Selene Gallio didn't care much for this meeting at all. In fact, she didn't want to be here. The only reason she was present was that the meeting had been called by both the White and Black Kings—and if she didn't show up, it would seem suspicious.
And she knew very well that she couldn't allow herself to show weakness in front of these vultures.
Normally, she wouldn't have cared; it wouldn't have been the first time she had purged the Hellfire Club. But this time… she truly didn't want to deal with that.
Because she was still far from recovering from nearly dying at the hands of Arthuria. In fact, even she found her own survival a miracle.
Sure, she had plenty of means of staying alive, countless tricks up her sleeve—yet when Arthuria had unleashed that terrifying blast from that equally terrifying sword, she felt all her backups getting destroyed.
Every means of saving herself was countered out of nowhere. Selene suspected that bitch, the Sorcerer Supreme, was behind it.
So when her body was destroyed by the dark power of that sword, she first felt her soul being pulled toward some of her backups—before those backups all just vanished.
Still, they did manage to pull her soul away from that horrible blast. That sword didn't just hurt flesh; even her soul had nearly been annihilated by it.
Though for a moment, she almost wished it had—because without her anchors, her soul was getting pulled toward the hell dimensions, and she really didn't want to end up there.
No. She had made plenty of deals with all kinds of demons and dark gods over the years—deals she had never made good on. She had far too many enemies in the realms beyond this one.
She had no doubt the lords of the different hell dimensions would fight over her soul, all so they could inflict their own endless torment on her for daring to cross them.
Yet, as she despaired, she felt another pull—a weak one, but anything was better than hell—so she fought against those dark realms and remained in the realm of the living.
The pull came from a most unexpected source. Before all her preparations had been dealt with—not a single one, no matter how secret or how well protected, had survived—what saved her in the end was a clone.
Not one of her own; those were lost. No—one made by technology rather than magic.
Somehow, that fool Nathaniel Essex had managed to gather enough of her DNA to attempt to clone her, never realizing that the reason he never could succeed was that she had long since cursed her own blood to stop people from trying to use it against her.
It was a common trick that every half-baked user of the arcane employed.
Still, one of those discarded clones was her salvation, even if it left her incredibly weakened—barely a shadow of her former self.
"Any talk of acting against Camelot is utter foolishness," Selene said at last.
Her voice was low, cold, disdainful. The room stilled instantly.
"You cannot challenge a god while bleeding," she continued. "And whether you like it or not, Arthuria Pendragon is one."
A few members bristled at that—but none interrupted.
"She is not a problem to be solved," Selene went on. "She is a reality to be worked around."
Selene leaned back slightly, one leg crossing over the other with deliberate ease.
"If you wish to act," she said, "then act where power is still fluid."
Eyes sharpened.
"Mutants," she said.
Several heads turned toward Donald Pierce.
"They grow bolder. More visible. More organized," Selene continued. "And humans, as always, respond to fear with weapons. The Sentinel projects you all know about are only the beginning."
A faint, humorless smile touched her lips.
"Let them build their monsters. Encourage it, even. Fear accelerates innovation. And innovation always leaves fingerprints."
"You want us to provoke an arms race," someone said slowly.
"I want you to profit from one," Selene corrected. "And to know where every weapon ends up."
In truth, what she wanted was to keep them busy somewhere else—somewhere they wouldn't end up exposing her to Camelot's eyes. And by having that fool Pierce target the mutants, she hoped to weaken them.
After all, the vast majority of mutants were allied with Arthuria—and while Selene had no intention of challenging her, that didn't mean she was above causing her some pain if she could.
None could claim that she, Selene Gallio, was the forgiving type.
Silence.
Then—
"And Wakanda," Selene added casually.
That did it.
Now the room leaned in.
"They have been revealed," Selene said. "A hidden empire with technology centuries ahead of the world. With vibranium reserves that make the rest of Earth's strategic metals look like toys."
She tilted her head.
"Do you truly believe they will be allowed to keep it?"
No one answered.
"They will be courted. Pressured. Spied upon. Eventually… violated," Selene said. "And when that happens, fortunes will be made."
"And if Wakanda resists?" someone asked.
