While Arthuria remained high above Camelot, watching over her kingdom, the rest of the world did not enjoy the same luxury of stillness.
The chaos unleashed by a literal alien invasion was not something that could simply be wished away. Nations reeled, governments scrambled, and old power structures cracked under the weight of new realities.
In particular, the Illuminati found themselves burdened with more work than they could comfortably manage.
Magneto, for his part, had pressed hard for immediate action against the Sentinel Project. He saw it for what it was: an inevitability born of fear, hatred, and technological hubris. Yet despite his arguments, he failed to secure the full backing he had hoped for.
The council did agree that the Sentinels were a problem.
They simply did not agree that it was an urgent one.
Their investigations, though limited, revealed no ongoing human experimentation on mutants, no death camps, no immediate loss of life. Dangerous rhetoric and hostile intent, yes—but nothing that forced their hand in the present moment.
To most of the council, that was enough to delay action.
They cared little for the anti-mutant ideology driving the project. What caught their attention instead was the technology—and the potential to repurpose it.
Tony Stark, Reed Richards, and Victor von Doom in particular became increasingly fixated on the idea of an autonomous peacekeeping force. An army that answered not to any single nation, but to the council itself. Machines that could project force anywhere on Earth—and beyond—without risking human lives.
Stark, especially, framed it in his own terms: a suit of armor around the world.
From that technologically focused perspective, another issue rapidly eclipsed the Sentinel debate—Wakanda.
During the most recent UN assembly, Wakanda had fought tooth and nail to secure a seat among the Illuminati. In doing so, they revealed the existence of their own superhuman assets, particularly within their royal bloodline. Both the reigning king and the heir bore the mantle of the Black Panther—possessing enhanced strength, agility, and access to technology that rivaled anything the modern world could field.
The revelation had not gone over well.
Longstanding animosity from neighboring African nations, combined with global distrust, left Wakanda isolated. Many states balked at the idea of allowing the ruler of a single nation to sit on the council outright.
It was the same resistance that had complicated both Magneto's and Doom's own paths to power.
At least they, the argument went, were forces unto themselves. Their authority did not derive from a nation-state.
Still, none of the Illuminati believed Wakanda would simply remain passive.
Nor could they afford to let the growing African conflict spiral out of control.
Wakanda, they concluded, had to be addressed—and preferably without open war.
There was, of course, another motivation.
Stark, Richards, and Doom all wanted access to Wakandan technology. Vibranium alone promised advances that bordered on the miraculous: city-scale energy shielding, defensive systems capable of shrugging off modern weaponry, materials light enough for armor yet durable enough to withstand gods.
Each of them imagined what such technology could do for their own designs.
And that was only the beginning.
What they truly envisioned went far beyond personal armor or national defenses. They dreamed of a planetary shield—an Earth that could defend itself, repel invaders, and strike back when necessary.
It was that shared ambition that ultimately swayed the rest of the council.
Wakanda would come first.
Much to Magneto's displeasure.
Yet this was to be the Illuminati's first decisive action, and division at such a moment was unacceptable. Whatever his personal feelings toward a secretive nation that had hidden its strength while the world burned, Magneto was forced to concede.
The Sentinel Project would have to wait.
For now, Wakanda would have their full attention.
Magneto accepted the decision with the outward composure of a man who had learned, long ago, how to swallow rage without choking on it.
Inside, it burned.
The meeting dissolved soon after, voices fading into logistics and timetables, projections shifting from American laboratories to African borders. Magneto listened without truly hearing, his attention fixed instead on the undercurrent beneath it all—the quiet, collective relief of people who believed they had time.
He knew better.
Just because there weren't any mutants dying in those labs now didn't mean some wouldn't in the future. He knew the type of people who worked on anti-mutant measures; they were beyond heartless.
Though maybe it would finally wake Charles up to see how even a small distraction harmed their people.
Fury of SHIELD acted as the Illuminati's support; he gave them what they needed, and in return, he had the ability to oversee meetings and even raise questions—a privilege he had fought hard for and earned by defying his superiors during the New York invasion.
Thanks to his support, the Illuminati had taken control of SHIELD's flying aircraft carrier as a mobile base of operations.
By the time they cut through the cloud cover over central Africa, the war was already visible from the air.
Smoke plumes marked the land like scars. Columns of refugees stretched along broken roads, moving away from borders that had ceased to exist in anything but name. Military formations—once unthinkable alliances—massed together below: flags that had spent generations opposing one another now flying side by side, united by a single, shared resentment.
