The next morning, the farmhouse bustled like an overworked ant hill—only if ants could grumble, sharpen swords, and spill coffee on blueprints. Everyone was on edge. Tension crackled in the air like a thunderstorm about to let loose. Hank McCoy and Beckendorf were hunched over the dining table, whispering like mad scientists over some half-baked plan to dismantle Stryker's neural dampeners. Brunhilde, radiating frustration, sat by the window, dragging a whetstone along her sword with all the grace of a guillotine operator. The sound alone was enough to make the others give her a wide berth.
At the head of the room, Charles Xavier exuded calm authority, but even he looked like he was bracing for impact. "We all know the kind of horrors Stryker is capable of," he began, his tone the verbal equivalent of a warm blanket. "And I understand the impulse to act now. But charging in without a plan will only lead to disaster—for us and for the children."
Brunhilde rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't get stuck. "We know where he is. We know what he's doing. Why are we sitting here talking like this is a book club? Let's go stab something."
From his perch near the door, Harry nodded in agreement. "I hate to say it, but I'm with Brunhilde. Stryker's not exactly the 'wait patiently while we strategize' type."
Now, if you're wondering why someone as formidable as Harry wasn't already leaping into action, allow me to paint a picture. Imagine a young man with unruly black hair that seemed to have a will of its own, striking green eyes that could probably see through your lies, and an aura that screamed "dangerously charming." That was Harry. A walking storm of divine chaos, caught between the legacies of his parents—Loki, the Asgardian God of Mischief, and Artemis, the Greek Goddess of the Hunt. The guy could shapeshift into anything from a dragon to a labradoodle, command the moon's power like a DJ spinning tracks, and wield charm so potent it could probably convince a rock to dance.
But even Harry knew that Xavier wasn't one to make decisions lightly. So, while he really wanted to light a fire under Stryker's fortress—literally—he grudgingly stayed put. For now.
Xavier's gaze softened as he addressed them, though his voice remained firm. "Stryker's facility near Alkali Lake is a fortress. His resources are vast, his soldiers enhanced. If we act rashly, we won't just lose the children—we'll lose ourselves."
Hermione, standing beside Harry, frowned. Her curls bounced as she crossed her arms, the picture of intellectual determination. "What's the alternative, then? We can't leave those kids there."
"We won't," Xavier said. "But this isn't just about saving them—it's about ensuring Stryker can never do this again. That's why I'm asking all of you to return to K'un Lun."
The room went still. Brunhilde's sword clattered onto the table. "You want us to run away to some mystical mountain while those kids suffer?"
"K'un Lun isn't a retreat," Xavier said patiently. "It's where you can gain the skills and strength to end this fight for good. Stryker's forces are beyond anything you've faced. If we go in unprepared, we're playing right into his hands."
Hank chimed in, "If even half the legends about K'un Lun's training are true, it might give us the edge we need."
Thalia, who had been leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. "And what will you be doing while we're off meditating on a mountain?"
Xavier allowed himself a small smile. "I'll be reaching out to allies. Chiron at Camp Half-Blood, for one. He's a war strategist of unparalleled skill. Together, we'll prepare a coordinated strike to rescue the children."
Clarisse perked up. "If Chiron's in, that changes things. The guy's a tactical genius."
Katie, however, wasn't so easily convinced. "What about Bobby? You're asking us to leave him behind?"
"Bobby will stay under my protection," Xavier assured her. "He'll be safe here, and I'll help him begin to understand his powers."
Brunhilde groaned, throwing her hands up. "Fine. But if Stryker so much as breathes wrong, I'm coming back and cutting him down myself."
Harry smirked. "Make room for two. I've got some arrows to spare."
The group's frustration didn't completely dissipate, but the plan started to feel less like a detour and more like a necessary step. They began gathering their gear, though not without some grumbling. As they prepared to leave, Harry lingered by the window, his green eyes fixed on the horizon.
For all his bravado, a storm brewed inside him. He wasn't just a fighter or a trickster. He was someone who understood the stakes better than most. Those kids didn't need a hero—they needed someone who would burn the world down to save them. And Harry? He'd do just that. But first, he had to become something more.
