Stepping into the X-mansion's yard, Evan materialized in a burst of smoke, Nightcrawler at his side. His eyes widened in response to the scene that unraveled before him, a tableau of chaos and devastation that reached beyond the boundaries of his expectations. The once-familiar grounds were now a battlefield, marked by signs of fierce conflict and desperation.
Amidst the tumultuous turmoil, a haunting sight held Evan's gaze like a magnet. His focus zeroed in on the sprawl of young mutants—victims of the onslaught—scattered across the ground, their lifeless forms a stark contrast to the vibrancy they once exuded.
The scene before him was like a trigger, a catalyst that awakened a flood of unwelcome memories and feelings within Evan. The stark image of young lives senselessly cut short, the ravaged grounds of the mansion ignited a seething fury, long suppressed but now rekindled. Drawing a steadying breath, he summoned his years of discipline and training, reining in the roiling emotions within.
With a renewed focus, Evan's gaze swept across the battlefield, his mind processing the dynamic tableau unfolding. The X-Men were putting up a fierce resistance-- their powers pitted against the relentless onslaught of the Sentinel machines.
Storm's formidable abilities were a pillar of strength, her raw power capable of holding back the relentless tide. However, it was clear that her restraint was allowing the machines to adapt to their mutant abilities, an unnerving shift that slowly tilted the balance in the Sentinels' favor.
Swiftly assessing the situation, Evan's mind raced to chart a strategic course of action. He recognized the urgency of the moment and the need to counter the machines' adaptability. Without hesitation, he propelled himself into motion, springing toward the nearest Sentinel. As he charged, his voice rang out with conviction, "Brute force works best against these machines!"
His words carried a dual purpose: a rallying cry for the X-men and a calculated move to seize the attention of his mechanical foe. The Sentinel he targeted swiveled its mechanical gaze toward him, its response swift and decisive. A fist arced toward Evan, a testament to the machines' relentless aggression.
Evan's reflexes surged into action, his form sidestepping the oncoming blow. In one fluid motion, he intercepted the machine's extended arm, his grip firm and unyielding. The grinding of metal against metal reverberated through the chaos. With a determined twist of his body, Evan exerted his strength, tearing the offending mechanical limb from its socket.
Capitalizing on the opening he had created, Evan's fist blurred into motion, a precise strike that penetrated the exposed interior of the Sentinel. The Extremis Serum coursing through his veins surged to life, his chest emanating a pulsating orange glow as the energy within him manifested. Heat radiated through his body, channeled toward his fist, a torrent of molten power.
As his fist connected, the machine's metallic form began to yield to the intense heat, with the metal melting and warping under the onslaught. The energy source, the heart of the Sentinel, succumbed to the overwhelming force, disintegrating in a cascade of destruction. The victory was swift and fiery, with the machine collapsing into a heap of smoldering ruins.
The revelation was crystal clear, a shard of insight amidst the chaos of battle. These Sentinel machines, for all their adaptive prowess, were intrinsically bound to the materials comprising their frames. The message echoed with a newfound clarity – their weakness lay in their metallic bodies. If the X-Men could muster the raw brute force that surpassed the machines' endurance, they might well tip the scales of the battle in their favor.
Evan harbored no intentions of expounding on his insight further to the machines; his actions would be his statement. Though unable to communicate telepathically due to the implant in his head, he knew someone else would think of and convey a plan of action.
Storm, ever perceptive, absorbed the intent behind Evan's gaze. With the acumen of a natural leader, she improvised a quick plan.With a nod of affirmation, Storm pivoted, her authoritative presence commanding attention.
Through the interconnected minds forged by Marvel Girl's telepathy, Storm's voice resounded in everyone's minds. 'Let Colossus, Armor, Wolverine, and Evan take the vanguard! Their power is the key to overpowering the Sentinels! The rest of you-- support them as best as you can!"
...
As the echoes of battle subsided, the once chaotic landscape of the X-Mansion's yard now lay strewn with the fallen remains of the Sentinel machines. Amidst the aftermath, Evan knelt beside the motionless form of a mutant, the young man's body bearing the visible scars of the recent struggle. Lacerations and burn marks crisscrossed the young mutant's frame, a testament to the intensity of the conflict they had emerged from.
Evan's demeanor remained composed as he extended his hand over the injured mutant. A soft, golden light emanated from his palm, a soothing contrast to the destruction around them. The healing energy flowed forth, weaving its restorative magic upon the young mutant's body.
