperial Guard under Gladiator. The Phoenix Force must be isolated and destroyed before it can be unleashed."
Murmurs filled the chamber. Another voice rose in caution, "But Majestor, escalating this to full planetary assault—"
D'ken bared his teeth in a disdainful sneer,"Do I sound hesitant? Will we lose thousands across galaxies to a single flame? No!"
He turned to face the Councilors, robe swirling with regal menace."Gather the planners. We will strike Earth—, swiftly, cleanly. I want orbital bombardments calibrated to minimize civilian collateral… but allo debris lines. Let their nations watch before the fires come."
A Councilor swallowed, "What of other empires? Nova, Kree…"
D'ken's smile gleamed, "Let them respond. Let Hydra calls for galactic authority echo in their halls. Let them show their hands."
He waved dismissively, as if shooing flies, "They will hesitate. We will strike first. The Shi'ar do not wait. We do not falter. We will harness the Phoenix if we can. If not… we will burn it, along with this planet."
Silence thickened again, until the Chancellor spoke, voice low, "And the host?"
D'ken's eyes glittered with predatory light, "She will be ours or we will be theirs. There is no third option."
He wound his gaze back to the star-map, anger fully shown on his face as he continued speaking, "Fire the first wave within the hour. Activists, soldiers, probes, everything. Let the shields of this Earth be shattered, let their minds quake—"
He paused, voice resonating like a bell tolling doom, "The Phoenix awakens. So will our engines of war."
Minutes Later, War Council Room
A secondary chamber hummed with strategic fervor. Commanders, tacticians, and xenotech specialists clustered around gleaming holo-plates detailing orbital paths, troop carriers, and war gear.
Models of Madripoor glowed, pinpointed. And Earth's larger landmass, highlighted in red threat zones.
One of the Generals, named Althar, stepped forward and spoke to D'ken, "Majestor, orbital fleets are standing by. Two Retaliator Cruisers, four Interdictors, eight Lancer wings, full containment protocols. Bombardment schedules align with fire-suppression windows."
Another Admiral, named Kareen continued on, "Planetary defense arrays suggest heavy PS-signature attenuation. We'll need to neutralize global telepathic emissions. We've fitted psi-nullifiers to the Lancer wings."
D'ken nodded, eyes steely, "Ensure EMP pulses target analog shielding nodes first. Take out the infrastructure that protects them. Then isolate the host."
***
Meanwhile back on Earth, Jean was standing near the sea, deep in thought as she stared at the birds who sang around her.
Maxim was standing behind her, but he wasn't saying anything. He stopped just within her periphery, letting her feel his presence. She didn't need to look at him to let him know that she was ready.
Not just to intervene if things went badly, but to witness what needed to be said. She nodded once, wordlessly, and then closed her eyes.
Her mind stretched outward, not wildly or with force, but with precision. A psychic thread, golden and fine, reaching across Madripoor to a mind she knew better than most.
Charles Xavier.
He responded before she even reached him.
Charles ( Telepathically ), "Jean. I've been waiting for this."
The air in front of her rippled, quiet, elegant, not a teleport but an astral projection that gently folded into place.
Professor Charles Xavier stood before her, not in a wheelchair, but in the full presence of his psychic form: tall, unbent, draped in a dark astral cloak. His eyes held the weight of too many decisions.
Jean didn't greet him, "Why?" she asked. Her voice wasn't angry, but the echo behind it carried flames.
He gave a soft, tired sigh, "You know why."
"No. I don't." Her eyes flared with golden light. "I don't know why someone I trusted—someone who said he believed in me, would bury a part of me. Cut me off from something so essential that it made me feel broken for years. You didn't protect me. You controlled me."
Xavier's astral form took a breath, folding his hands in front of him, "It was never control, Jean. It was safety. You were a child when...when that power first touched you. Too young to comprehend what it meant. I did what I thought was necessary to give you a chance at life."
Jean stepped forward, "No, you did what you thought was best. You decided for me. You sealed away the Phoenix and left me with questions I didn't even know to ask. You didn't give me a chance, you robbed me of it."
Maxim stood a few paces behind, arms folded, watching the exchange in silence. His golden eyes never left Xavier's form.
"Jean," Xavier said, "I saw what happened to others, other mutants who had lost control of their powers. You were always special. I feared that if I didn't act early, you'd lose yourself, or worse, destroy the world before you could positively effect it."
Jean's hands trembled slightly, not with fear, but with the magnitude of years crashing down all at once. She exhaled, letting the wind catch her breath, and stepped forward again.
"You feared me," she said.
"No," he replied instantly, almost desperately. "I feared for you."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Jean said angrily.
Xavier's face fell. A slow silence followed, heavier than any words he could summon.
"Because I thought if I told you, you'd try to unlock it yourself. That your curiosity would lead you into danger. That you'd burn out before you ever learned how to contain the flame."
Jean's gaze narrowed, "And now that I have it? Now that it's mine again, are you afraid of me?"
He hesitated before finally speaking, "I'm afraid of what you could become. I'm afraid you'll see that the world may not deserve your protection."
Jean turned away for a moment, facing the sea.
"I'm not a god," she said quietly, "I'm not some cosmic punishment waiting to be unleashed. I'm a person. You taught me to fight for coexistence. But you never really believed that I could coexist with this, did you?"
"No," Charles said. "I didn't."
There was no venom in his voice, only regret.
"I failed you," he continued. "Not by suppressing the Phoenix, but by not preparing you for what would come when it returned."