As the sun rose higher, casting golden light over the farmhouse, Harry felt the pull of K'un Lun like a whisper in his blood. Training, strategy, patience—it wasn't his style. But if it meant giving Stryker exactly what he deserved? Well, maybe he could learn. Just this once.
—
As Harry gathered his friends before the grand departure, his mind buzzed with the usual cocktail of emotions—excitement, trepidation, and the odd twinge of guilt. They were about to head off to K'un Lun, a legendary city tucked away in a pocket of space-time that only a few lucky (or unlucky) souls ever got to visit. And of course, they were all depending on him to make it happen. No pressure, right?
"Okay, so... I may have told you this before," Harry began, his voice tinged with his usual sarcastic humor, "but just in case you forgot—this is how I'm leaving. So, no one panic when I do the whole Shadow Travel thing." He wiggled his fingers dramatically, making a show of summoning the dark, swirling mists that would carry them away.
"Thanks again, Harry," Jean said with a soft smile, her eyes full of gratitude. "For keeping your promise and showing up for my birthday."
"Of course," Harry said with a grin, winking at her. "No way I'd miss a party, especially when I know there's cake involved. Besides, I promised, didn't I?" He loved that look on Jean's face—relieved, happy, and a little bit like she was still trying to figure him out. Good luck with that. Trust me, you're not the first.
"Next time we spar, don't hold back," Natasha's voice cut through the air, her usual no-nonsense tone coming through loud and clear. She narrowed her eyes, almost daring him to challenge her. Harry chuckled, remembering the last time they'd sparred, when Natasha had nearly knocked his socks off with one swift move.
"I'll try not to," Harry replied with a wink. "But no promises. You know how it is when you're too busy being awesome at everything."
Yelena tossed him a look. "Just be careful out there. I don't need to be the one to come and rescue you."
"Ha! You would just love doing that," Harry teased. "Admit it, you would secretly enjoy being the one to pull my butt out of the fire."
"Maybe," she said, with a slight smile. "Just don't get in too much trouble, okay?"
"Sure, sure, Yelena," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You know, it's always my fault when the universe goes off the rails."
Kitty laughed, but Scott, as usual, was glaring at Harry from across the group. "I still don't like how close you are to Jean," he muttered, crossing his arms, looking way too serious for the situation. Harry couldn't help it; he cracked a grin.
"Jealous, Scott? Come on, man. There's enough of me to go around."
Lance snorted. "You wish there was enough of you."
"Hey, some of us are born with charisma, alright?" Harry shot back, giving Scott a quick wink.
Rogue grinned and wrapped him in one of her signature bear hugs. "You take care of yourself out there, Harry. We don't need you going all 'mysterious and brooding' on us. We like you better when you're being a little less dramatic."
"Drama's my middle name, Rogue. But I'll do my best," Harry said, giving her a playful push.
"Good luck, kid," Remy said with a smirk, offering Harry a fist bump. "And don't go starting any wars with ancient immortal martial artists or whatever it is you're planning on doing. We're all counting on you to keep it together."
"Please, I can totally keep it together," Harry said, throwing his hands up in mock defense. "Who do you think I am? The God of Mischief?"
Kayla stepped forward with a mock stern face. "Please don't get yourself killed. Seriously. My heart can't handle it."
"I won't get myself killed," Harry said, though the thought of dying was one he usually liked to avoid. "I'll only get very close to it and then pull some flashy, heroic stunt to keep you all on your toes."
"Just try to stay out of trouble," Scott added, still looking less than thrilled. "If you can't, don't tell anyone I said this, but... I'll cover for you."
"Ah, that's sweet. Almost like a hug... but not," Harry teased. "I'll try not to make you a liar, Scott. No promises, though."
Warren, looking more angelic than usual (go figure), gave Harry a salute. "Be careful, alright? And... try not to annoy too many immortals. You never know who you might tick off."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "But let's be real—if I annoyed everyone I met, I'd have zero friends. Not that that's ever stopped me before."
Finally, Coach Hedge, in his usual way, gave Harry a firm clap on the back. "You better bring me back something fun from K'un Lun, kid. And don't get all philosophical with me. Just keep it simple and keep it fun."
"Of course, Coach. K'un Lun is the place to have a good time. Just... maybe don't expect a hot dog stand or anything."
