Nick Fury's complexion drained of color as he bore witness to the unfolding chaos. The sheer magnitude of the events unfolding before him threatened to cast Phil Coulson, a steadfast member of SHIELD, out of the organization's ranks.
Unaware of Fury's duplicity, Coulson persisted in his persuasion. "Director Fury, with SHIELD's resources and Alex as a consultant, handling this situation should be within our capabilities. Alex likely remains unaware of your involvement; otherwise, he would have approached SHIELD instead of heading to the White House."
Grasping at straws, Fury forced a nod. "Yes, that's a plausible explanation."
Yet, fear gripped Fury's heart as the reality of Alex's power settled in. With a mere gesture, Alex obliterated nearly a hundred Sentinels, defying any conventional means of control or containment. Even the notion of piercing his heart seemed futile against Alex's overwhelming might—a strength epitomized by controlling a sword spanning a thousand meters.
In essence, Alex appeared invincible, a force beyond calculation or restraint. Fury's attempts at strategic planning crumbled in the face of such unimaginable power.
Recalling the devastating records of the Cairo catastrophe, where millions met their end and the city itself transformed into pyramids, Fury comprehended the terror that mutant powers could unleash upon the world. It was a power that transcended human understanding, a harbinger of untold destruction.
Fury came to a grim realization: Alex wasn't just a fourth-level mutant; he stood as a fifth-level powerhouse, surpassing even the formidable Eric and Charles in strength.
With a heavy heart, Fury accepted the inevitable conclusion: defeat.
...
Meanwhile, at the White House, tensions soared to a fever pitch.
The President of the United States, trembling with disbelief, stared at the satellite feed displaying the swift and devastating movements of the colossal steel sword. "Wasn't it Nick Fury who assured us that the Sentinels could handle mutant threats? What is happening?!" he exclaimed, his frustration palpable.
"Our efforts have been futile, Mr. President. The Sentinels were decimated in moments," the presidential secretary confessed, a sense of helplessness tainting his words.
"Futile!" The President's hand slammed down on the table in frustration. "After all the effort and resources invested in the Sentinel plan, is this the outcome we face?!"
After a brief moment to gather himself, he turned to his secretary with a steely resolve. "Order the military to intervene and stop this mutant!"
"But, Mr. President, this is Washington. There will be civilian casualties," the secretary cautioned.
"Do you grasp the potential havoc an enraged and powerful mutant can wreak? If you do, then take action now!" the President demanded, his voice a mix of urgency and determination.
Outside Washington, a formidable military force swiftly assembled, their presence a testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding within the nation's capital.
Washington, as the heart of governmental power, boasted a permanent military presence ready to defend against any threat.
Armored vehicles, loaded with missiles and mortars, lined the streets alongside fighter jets armed with bombs, a formidable display of military might converging on downtown Washington.
Despite their training and discipline, many soldiers couldn't suppress the tremors of apprehension coursing through them as they braced for the inevitable clash with a mutant driven by rage.
"Heh, they're pulling out all the stops for one mutant. With this firepower, that mutant shouldn't stand a chance," remarked a soldier while positioning mortars with calculated precision.
"Don't underestimate him. Look up," another soldier cautioned, drawing his comrade's attention to the sky.
High above, a colossal shadow loomed, casting a dark pall over the scene—a colossal steel sword, stretching nearly a thousand meters, hovered ominously, a stark reminder of the imminent threat.
A collective sense of helplessness settled over the troops as they grappled with the realization of facing an adversary of such titanic proportions. How could conventional weaponry stand against such overwhelming power?
Nevertheless, orders were issued from high command, demanding action. Shells were launched into the sky, each one aimed at the massive sword, but their impact barely registered, leaving the towering weapon unscathed.
Meanwhile, Alex, aloof to the chaos below, maintained his focus on his ultimate target—the White House. The futility of the military's efforts was starkly apparent as they struggled to contend with a force beyond their comprehension.
As the military's assault intensified, Alex remained eerily composed amidst the chaos. Extending his hand calmly, he halted the incoming shells mid-air, their deadly trajectory redirected with a simple gesture that magnified their destructive power, unleashing explosions that ripped through the city, leaving devastation and carnage in their wake.
Fighter jets streaked across the sky, unleashing a torrent of bullets at Alex, but his power transcended mere steel manipulation. With a casual exertion of his will, he froze the bullets in mid-flight, rendering them harmless before redirecting them back with lethal force.
The jets, once symbols of military prowess, were ensnared by an invisible force, their metal frames twisted and torn as if they were mere playthings. The unfortunate souls aboard faced a grim fate as their aircraft were crushed and torn apart.
In a heartbeat, the military's formidable defense crumbled before Alex's unstoppable power. The illusion of human dominance shattered as their most advanced weaponry proved futile against a force beyond their comprehension.
(End of this chapter)
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