Selene's smile returned—thin and sharp.
"If?" she snorted softly. "They will resist, but in the end, even the Illuminati will act against them. They can't fight the entire world; they will be forced to cough up their wealth. And if you are smart, your hands will be there to catch it."
She uncrossed her legs and settled back fully now, retreating.
"These are paths worth watching," Selene finished. "Nothing more. Nothing less."
For a time after Selene fell silent, no one spoke.
That alone was telling.
Normally, Hellfire meetings were filled with bickering, posturing, and thinly veiled threats. But when Selene Gallio chose to speak—and then chose to stop—the board listened.
"The Sentinel initiatives," the White King said at last, fingers steepled. "Those seem… promising."
"Promising?" someone scoffed softly. "The American government barely exists. There is no president. No vice president. Congress is a carcass gnawing at itself."
"Which is precisely why it is so promising," the Black King replied calmly. "After all, there isn't anyone checking in on them—no oversight—just a ton of funds pumped into it, and now full freedom in how to use them."
A ripple of quiet agreement passed through the chamber.
"Not to mention," the White King continued, "with the alien technology that rained down over New York, that project might be even more effective than it would have been. It is the perfect place to put advanced alien technology to the test."
"That assumes we let it remain an American project," a voice from the Black Bishop's seat cut in. "Right now it's fragmented. Defense contractors, black budgets, state-level initiatives. Sloppy."
"Sloppy," Donald Pierce echoed with a thin smile. "But enthusiastic."
Several eyes slid toward him.
"Trask has been dreaming about this for decades," Pierce went on, leaning forward slightly. "Now he has justification. Mutants in the open. Aliens in the sky. Gods walking the earth." He chuckled. "Fear like this doesn't need guidance. It just needs direction."
"And you would provide it?" the White Knight asked coolly.
Pierce spread his hands. "Someone has to."
"That project is not a toy," another member snapped. "It is volatile. If it is traced back to us—"
"It won't be," Pierce said flatly. "Not if it's handled properly."
"And what does 'properly' mean to you?" the Black King asked, voice calm but probing.
Pierce didn't hesitate.
"Ruthlessness," he said. "Trask is good, but he lacks the ability to go beyond the edge. He still tries to play within the rules. I will take this beyond it." His eyes gleamed with cruel madness. "I will turn it into the perfect weapon."
"Against mutants," someone said.
"Against threats," Pierce replied smoothly. "Mutants are simply the most obvious category."
Many of the others traded brief looks, because… they were mutants. And while they had no particular love for their kind, they still didn't want to build the weapon that would be their death—so they had to make sure that this weapon would, in the end, be controlled by a mutant.
"The Sentinel program is already funded," Pierce continued. "Already operational in prototype form. And now, with the United States effectively decapitated politically, there's no one left to say no."
"No one public," the White Knight corrected.
"The Illuminati," someone muttered.
"Yes," Pierce admitted. "They will interfere. Eventually."
"And how do you intend to deal with that?" the Black King asked.
Pierce's smile thinned.
"By the time they move," he said, "I plan to use the Sentinels to rid us of the Illuminati for good."
"And who commands this brigade?" the White King asked again.
Pierce met his gaze without blinking.
"I do."
The room went very still.
"That is a bold claim," the Black Bishop said at last.
"It's a necessary one," Pierce replied. "Someone here will take control of this. Better that it be someone who understands mutants."
"You mean hates them," someone said.
Pierce's eyes flicked toward the speaker, cold and sharp. "I mean I understand what they represent."
Before the tension could escalate further, Selene spoke again.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the room like a blade.
Pierce turned toward her, irritation barely masked. "With respect—"
"You will not decide this today," Selene said calmly. "And you will not claim ownership of anything yet."
She understood who he was, what he wanted, and while she never for a moment considered those soulless machines even remotely threatening, she still wouldn't hand anything over to that fool.
Better it ended up in the hands of one of her puppets.
"The matter is tabled," the White King said finally. "Sentinels remain a priority observation. No single custodian. No overt claims."
Pierce's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head.
"As you wish," he said.
The game continued.
And the board was set.
(End of chapter)
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