"Pfft, why not? You've got god-level powers. You can make a hot dog stand appear with a snap, right?" Coach said with a wink, making everyone chuckle.
"I mean, I could, but I might prefer to leave it to the ancient martial arts training... and the food that doesn't involve mystery meat," Harry quipped.
With a final glance at his friends, Harry let the shadows start to swirl around him, gathering strength and pulling the group into the swirling void. "Alright, everyone, hold on tight. We're going to K'un Lun. And I'll try to behave—no promises though!"
And just like that, they were gone, leaving their home and their friends behind.
K'un Lun awaited.
—
The moment Harry and his ragtag band of troublemakers—Hermione, Annabeth, Thalia, Luke, Travis, Connor, Silena, Clarisse, Charles, and Brunhilde—stepped out of the swirling shadows into the mystical, serene surroundings of K'un Lun, they knew they were in deep trouble. And by "deep trouble," I mean the kind of trouble that involves a legendary martial arts master glaring at you like you just burned down his favorite temple. Which, for the record, they hadn't done. Yet.
Standing there in his full, intimidating glory was Lei Kung the Thunderer, arms crossed, his stern expression looking sharp enough to cut through vibranium. He didn't even say a word. He didn't have to. His silence was louder than any thunderclap, and it practically screamed: I'm so disappointed in you.
"Okay, before you say anything, can I just point out that we left a note?" Harry said, trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly. He could feel Hermione's elbow itching to jab him in the ribs, but she held back—for now.
"Yes," Lei Kung finally said, his voice like the rumble of an approaching storm. "A note." His eyes swept over the group, narrowing slightly when they landed on Travis and Connor, who were clearly trying their best to avoid eye contact. "Which said, 'Taking a break. Be back in a few days. P.S. We beat the monks guarding the place. Sorry, not sorry.'"
Connor coughed. "To be fair, it was accurate."
"Connor," Annabeth hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already calculating the number of hours they'd spend scrubbing floors as punishment.
"And let's not forget," Lei Kung continued, his voice rising with the kind of calm that was far more terrifying than yelling, "the fact that you assaulted my guards. In the middle of the night. After weeks of my training."
"Technically," Travis piped up, "we didn't assault them. We just... temporarily incapacitated them. For a good cause."
Clarisse snorted. "You're not helping, Stoll."
"We were trying to not get caught," Thalia said, shrugging unapologetically. "It's not like we wanted to punch anyone, but, you know, desperate times."
"Desperate times?" Lei Kung arched an eyebrow, his voice carrying a lethal calm. "Your 'desperation' was to leave K'un Lun without permission, break every rule of hospitality, and throw punches at the very people who trained you."
Harry raised a hand like he was in a classroom. "In fairness, the punches were more like gentle taps. And the monks? Pretty sturdy. They'll bounce back. Probably stronger than ever. You're welcome."
Lei Kung's gaze shifted to Harry like a laser targeting a particularly annoying fly. "And you. The son of Loki. Leader of this chaos."
Harry grinned sheepishly, leaning on his usual charm like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "Leader? That's generous. I like to think of myself more as a facilitator of poor decisions."
"Harry," Hermione muttered through gritted teeth, "stop talking."
"But it's true," Luke added, smirking. "He's great at facilitating poor decisions. Look at all of us. Peak bad-decision material."
Lei Kung exhaled slowly, visibly restraining himself from snapping them all in half like particularly infuriating twigs. "You abandoned your training. You disrespected my teachings. And you endangered my guards—all to chase your own agenda. Tell me, was it worth it?"
Harry hesitated for a split second before stepping forward, his smirk fading into something more sincere. "Honestly? Yeah, it was. We uncovered a plot of a seriously messed up guy. Taking him down will help a lot of people, and save a lot of lives. That's what this is all about, isn't it? The training, the discipline—it's supposed to make us better. Stronger. So we can protect those who can't protect themselves. And yeah, maybe we broke a few rules. Okay, a lot of rules. But I don't regret it."
The group fell silent, waiting for Lei Kung's response. For a long, agonizing moment, the Thunderer simply stared at Harry, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
"You are reckless," Lei Kung said finally. "Impulsive. Arrogant. And insufferably stubborn." His gaze swept over the rest of the group. "All of you. But your hearts... are in the right place. That does not excuse your actions, but it does explain them."