One by one, the injuries began to fade, leaving behind unblemished skin and newfound vitality. Yet, as the young mutant's wounds vanished, a subtle transference occurred, and the same injuries manifested on Evan's own form, a testament to the toll such healing demanded. His own wounds, however, were not left unattended, gradually succumbing to the healing properties of the Extremis Serum coursing through his veins.
A tranquil smile accompanied his actions as he reassured, "There... hang on tight, kid. You'll make it."
The rhythmic cadence of approaching footsteps drew Evan's attention away from his task. He turned to find Ororo making her way towards him, concern etching her features. With genuine care, she inquired, "Are you alright?"
Evan's frown deepened as he uttered, "No, I'm not alright." His gaze swept over the still forms of the young mutants, each life lost an echoing reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded. Some had met their demise before his arrival, while others had fallen in the midst of the brutal clash. His attention lingered on the fallen, a mix of regret and sorrow clouding his features.
The weight of responsibility bore down heavily on Evan's shoulders, and he directed his frustration towards the senseless loss of life. "This... this shouldn't have happened. I warned Charles," his voice carried a poignant blend of anger and helplessness, emotions that resonated deeply within the ears of those around him.
Ororo's perceptive gaze absorbed his words, comprehending the turmoil that churned beneath his outward composure.
A weary sigh escaped Ororo's lips, an acknowledgment of the harsh truth they all faced. Evan's warning had not gone unheeded, but the grim reality had unfolded regardless. A veil of somber understanding passed between them, acknowledging the truth of his statement.
As the last vestiges of his injuries were mended by the Extremis Serum, Evan leveraged himself upwards, the renewed vitality evident in his movements. His query pierced the air, directed towards the whereabouts of two key figures amidst the chaos. "Where is Charles anyway? And McCoy?"
Drawing near, Scott Summers entered the conversation with an air of informed reassurance. He shared the insight that Evan sought, a glimpse into the current whereabouts of their mentors. "Charles took your warning seriously," Scott explained, his expression earnest.
"He dispatched someone to investigate the situation." A shrug came with his words as he offered, "As for him and McCoy, they went to engage a mutant-hating extremist. Trying to talk some sense into him, I guess..."
Evan absorbed Scott's words, his lips parting as if to respond. However, before he could form a reply, the tranquility of the moment was disrupted by the intrusion of a small spider-like machine.
Evan's brow furrowed as his gaze settled on the peculiar machine, its spider-like movements casting an air of intrigue over the scene. His reaction was one of cautious observation, the uncertainty of the situation reflected in the lines etched across his forehead.
Contrasting with Evan's measured response, Scott's instincts bristled with immediate action. The mutant's hand darted towards his visor with purposeful speed, a clear intention to neutralize the mechanical intruder that had inevitably been associated with the menacing Sentinels.
Yet, before he could unleash his optic blast, Ororo intervened, a gentle yet firm touch halting his motion. Her reassuring presence came with her words, aimed at soothing Scott's readiness for conflict. "That's one of Forge's machines," she declared, her tone carrying an air of certainty.
Ororo's explanation had the desired effect of quelling Scott's impending attack. The revelation that the machine was of familiar origin appeared to give him pause. However, a noticeable undercurrent of skepticism colored his reaction, his features contorting into a discernible scoff. His views on the indivisual called Forge were far from glowing, a sentiment that was unmistakable.
The machine, meanwhile, continued to demonstrate its enigmatic nature. Its exterior began to shift, a prelude to an unexpected display. A holographic projection emanated from its back, materializing in the form of an indigenous American man. The figure's long hair and distinguished mustache formed an emblem of heritage and character. As the hologram solidified, its presence became a focal point of attention.
With a confident demeanor, the holographic figure initiated its message, delivering the words with a sense of urgency and purpose. "This is a preprogrammed message," the projection announced, its voice resonating with an air of authority. The gravity of the situation was evident in its tone. "If you are reading this, then I have been unfortunately captured,"
A pause followed, a breath of anticipation before the projection resumed its narrative. "I was doing Professor Charles a service—looking into some goverment-sponsored super weapon before my capture," it disclosed, a hint of responsibility and loyalty tinting its words.
A subtle shift in emotion colored the projection's voice as it concluded, a fusion of pragmatism and reluctant appeal. "And so, as much as I hate the expression... do send the cavalry to the following address..."
...
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