Chapter 397: [501] - Let the Fight Begin!

"..." Hawk was smiling. His eyes were not.

Turner stood there, shaking on the inside while putting on a masterclass in poker-faced denial.

"Mr. Phoenix, I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Don't know?" Hawk didn't wait for the old man to finish spinning his bullshit.

He reached out fast and grabbed Turner by the throat. The president's calm look disappeared, replaced by panic. Right in front of him, Hawk's pale face started to look full of life.

Turner stared at him, and the terrifying reality finally hit home.

"You..."

Turner raked at Hawk's arm, but it was as hard as metal. His voice turned into a rough whisper under Hawk's grip. "You... you weren't even sick?"

"No shit." Hawk let out a cold, mocking snort.

"You—"

"YOU'RE OUT OF TIME." Hawk interrupted him and squeezed even harder.

The pressure on Turner's throat grew stronger—and panic hit him hard. He scratched at Hawk's arm, kicking his legs in the air.

Turner knew he had taken a gamble. But like every gambler sitting at a poker table, he had only ever pictured what winning looked like.

Gamblers always claim they can stomach whatever comes their way—until the bill actually lands on the table. They never waste a single second preparing for the fallout of losing.

And now?

Turner was terrified out of his mind. He tried to choke out a plea.

Hawk didn't give a single damn.

He had already handed them an out. More than one, actually. If they were too damn stupid to take the lifeline, they could choke on the consequences.

Hawk watched with cold amusement as Turner's breathing turned into a pathetic rattle. The old man's face turned a dark purple, and a crunch came from his throat. His eyes were full of despair and regret.

Someone knocked hard on the bathroom door. The two Secret Service agents outside finally noticed that too much time had passed.

"Mr. President?"

Hanging in the air, a small hope appeared in Turner's eyes as he was dying.

Hawk noticed it. He didn't say anything. Instead, he gave a mocking smile and stared down at Turner.

A moment later, when no one answered—the agents pushed the door open. They stopped in shock. The man they were supposed to protect was hanging off the floor... limp and helpless.

Their training kicked in a beat too late.

"Holy shit!"

"Drop him! Drop him right the fuck now!"

The agents quickly pulled out their guns, aimed at Hawk, and shouted as loud as they could.

Turner's hope spiked hard.

But that hope was only an illusion.

Snap.

With a sickening crunch, the president's neck gave way. His head sagged to one side, and the light went out of his eyes.

Hawk released him. Turner hit the tile floor in a limp heap and did not move.

"..." The two Secret Service agents stared at the body, too stunned to process what they were seeing.

Then their training overrode the shock. They snapped their aim back to Hawk and yanked their triggers.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bullets flew toward Hawk. As soon as they hit his suit, a red mist appeared and covered him.

Empty bullet casings hit the floor. A moment later, Hawk stepped out of the red mist without a single injury. His regular clothes were gone, replaced by a scarlet combat suit just like Wanda's.

He didn't give them time to backpedal.

Thud. Crash.

Hawk knocked the first agent across the room, slamming him against the bathroom wall. He grabbed the second by the flak jacket and hurled him like a cannonball. The man crashed through the drywall and landed in the middle of the main banquet room.

The classical string quartet playing in the hall cut off instantly.

Everyone in the room turned toward the body on the floor, then looked up at the hole in the wall. Hawk stepped through the dust into the light, his face blank, dragging the president's body behind him by the collar like trash.

Hawk flicked his wrist and tossed Turner's body forward. It landed on the polished marble floor with a smack.

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The elites, who had been lounging around waiting for the president to finish his bathroom break so they could get back to sucking up to him, now stared in horror at the commander-in-chief's corpse.

Ada felt his stomach sink. He stared at the body, listened to Hawk's footsteps, and swallowed hard as he looked up at the man in the red armor.

"Mr. Phoenix, what the hell is—"

"When you had the chance to speak, you said nothing. So don't start now." Before Ada could answer, Hawk seized him by the throat. He forced Ada's head back and held his gaze, leaving him no room to breathe, much less scream.

Then his grip tightened.

Crack.

Ada was dead before he hit the floor.

Hawk let the body drop, then turned toward the guests scrambling for the exits. His eyes shifted to Wanda.

She caught the look immediately.

Wanda spread her arms, and her Scarlet Witch armor appeared over her clothes in a flash of red light. She pressed her palms to the floor, sending a shockwave of red energy that sealed the entire room.

The Quantico base commander was running faster than anyone else. He saw the doors ahead and lunged for the handle.

Splat.

He slammed straight into the red barrier and vaporized into a bloody red mist on impact.

The elites behind him skidded to a halt, several of them nearly losing their footing on the blood slicking the floor.

In the corner, young Jean stared at Wanda, her eyes wide. It felt like she was seeing a completely different person.

To Jean, her mom had always been a stay-at-home parent, managing three girls, cooking dinner, and handling the usual household chaos. She had never seen this side of her. Not this cold, ruthless executioner.

Jean blinked as she looked up at the red crown. "Mom?"

"What's up, sweetie?" Wanda turned to her daughter, flashing a warm, completely normal mom smile.

Jean shook her head, unable to find words. She listened to the desperate screaming and begging that echoed through the room, her eyes drawn to the chaos.

She quickly looked away.

Compared to her dad, who butchered people out in the open, her mom still seemed like the saint of the family.

Noticing the pale look on her daughter's face, Wanda walked over and gently clapped a hand over Jean's eyes. "You aren't eighteen yet, kiddo. No peeking."

Jean opened her mouth. The begging faded, replaced by the steady, harsh sound of bones breaking.

"Mom," she uttered, "I think I'm going to have some serious nightmares tonight."

"Relax," Wanda said. "Your dad is friends with the Lord of the Nightmare Dimension. He can ask him to make sure you don't dream at all."

Jean froze, speechless.

A minute later—the screaming, crying, and bone-cracking stopped.

Silence filled the hall.

Outside the banquet room, though, things were getting noisy.

Wanda's chaos magic had sealed off the area, but it didn't block out the noise. Since it was the middle of the night, the commotion brought every guard on the base running.

These weren't just security guards. They were loyal followers, ready to die for their cause. Hearing what was happening inside, they rushed the building without waiting for orders.

They pounded on the red fog surrounding the hall, but it didn't move at all.

They weren't alone. Storm and Cyclops, drawn by the alarm, ran across the compound and joined the soldiers, staring helplessly at the glowing red wall.

"What the hell is going on in there?"

"It's the witch. Jean's mother." Storm muttered as she stared at the magic sealing the building.

Cyclops stared at the barrier. "Jean's in there?"

——————————

Inside, Hawk walked over to his family and looked down at Jean, who was still tucked under Wanda's arm with her eyes covered.

"What's going on?"

Wanda grinned. "You scared her with that little display. She said she's going to have nightmares, so I told her you could call in a favor from your friend, the Nightmare Lord."

"..." Hawk blinked, then looked at Jean as Wanda lowered her hand. A lazy grin tugged at his mouth.

"Your mom's right. I know him. Relax, I promise you won't have a single nightmare tonight."

Jean's face twisted. She was just about to snap at him when the ground suddenly trembled beneath their feet.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

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