Wakanda.
Those armies belonged to some of the poorest nations on Earth—nations that constantly suffered from humanitarian disasters. Where countless children starved to death, yet here those same nations were able to fight a grand war.
"It's a disgrace," Doom said, his voice filtered through the iron mask as he stood beside Magneto at the bridge's panoramic windows.
Below them, the continent burned.
Magneto did not immediately respond. His attention was fixed on the land beneath the clouds—the slow, grinding movement of armies, the distant flashes of artillery, the refugee columns stretching like veins across the terrain.
"It is," Magneto agreed at last. "But not for the reason you think."
Doom turned his head slightly. "Enlighten me."
"Those nations," Magneto said, gesturing faintly downward, "are among the poorest on Earth. Their children starve in droughts that barely make the news. Their cities rot while foreign corporations extract what little value remains in their soil."
His fingers curled slowly into a fist.
"And yet, somehow, when Wakanda is revealed—when a target finally presents itself—they find the resources for war."
Doom scoffed. "War has always been affordable. Peace is what bankrupts empires."
Magneto's eyes narrowed. "Do not pretend detachment, Victor. You understand what this is."
"Of course I do," Doom replied coolly. "It is resentment given form. Wakanda represents everything these nations were denied—security, sovereignty, continuity."
He paused, then added, "And worse, it represents choice."
Magneto inclined his head slightly.
"Yes," he said. "Wakanda chose to remain hidden. While others were conquered. While borders were redrawn with blood. While entire cultures were erased."
The carrier shuddered faintly as it adjusted position, repulsors humming beneath the deck. Tactical displays flickered across the bridge—Wakandan shield projections, coalition troop movements, casualty estimates already climbing.
"They blame Wakanda for centuries of suffering," Magneto continued. "And they are wrong."
Doom crossed his arms. "They are not entirely wrong."
Magneto turned sharply.
"No," Doom said calmly, unbothered by the glare. "Do not mistake me. The blame is misdirected—but the anger is not fabricated."
He gestured toward the holographic map. "Wakanda watched the world burn and did nothing. That will matter, whether it is fair or not."
"And what would you have had them do?" Magneto demanded. "Reveal themselves to colonial powers armed with rifles and greed? Offer aid only to be carved apart like the rest?"
Doom's mask tilted, just a fraction. "If they had the will, they could have conquered the continent, made it all into something the colonial powers couldn't touch. It is weakness—and a willingness to remain weak—that is the cause of all this."
Silence stretched between them.
Below, another barrage struck Wakanda's perimeter. The shield flared—brilliant, impenetrable—and held.
Magneto did not immediately answer.
He was not sure he shared Doom's view, not fully. To him, the truth felt simpler and far uglier. The people of the continent had been suppressed for generations, yes—but they had also been fractured long before the Europeans arrived. Turned against one another. Trapped in endless cycles of conflict that made unity impossible even when survival demanded it.
But he also realized that the people of Africa had long since given up; they fought against one another rather than try to uplift themselves. They were like a continent-sized human crab bucket.
And now they saw Wakanda—someone who had snuck out of the hell the rest were still trapped in—and how they all wanted to pull Wakanda down with the rest of them.
It was disgraceful indeed.
"They are united for the first time in generations," he said quietly. "Not by hope. Not by shared vision."
"By hatred," Doom finished. "Yes."
"And Wakanda," Magneto continued, "will not yield. They cannot. If they do, they will be dismantled piece by piece under the guise of justice."
Doom nodded once. "They understand that. Which is why this will not end diplomatically."
Magneto looked back out over the continent, his reflection faintly visible in the reinforced glass—an old revolutionary staring at a new kind of war.
"And yet, our companions hope that we can settle this without more bloodshed," he said mockingly.
Doom's response was immediate, flat.
"It cannot happen," he said. "Not as things stand. Wakanda is not fighting back yet. They are waiting. Trusting us to intervene."
Another explosion bloomed harmlessly against the shield below.
"But look at the armies," Doom continued. "Their rage is what sustains them. Without it, they collapse. Remove the enemy, and they will turn on one another again."
Magneto clenched his jaw.
"And when Wakanda finally does fight back," he said softly, "they will be blamed for every corpse that follows."
Doom said nothing.
The carrier sailed onward through the clouds, carrying gods, kings, and monsters alike toward a war no one truly believed they could stop.
(End of chapter)
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