"So, uh... not banned from K'un Lun forever?" Travis asked, sounding genuinely hopeful.
"Not yet," Lei Kung said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But you will earn back my trust—and the trust of this city. Starting tomorrow. Training will resume at dawn. And believe me, I will not go easy on any of you."
"Great," Harry said, clapping his hands together. "Dawn training. Love it. Can't wait."
"Until then," Lei Kung added, his voice stern once more, "you will each spend the rest of the day apologizing to the guards you assaulted. Personally."
The group collectively groaned. Even Hermione, who usually loved any opportunity to lecture people about ethics, looked less than thrilled.
"Fine," Harry said, sighing dramatically. "But for the record, next time we save the world, we'll be sure to send a better note. Maybe with some glitter. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Lei Kung shook his head, muttering something about "trickster gods" and "eternal headaches" as he walked away. The group, meanwhile, trudged off to face their apologies, already plotting how they'd survive tomorrow's training without collapsing into a heap of bruises and regret.
Another day, another disaster. Welcome back to K'un Lun.
—
By the time they shuffled out of Lei Kung's presence, the group had collectively agreed: facing an army of undead ninjas would've been preferable to the gauntlet of apologies awaiting them.
"We're doomed," Travis groaned as they headed toward the first monk's post. "They'll probably write songs about this. 'The Day the Idiots Punched the Monks of K'un Lun.' It'll have bagpipes."
"Would you stop whining?" Annabeth hissed. "We deserve this. Sneaking out was bad enough, but the guards? That was over the line."
"I didn't hit anyone!" Harry defended himself. "I just… shadow-traveled past them. Very stealthily."
"You distracted one by throwing a rock at his head," Hermione reminded him.
Harry winced. "Okay, fine, mildly stealthily."
---
The first monk they approached was meditating atop a post in the training yard, balancing perfectly on one leg. His eyes remained closed, but Harry swore he could feel the judgment.
Harry cleared his throat, earning glares from Hermione and Annabeth for his awkwardness. "Uh… hi there. About the whole… sneaking-out-and-violence thing…"
The monk didn't move, his expression one of perfect serenity. Harry felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple.
"We're sorry," Hermione cut in, stepping forward with her most sincere tone. "We disrespected you, your duties, and the sanctity of K'un Lun. What we did was unacceptable, and we deeply regret our actions."
Annabeth nodded. "She's right. We were reckless and inconsiderate. It won't happen again."
The monk finally opened his eyes, regarding them with an expression that might've been calm—or mildly annoyed. "Regret is the first step. Actions must follow."
"We're ready to prove ourselves," Thalia said firmly, though her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Super ready," Connor added, flashing what he probably thought was a winning smile.
The monk raised an eyebrow. "We shall see."
---
The second stop was the barracks, where two monks sat cross-legged outside, clearly mid-conversation until the group approached. Both men turned to stare, their expressions blank but distinctly unamused.
"Uh, hi," Harry began, scratching the back of his neck. "We, um, wanted to say sorry. About the… sneaking and, you know, the… punching."
One of the monks folded his arms. "You knocked me unconscious."
Harry winced. "In my defense, it was really dark, and I thought you were—"
"A threat?" the monk finished, his voice sharp.
"... a really big squirrel," Harry muttered.
Hermione groaned audibly while Thalia smacked Harry on the back of the head.
"We're deeply sorry," Hermione said, stepping forward again to salvage what she could. "We acted impulsively and without respect for your role here. We will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary."
The second monk narrowed his eyes. "You will clean the training grounds tomorrow. Every inch."
"And the barracks," the first monk added.
"Done," Hermione said firmly, elbowing Harry before he could say something else stupid.
---
It went like that at every stop: Harry started with a bad joke or awkward grin, Hermione or Annabeth smoothed things over with heartfelt apologies, and Thalia occasionally threatened Harry if he didn't stop embarrassing them.
One monk lectured them for ten minutes about the sacred duty of guarding K'un Lun's gates, ending with, "And if you ever assault one of us again, I will personally see to it that you are exiled to the highest peak to meditate on your arrogance."
