Twilight_Scribe
patreon
Chapter 285: The Homelander's Greatest Trump Card: The Homelander
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 17:11:23 +0000 UTC
"Or perhaps, no accident occurred at all!"
Erik’s voice cut sharply through the discussion, each word deliberate, carrying a weight that immediately shifted the atmosphere in the cabin. His tone wasn’t loud, yet the meaning behind it landed heavier than a shout.
If it had been an accident, then yes, perhaps the transmission might have deviated. Accidents could be explained. They could be forgiven. But Erik was not suggesting an accident. He was suggesting intent. Treachery.
What if the Eternals had never been trustworthy in the first place?
What if every mutant had been sent directly into Arishem’s hands—not through mishap, but by design?
The cabin fell utterly silent. The hum of the Blackbird’s engines, the faint creak of its frame, even the soft shuffle of boots against the metal floor seemed swallowed by the oppressive stillness.
Everyone turned toward Erik, eyes wide. Some were stunned, some doubtful, others unwilling to even contemplate the possibility.
If Erik’s suspicion proved true, then their situation wasn’t just unfortunate—it was catastrophic. It would mean betrayal from the very ones they had placed their faith in.
Hank was the first to shake his head, his brows furrowing as he spoke, trying to inject reason into the heavy silence.
"Erik, I think you’re overthinking it. I believe Ajak and Sersi are trustworthy."
Erik gave a low chuckle, though there was no amusement in his eyes. His voice, when he replied, was tinged with the familiar steel of a man who had seen too much betrayal to take anything at face value.
"Hank, after all these years, you’re still the same—always so quick to trust others. It’s your weakness."
But before the mood could sour further, Charles’s calm voice joined the debate.
"No, Erik, I think Hank makes a good point. If Ajak and the others truly intended to hand us over to Arishem, then why warn us in the first place? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose entirely?"
The logic was simple, irrefutable even. Why risk exposure if betrayal had always been the plan?
Erik’s gaze lingered on Charles for a long moment, then his lips curved in a humorless smile.
"I believe that is precisely the question we need to clarify."
His words carried layers of meaning. He wasn’t ready to discard the possibility, not without proof.
Alex sat silently, but his mind churned. Both of him.
The Alex of this timeline and the Alex of 2016 shared the same thought process, both having grown up with the same stubborn instincts. Their brows furrowed in unison as they fell into deep contemplation.
Still, despite Erik’s doubts, they leaned toward Charles and Hank’s conclusion. They had both watched the Eternals’ stories unfold. They knew what kind of people Ajak and Sersi were. Not flawless, but not traitors either.
Finally, Alex broke the silence with a direct question. His gaze fell on his counterpart, sharp and searching.
"Which of the Eternals knew about this plan?"
The 2016 Alex didn’t hesitate. He recited the names clearly, as though they had been etched into his memory.
"Ajak, Sersi, Phastos, Makkari, Thena, and Gilgamesh."
Alex ran the names through his mind, mentally measuring each one against what he remembered. The list made sense. These were the ones who, in the movies, had stood against the destruction of Earth.
Trustworthy, at least compared to the rest.
Ikaris? He was Arishem’s faithful dog, his loyalty unshakable.
Kingo? Nothing more than Ikaris’s echo, following wherever the so-called leader pointed.
Sprite? A child trapped in a woman’s form, cursed with an eternal adolescence that warped her judgment. Immature, unreliable.
And Druig—too solitary, too self-absorbed, neither part of Ajak’s circle nor Ikaris’s faction. He lived in a world of his own, making him impossible to gamble on.
No, the 2016 Alex was right. For a plan of this magnitude, involving Druig or the others would’ve been reckless.
And yet… Alex couldn’t shake a faint unease. Even the trustworthy list felt too long. Every name added meant another risk. Another potential leak.
As if sensing his doubt, the 2016 Alex elaborated before he could even voice it.
"There’s no other way. Transporting millions of people isn’t a simple task. Not even an Eternal can do that alone."
He leaned forward slightly, voice steady but firm.
"It requires all of them working together—through the ‘Uni-Mind.’ That’s the only way."
Alex nodded slowly, the explanation settling into place. The Uni-Mind—an ancient technique that demanded absolute unity of purpose among the Eternals. It made sense.
"And that’s just the beginning," the 2016 Alex added. "Phastos has to build the transmission array first. Without it, nothing else works."
At that, Alex’s lingering unease eased somewhat. He finally understood the necessity.
The tension broke as Hank’s voice came from the cockpit.
"Alright Alex, we’re here!"
The subtle shift in the engines confirmed it—the Blackbird was descending. The faint rumble beneath their feet changed pitch, then steadied as the jet touched down.
The 2016 Alex’s eyes sharpened. He turned to Charles, lowering his voice.
"Charles, I’ll need your help again. It’s best to keep the other me’s arrival a secret, for now."
"I understand," Charles replied without hesitation, fingers already rising to his temples in preparation.
With only a month left until the so-called Great Transmission, secrecy was everything.
Phastos had already completed the transmission array—or more accurately, transmission equipment. Calling it "magic" felt wrong, but calling it "technology" was just as incomplete. It was both, and neither.
A lattice of high-tech wonder and supernatural energy, the array was capable of detecting the X-gene itself, reaching across the globe to lock onto every mutant alive. It was why Makkari had sensed Alex the very instant he stepped into this timeline. Why she and the others had been so certain he wasn’t their Alex.
It was simple. The array had detected something new.
And that alone had nearly exposed him.
Thankfully, it had been Makkari and only a few others who had noticed. That meant Ikaris almost certainly remained ignorant—for now. But even so, the margin for error was razor-thin.
The 2016 Alex’s expression darkened as he considered the weight of it all. The mutants’ disappearance remained a mystery, shrouded in fog. Investigating the future was already near impossible. To risk exposing his trump card now would be madness.
And his trump card was standing right beside him—himself.
The other Alex.
The one no one could predict.
Hiss—
The sound of hydraulics filled the cabin as the Blackbird’s hatch opened. Cold air rushed inside, carrying with it the salty tang of Krakoa’s sea breeze.
Charles pressed his fingers against his temples, psychic power flowing like an invisible current through the air.
"Alright, past me," the 2016 Alex said with a small smile, his hand gesturing toward the hatch. "We’re home."
The group stepped out into the sunlight. Alex walked silently in their midst, hidden by Charles’s telepathic veil. Around them, mutants filled the island streets—talking, training, laughing, unaware of the second Alex who moved past them like a ghost.
Together, they crossed the bustling walkways until they reached Krakoa’s heart: a towering palace of stone and living root, magnificent in scale, regal in design.
It was unmistakably a palace reserved for a king.
Alex stopped in his tracks for a moment, staring up at it. His lips curved into a faint, almost incredulous smile.
"So, you really did become King."
His voice carried both awe and irony as he glanced sideways at his counterpart. "The peak of life we used to dream about—it’s finally real."
The 2016 Alex chuckled softly, waving a hand as if to brush off the weight of the title.
"No need to be envious. You’ll get here too, sooner or later."
He stepped forward, his posture casual yet commanding, as though the palace was nothing more than his own living room.
"Come," he said warmly, gesturing inside. "Make yourself at home. Sit anywhere, look around—treat it like it’s your own."
For Alex, it was a strange, surreal invitation. To walk into a future where he had become king… and to be welcomed by himself.
