U.S. transport aircraft, 10km remaining until Iraqi airspace...
"We’re reaching Iraqi airspace soon, Secretary! I’m increasing altitude!"
"Unless you want to be brought down by anti-aircraft fire, I suggest you do precisely that, soldier," Zod answered coldly.
The transport, carrying Zod, Cu Chulainn Alter, Artoria Alter, Jeanne d'Arc Alter, Emiya Alter—and the faculty and students of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters—hurtled toward the outskirts of Iraq. Currently a chaotic theater of civil war, it was the perfect hunting ground. Al-Qaera, the Sunni Islamic extremist terrorist organization founded in 1988 under the leadership of Osara Bin Denra, was preoccupied with the regional conflict. Now was the time to strike—to sweep them away like a vacant house being ransacked while the owner was looking the other way.
As they drew closer to Iraqi airspace, the pilot climbed to evade potential flak and surface-to-air missiles. Erik let out a dismissive snort.
"Missiles are made of metal. I could have simply controlled them..."
"And after we descend? If the plane is shot down, what do you intend to fly home on?" Zod interjected.
"...A fair point. I spoke out of turn."
Convinced by Zod's sharp logic, Erik nodded.
"Crossing into Iraqi airspace now, Secretary!"
"Is everyone's parachute secure?" Zod asked, his voice echoing through the hold. "Are you prepared to tear those who dared to defile our homeland limb from limb?"
"""Yes, Secretary!!!"""
The students shouted back, their voices high with palpable tension. Even the teachers weren't immune to the pre-battle nerves.
"Worry not," Zod added with a cynical edge. "If you die, you’ll be buried as heroes who saved the nation. I’ll see to it your funerals are quite grand."
"""..............."""
At those words, the students finally realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn't a training exercise; it was live combat. They were entering a war zone where their lives were on the line. The reality finally sank in.
"Then, I shall take the lead."
"Wait! Secretary! Where is your parachute?" Erik called out.
Zod let out a crooked, predatory grin.
"What parachute?"
The transport's bay door hissed open, and Zod plummeted straight into the void. The students gasped in horror, while even the teachers, despite knowing something of his capabilities, watched in shock.
"He really is a madman..." Erik muttered.
"Erik, watch your tongue. He is still the Secretary, and we are in the field..." Charles, acting as the support unit, chided him. Erik merely shrugged and stepped to the edge of the ramp, ready to drop.
"Wait, Erik! Where is your parachute?"
"What parachute?" Erik echoed Zod's words and threw himself from the plane. Charles massaged his temples, a grimace forming on his face.
"Sigh... Madmen, the lot of them..."
"Haha... Professor, you’re starting to sound more like Erik every day," Hank chuckled.
"Would you mind not putting Erik and me in the same category? Hank..."
Shortly after, Charles and Hank deployed properly with their parachutes strapped tight.
.
.
.
Landing with predatory grace, Zod hovered momentarily in the air. He looked down at the Al-Qaera forces training their muzzles on him and sneered.
"Guns? Are you joking?"
Zzzzzzt—BOOM!
With a burst of Heat Vision, Zod incinerated the head of the first insurgent who dared to fire.
"Shit! This Yankee is a superhuman!"
"Kill him!"
The Al-Qaera terrorists opened fire without hesitation, but lead meant nothing to Zod's physiology. The bullets failed to even mar his skin, falling uselessly to the dirt like discarded pebbles.
"Now... it's my turn."
Zzzzzzzzt—KRA-KOOOM!
High-output Heat Vision swept across the area, bisecting the terrorists where they stood. The mystery of his gaze left nothing but charred remains in its wake.
F-shhhhhhhh!
Switching tactics, he unleashed a Cold Breath that flash-froze the surroundings, turning the desert heat into a polar wasteland. With a casual swing of his fist, he shattered the frozen militants into crystalline shards.
"So weak. To think our homeland was terrorized by such pathetic creatures. Has America truly fallen so far?"
THWACK—!
Zod’s fist punched straight through a terrorist’s abdomen. Blood erupted like a fountain, and viscera spilled onto the parched earth.
"Tch... filthy..."
Zod wiped the gore from his hand onto the clothes of the corpse. The students, having just landed, watched in paralyzed horror. Zod turned his cold, piercing gaze upon them.
"What are you standing around for? These are the enemies who trampled our soil with their filthy feet! There is no room for mercy! Overrun them! Crush them utterly! Lay waste to everything! They are the enemies of the state! They are your enemies!"
Driven by Zod’s commanding oratory, several students began to launch indiscriminate attacks on the terrorists as if entranced. However, a small group still hesitated.
"What is this? Did you come here for a picnic? You were drafted to the battlefield; you should have prepared your resolve! I have no use for weaklings who cannot kill! If you won't do it, I'll start with you!"
His eyes glowed with the searing light of Heat Vision. Under that murderous gaze, the remaining students finally broke and began unleashing their mutations upon the enemy.
"Excalibur Morgan! (The Sword of Promised Victory)!"
"Burn to ash in the flames of hatred spat by the Dragon Witch! Die, you husks!"
"They aren't even worth the boredom," Cu Alter muttered.
"............(Bang! Bang!)"
The Alters were tearing through the enemy lines without restraint, absolute in their desecration of the foe.
Artoria Alter’s blackened Excalibur, stained by the shadow, consumed the enemies in waves of dark mana, leaving not even ash behind. Meanwhile, Jeanne Alter—manifesting the rank of Dragon Witch EX—led a swarm of Wyverns and the Great Dragon Fafnir, incinerating every trace of the insurgency.
Cu Chulainn Alter’s Gáe Bolg, now a grotesque and hideous demonic spear, shredded bodies into unrecognizable heaps of meat. Emiya Alter provided a rhythmic backbeat of death, his bullets and traced blades raining down like a localized storm, piercing every target with mechanical precision.
"Damn it!! Damn it!! Die, you Yankees!!!"
"Allah is Great!"
The terrorists tried to resist with machine guns and RPGs, but Erik manipulated the metal, forming shields and reflecting the projectiles back into the source.
"I’m sorry... but you must die..."
Charles utilized his telepathy to rewrite the insurgents' recognition, making them see each other as enemies. A tragicomedy of fratricide began as they slaughtered their own comrades.
"ROOOOOAR!!!"
Hank, transformed into a beastly form, literally tore enemies apart. Ororo Munroe manipulated the local climate, conjuring a massive typhoon. Thunderclouds gathered, and bolts of lightning obliterated the fleeing soldiers. Scott Summers' optic blasts scorched the earth, destroying everything within his line of sight.
Sean Cassidy’s sonic screams pulverized the landscape and caused heads to burst. Alex Summers’ plasma energy radiated from his body, roasting the terrorists where they stood.
It was not a war.
It was a one-sided massacre.
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