"Fair," Silena agreed quickly. "Very fair."
Another monk, still sporting a black eye courtesy of Clarisse, simply stared at them until Clarisse mumbled an apology.
"Louder," the monk demanded.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Clarisse snapped, then caught herself. "I mean… yes, I'm sorry. Very sorry. It won't happen again."
"It had better not," the monk said, rubbing his eye.
The last monk they visited had an ice pack on his arm and a scowl that could've melted steel.
"Leave," he said flatly as soon as Harry opened his mouth.
"But we—"
"Leave."
"Right. Leaving."
---
By the time they finished, the sun was setting over K'un Lun, painting the city in soft gold and fiery orange. The group trudged back toward their quarters, looking like they'd gone ten rounds with a particularly vengeful kung fu master.
"So, what did we learn today?" Hermione asked, glancing at each of them in turn.
"Not to punch monks," Luke offered.
"Or sneak out," Silena added.
"Or let Harry speak," Annabeth muttered under her breath.
"Hey!" Harry protested, though he didn't deny it.
"Let's just focus on surviving tomorrow," Thalia said grimly. "Lei Kung isn't done with us yet."
As they collapsed into their bunks, Harry couldn't help but glance toward the temple, where Lei Kung was undoubtedly plotting new and inventive ways to make them regret their choices.
"Well," he muttered to himself, pulling his blanket over his head, "at least no one's making us meditate on a mountain. Yet."
And with that, the group fell into an uneasy sleep, bracing themselves for whatever horrors dawn would bring.
—
As Harry drifted into uneasy sleep, his dreamscape began to transform, the misty edges of his subconscious solidifying into vivid clarity. The serene temple gardens of K'un Lun gave way to a sprawling, untamed jungle that seemed alive with ancient energy. Towering trees rose like monoliths into a crimson sky streaked with golden light, their jade-like leaves shimmering with an otherworldly luster. The roar of a distant waterfall melded with the chorus of birds and the occasional growl of unseen predators. This was not a passive place—it pulsed with power, as if it was ready to challenge anyone brave enough to traverse its depths.
From the canopy above, a familiar figure emerged, perched lazily on a low-hanging branch. Sun Wukong grinned, his sharp, golden eyes brimming with mischief. The Monkey King looked every inch the celestial rogue, his golden circlet gleaming like molten sunlight and his crimson robes flowing as if caught in an eternal breeze. In one hand, he twirled his Ruyi Jingu Bang, the staff extending and retracting like a living thing, radiating barely-contained energy.
"Ah, my favorite troublemaker!" Wukong called, somersaulting effortlessly off the branch and landing in front of Harry with theatrical flair. "Tell me, little cub—how was the apology tour? Did the monks finally forgive you for the whole 'rock through the sacred gong' debacle?"
Harry groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Can we not talk about that? It's been a long day, and I'm hanging onto the last shreds of my dignity here."
Wukong laughed, a sound so rich and infectious it seemed to shake the jungle around them. "Dignity? You?" He leaned in, eyes sparkling with humor. "Kid, you're training with me. Dignity went out the window the first time you tried to scratch your ear with your foot during our monkey form drills. Now"—he stepped back, spinning his staff with a flourish—"let's see what you've got tonight."
Before Harry could protest, his casual clothes vanished, replaced by loose, battle-worn training garb. The familiar weight of his own staff materialized in his hands—a humble yet durable counterpart to Wukong's legendary weapon.
"I've been watching," Wukong began, pacing in a slow circle around Harry like a predator sizing up its prey. "Last night's little skirmish with Sabretooth? Messy. Reckless. Sloppy." He stopped, turning sharply, a wild grin splitting his face. "But damn impressive. Using Hóu Quán while mixing in Cyttorak's power? Inspired. And now, with that feral mutation you picked up?" He tapped his temple. "Potential. But potential doesn't win wars. Mastery does."
Harry straightened, gripping his staff tighter. "That's why I'm here."
Wukong's grin widened. "Good answer. Tonight's focus is integration. That feral mutation is raw, untamed chaos. Chaos can be beautiful—but only if you know how to wield it. And we're going to teach it to dance."
With a snap of Wukong's fingers, the jungle around them shifted. The trees pulled back as if alive, forming a massive clearing encircled by glowing runes that hovered in midair. The ambient noise of the jungle quieted, replaced by a low, reverberating hum that seemed to resonate in Harry's very bones. The crimson light of the dreamscape deepened, and Harry felt Cyttorak's power stir within him—a relentless, primal force eager to be unleashed.
"Lesson one," Wukong said, planting his staff into the ground and leaning on it like a sage. "Stop thinking like a human. You're not just some bloke with a wand anymore. You've got feral instincts—use them. Smell the air. Listen to the heartbeat of the jungle. Feel the vibrations in the earth."
Harry closed his eyes, letting his senses expand outward. At first, it was overwhelming—the cacophony of sounds, the multitude of scents, the sheer vitality of the jungle. But slowly, he began to filter through it, isolating individual threads. He could hear the distant rustle of leaves, the faint pulse of energy radiating from Wukong, the subtle tremor of something massive stalking through the underbrush far away.
"Not bad," Wukong said softly, his tone almost approving. Then, louder: "Now, fight!"
Harry's eyes snapped open just in time to see Wukong's staff descending toward his head. He ducked instinctively, rolling to the side and countering with a swift upward strike of his own. Wukong blocked it with casual ease, laughing as he spun his staff in a blur and came at Harry with renewed vigor.
The sparring match that followed was nothing short of legendary. Wukong moved with an elegance and unpredictability that defied logic, his strikes coming from impossible angles, his movements a perfect blend of chaos and control. Harry, guided by his feral instincts, met him blow for blow. His movements were faster, more fluid, his strikes imbued with Cyttorak's devastating power.
"Good!" Wukong shouted, leaping into the air and twisting mid-flight to deliver a spinning strike. "Use it all, kid! The feral power, Cyttorak's strength, Hóu Quán—make them your own!"
Harry roared in response, the sound more beast than man, and charged forward. He swung his staff with enough force to crack the earth beneath them, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the dreamscape. Wukong dodged, laughing gleefully, and retaliated with a rapid flurry of strikes that tested Harry's reflexes to their limits.
The battle raged for what felt like years. Wukong pushed Harry to his breaking point and beyond, forcing him to blend his powers seamlessly. The feral instincts gave him an edge—heightened awareness, animalistic cunning—but it was Hóu Quán that turned those instincts into a deadly art. Cyttorak's power added a raw, unstoppable force to his strikes, and the combination of all three was nothing short of terrifying.
When Wukong finally called for a break, Harry collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His body ached, but it was a good ache—the ache of growth, of progress.
"You're getting there," Wukong said, crouching beside him and offering a rare, genuine smile. "Still rough around the edges, but you're learning. And that's what matters."
Harry managed a weak grin. "You're not half-bad as a teacher, Monkey King."
Wukong barked out a laugh, clapping him on the back with enough force to nearly knock him over. "And you're not half-bad as a student. But don't get cocky—we've got a long way to go."
As the dreamscape shifted around them, preparing for the next challenge, Harry felt a renewed sense of purpose. He wasn't just learning to survive—he was becoming something more, something stronger. And with Sun Wukong's relentless guidance, he knew he'd be ready for whatever awaited him in the waking world.
—
The drive back to New York was a surreal convoy: Xavier's sleek institute car, driven by Hank McCoy with Charles seated calmly in the passenger seat, followed closely behind Coach Hedge's unmistakable Delphi Strawberry van. The van itself rattled with barely-contained energy—thanks to the presence of five young demigods whose conversations ranged from Greek myths to comparing their powers, punctuated by Natasha Romanoff's wry quips and Katie Gardner's exasperated groans about Coach Hedge's aggressive driving.
"Seriously, Hedge," Katie muttered, clutching the door handle. "Did Ares teach you to drive, or did you just never learn the difference between a brake and the gas pedal?"
"Bah!" Coach Hedge barked, grinning. "Brake? That's quitter talk! Don't worry, kid, this baby can handle a little off-road adventure."
The van swerved slightly, and Yelena yelped. "Maybe I do want to be dropped off at the Red Room instead," she muttered, glaring at her sister, Natasha, who smirked.
"Relax, Yelena. Hedge has yet to kill anyone while driving… that we know of."
"Comforting," Kayla deadpanned, while Jean Grey sat quietly in the corner, her brows furrowed in concentration as she read something intangible in the ether.
---
The convoy pulled up just outside the magical boundary of Camp Half-Blood. The barrier shimmered faintly in the afternoon sun, an illusion to mortal eyes but a tangible sense of safety to anyone sensitive to magic. The group piled out of their vehicles, Hedge carrying his baseball bat like a badge of honor, while Hank helped Charles maneuver his wheelchair onto the uneven forest floor.
The centaur Chiron—wearing his disguise as Mr. Brunner, the kindly history teacher, that he sometimes wears when he steps out of Camp—was already waiting for them near Thalia's pine tree. His tweed jacket and wire-rimmed glasses gave him an unassuming air, but there was no mistaking the ageless wisdom in his eyes as he greeted the newcomers.
"Professor Xavier," Chiron said warmly, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
"The pleasure is mine, Chiron," Charles replied, shaking his hand firmly. "Your reputation precedes you. I must admit, I've wanted to visit your camp for some time. It's extraordinary to see this place in person."
Hank gave Chiron a curious once-over, nodding approvingly. "I've read your notes in Beckendorf's blueprints. Your work with demigods is, frankly, fascinating."
"And your work with mutants is equally admirable," Chiron said, before his gaze shifted to the young demigods. "Welcome home, children. Your cabins await."
"Sweet," Natasha said casually.
---
Once the campers were ushered inside, Xavier, Hank, Coach Hedge, and Chiron moved to a quieter area just outside the magical boundary. Charles explained the events of the previous day, detailing Stryker's fanatical hatred of mutants and his newfound knowledge of demigods.
"He sees all of us as threats," Charles said gravely. "His actions thus far have been aimed primarily at mutants, but I believe he will expand his crusade. The discovery of demigods—children of gods—may only fuel his cause further."
Chiron's expression darkened, his hands gripping the arms of the wheelchair he used for his disguise. "A man like Stryker is dangerous not only because of his beliefs but because of the resources and influence he wields. He's already attempted to weaponize mutants. I can only imagine what he might try if he gets his hands on a demigod."
Hank leaned against a nearby tree, his furred hands clasped thoughtfully. "We have to assume he'll escalate. Yesterday's encounter was a warning shot, not a full assault."
"I agree," Charles said, his voice tinged with concern. "Which is why I've come to you, Chiron. Your knowledge of both the divine and mortal worlds may provide us with insight into how to counter Stryker. He's no ordinary enemy."
Chiron's gaze turned toward the camp, his face etched with worry. "Stryker reminds me of the ancient fanatics who sought to destroy what they couldn't control. Such men are rarely stopped with reason or diplomacy. If he is as dangerous as you say, then we must act swiftly—and decisively."
"Do you have any advice for our next steps?" Charles asked.
Chiron nodded slowly. "First, ensure that the children are protected. Camp Half-Blood's borders are secure, but we cannot assume they are impenetrable. Second, gather allies. Stryker may be a mortal man, but the danger he represents affects both mutants and demigods alike. Unity will be our greatest strength."
Hank frowned. "Do you think the gods would intervene?"
Chiron sighed. "The gods rarely act unless their direct interests are threatened. However, some of their children—particularly those who wield influence in the mortal world—may be persuaded to help. You may also find allies among other pantheons. Stryker's hatred does not discriminate."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "And on a practical level?"
"Find his weaknesses," Chiron said firmly. "Men like Stryker build their power on fear and manipulation. Expose the cracks in his foundation—undermine his credibility, disrupt his plans, and weaken his support."
Coach Hedge, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "And if that doesn't work? What then?"
Chiron's gaze turned steely. "Then we fight."
The group fell silent, the gravity of the situation settling over them like a heavy cloak. Charles exchanged a glance with Hank, then turned back to Chiron.
"Thank you," Charles said. "Your wisdom is invaluable. Together, we'll ensure that neither mutants nor demigods fall victim to his hatred."
"And if he tries to mess with us?" Hedge added, cracking his knuckles. "He'll regret ever picking a fight with Camp Half-Blood."
---
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