Aut Consilio Aut Ense

Posted on Sun Jan 26th, 2025 @ 7:10pm by Erik Magnus Lehnsherr & Shinobi Shaw & Jason Wyngarde
Edited on on Sun Jan 26th, 2025 @ 7:29pm

3,078 words; about a 15 minute read

Mission: Episode 5: Days of Fortune Past
Location: Madripoor
Timeline: November 23rd, 1990

The sprawling penthouse atop Madripoor’s tallest skyscraper was a marvel of opulence and modern security. Every inch of its glass walls boasted bulletproof reinforcement and latticework of steel bars. Its automated defense systems hummed with latent energy, poised to neutralize any intrusion. Shinobi Shaw, seated at his desk adorned with holographic displays detailing the intricate machinations of his worldwide operations, surveyed his empire with a cold air of confidence.

His consolidation of Madripoor’s underworld factions was well underway. The city’s sprawling docks, neon-lit streets, and hidden crime syndicates were falling into line, their leaders bowing to the new Lord Imperial of the Hellfire Club one at a time. Yet his aspirations stretched beyond Madripoor. The Sentinel program, resurrected and perfected under his aegis, had suffered a drastic setback with the loss of Mother Mold and the betrayal of the White Queen Emma Frost, but the Inner Circle was not without its wiles.

Shaw reached for his drink when the hum of the automated defenses erupted in a cacophony of alarms. Before he could react, the steel bars on the penthouse windows groaned, twisted, and were ripped apart with ease. The bulletproof glass shattered outward, shards cascading like diamonds into the night as a magnetic force ripped them from their moorings.

Hovering amidst the debris, regal and unyielding, was Magneto. His burgundy cape billowed dramatically, illuminated by the city lights below. The electromagnetic field surrounding him shimmered faintly, deflecting the automated defenses that lashed out futilely with gunfire and energy blasts. Bullets flattened into harmless discs, and laser beams dissipated into sparks against his forcefield.

With a casual gesture, Magneto deactivated the penthouse defenses. Embedded gun mounts fell to the ground far below, plucked from their parapets like fruit from the vine. The room fell eerily silent, save for the soft crackle of residual energy in the air.

"Flux," Magneto addressed Shinobi with contempt, using the codename he’d known him by in the Savage Land. His voice resonated with authority, cutting through the tension like a blade as he looked around the luxurious penthouse and scoffed with disgust. "I should have expected no less from the bastard son of Sebastian Shaw." Magneto’s voice seethed with disdain, each syllable like the toll of a judgment bell. His piercing gaze burned with cold fury as he hovered just beyond the shattered steel of the window. "Your treachery reeks, even from here. What foul ambition drove you to resurrect the Sentinel plague and unleash it upon the world?"

Shinobi froze momentarily, startled by the sudden activation of the blaring alarms. He hadn’t anticipated trouble so soon or at such a high level. His eyes narrowed as he watched his security systems collapse under the onslaught. Then, spotting Magneto amidst the chaos, a sly grin spread across his face. Shinobi Shaw, ever composed, lifted his glass and took a measured sip of his drink. "Should I send the repair bill to you or the Brotherhood?" he quipped, his tone dripping with disdain. Gesturing toward the room, he added, "Come in and sit. I'll even offer you a drink, if you'd like."

Placing his glass down, Shaw abandoned pleasantries and got straight to the point. "As for your question, my goal was simple: to elevate my father’s vision to the next level. He was too shortsighted, focused solely on mutants. But weakness, Magneto, is a universal plague, particularly among humans. Evolution demands survival of the fittest, the strongest. It's about der Wille zur Macht, the will to power, as a wise teacher once taught me." His voice hardened, his conviction evident. "My will to power," he continued, "is to ensure I am never again shackled to the weak and the tolerant, be it shareholders, mutants, humans, or governments. The Sentinels? They were merely a tool, a means to an end. But plans evolve, just as we must. And so, here we are."

Magneto’s expression darkened, his icy composure fraying at the edges as Shinobi invoked der Wille zur Macht. His presence seemed to grow more oppressive, the shards of the penthouse window trembling as the air around them thrummed with magnetic energy. He floated closer, his crimson cape billowing behind him like the wings of an avenging angel.

"You dare," Magneto began, his voice low and laden with barely contained fury, "to take my words, my ideals, and twist them into this abomination that you spew before me? You... who know nothing of what it means to wield true power, to bear the burden of leading a people to salvation. Der Wille zur Macht is not an excuse for butchery. It is not the mindless pursuit of control over the ash heap of history. Power without purpose is nothing but destruction, Flux, and that is all you have wrought."

Magneto gestured with a sweep of his hand, and the steel bars that held up the entire floor of the building began to rattle. "You think yourself a master of destiny, yet you are no better than the petty despots of history who crushed nations underfoot, ignorant of the empires they burned to cinders. You are no master builder. You are a demolitionist, a vandal without vision. Your ambition may topple towers, but your vision does not stretch beyond the tip of your nose."

The Master of Magnetism’s voice rose, sharp and commanding, reverberating in the luxurious room like a storm. "Do you even see what you have become?! A race traitor. A deluded fool dancing on strings held by a machine built to extinguish your own people!"

Magneto hovered above Shinobi now, his hands slowly raising, the steel from the room twisting into writhing, serpentine shapes as his power crackled like distant thunder. "And yet," he continued, his tone softening into something almost pitying, "I have not destroyed you. Not yet. Do you know why? Because I see you for the young, damned fool that you are, rightfully rebelling against Xavier's foolish indoctrination, and so I grant you this one time to step away from this lunacy and see the folly of your actions."

He leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze boring into Shinobi’s. "If this war you wage is to mean anything, if it is to transcend the barbarism of the humans we are destined to surpass, then it must lead to something greater. To build a new world, you must first understand what it means to bear the weight of creation, of governance, of true greatness. I offer you that chance, Flux. Join me. Stand under a banner that seeks not mere survival but supremacy with purpose, guided by a truly indomitable will."

Shinobi felt the rumble and quakes. He saw the twisted metal. He knew that Magneto was powerful. "There must be destruction in order to create, to build, something better. You flatter me with your invitation," he said. He paused to stand, decreasing his density and walking through the desk near to the broken window. "But why would I, having left off being a foot soldier in another man's army, shackle myself to someone else?" He shook his head, "I'm afraid I have to decline." Shinobi suddenly decreased the density in the room to match his ever decreasing density.

"You see, I'm building my own army, so to speak," he said as he looked out over Madripoor. "Those who are weak will either be eradicated or fashioned to serve my purposes. The strong will survive to be my generals and they will swear to me." He turned to face Magneto. "Xavier invaded my mind before I came here. He compared me to you, trapped in your own exile on your asteroid. Called it a self-made sarcophagus in which you were destined to die alone, separated from everything you ever loved. You say we're different, but your lifelong friend said we are similar."

Magneto’s laughter began as a low, sardonic chuckle, growing louder and colder until it reverberated through the luxurious penthouse like the clash of steel. His piercing eyes locked on Shinobi, his expression both scornful and darkly amused. "You truly are your father’s son, Flux," he said, his voice sharp as the jagged metal that twisted around him. "All wealth, no substance. Sebastian Shaw gave you everything except the one thing you needed to be his equal: manhood."

Magneto gestured dismissively at the grandeur around him. "You preen in your gilded cage, slaughtering your own people in a pathetic quest for validation—validation from a man who died despising you. You dare invoke the name of Charles Xavier, as if his naive idealism could ever make you my equal?!" Magneto's voice rose, thundering with righteous wrath. "The difference, boy, is that Xavier is a fool but a fool who dreams of a better world. You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a coward who dreams of being a tyrant!"

The steel bars of the penthouse groaned and twisted, spiraling closer to Shinobi like the fingers of a tightening fist. "I lead from the front, Flux. I face humanity's hatred with fire in my eyes and steel in my hands. But you? You hide in your tower, safe and secure, while the blood of your own people stains the streets below. You call that strength? That is not power. That is fear wrapped in delusion."

Hovering higher, Magneto loomed over Shinobi, his magnetic aura shimmering with raw energy. "So play your little kingly games here in Madripoor, bask in your fleeting moment of dominion, because Xavier’s X-Men have already stripped you of your Sentinel toys. But mark my words: for your sins, I will raze your petty empire to the ground and scatter its ashes to the winds, letting you live only to learn from your grave error." His voice sank deeper, nearly guttural in his fury. "Yet if you ever raise an iron fist against mutantkind again—no matter the excuse, no matter the ambition—then I will personally give you the same end as your father: your head on a spike and displayed as a warning to the next race traitor."

The mention of Sebastian's death at the hands of Magneto brought Selene's words back to mind. If he was ever going to survive this encounter and make it to a meeting.... ~Wyngarde, I know you're skulking somewhere nearby. Get in here,~ he thought. Shinobi phased and casually walked through the debris and twisted metal. "So, did you ever recover from that weasel infestation on your asteroid?" He took note of what Magneto said and determined to be more on guard. It was one thing to have the X-Men as an enemy, but this was a completely different story.

Magneto’s eyes, gleaming with cold, calculating fury, turned to Mastermind as he stepped into view. The Master of Magnetism’s lips curled into a disdainful sneer, his tone dripping with venomous contempt.

"Mastermind? The Black King. How quaint." Magneto’s voice was a weapon, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. "I assumed you had met a fitting end in New York, but I see now that even the lowest of snakes find a way to crawl from the muck and mire." His gaze swept over the illusionist, his expression unflinching. "You didn’t even have the dignity to die for the cause, did you? No. A craven like you would slink away in the shadows while your comrades fell."

For his part, Wyngarde had nothing to say. His knees knocked together as he did his best not to cower in fear before the Master of Magnetism. Unlike Shinobi, he could not simply phase out of harm's way.

The steel bars groaned ominously around them, twisting tighter in response to Magneto’s building ire. "And this is what you bring to me, Flux? This…venomous coward? This failure of a man who let the Hellfire Club rise unchecked? If this is the caliber of your so-called generals, then your boasts are as empty as your aspirations."

Magneto’s attention snapped back to Shinobi, his eyes narrowing into wrathful slits. He hovered closer, his aura radiating pure, magnetic energy that crackled like a thunder storm. "You parade this wretch before me as though he is an example of your strength? If Jason Wyngarde is among the so-called generals you boasted of, then your army will crumble before it takes a single step."

He turned back to Mastermind, his voice as frigid as iron. "And you, Mastermind. If you have any sense of self-preservation, you will crawl back to whatever hole you came from and never dare to cross my path again. I have no patience for failures and cowards, and you are both." Magneto’s fingers twitched, sending a shard of twisted metal hurtling toward the floor inches from Mastermind’s feet.

That was an interesting insight, thought Shinobi, letting the Hellfire Club rise unchecked. He'd need to look more into that later, if that was even possible at this point. "You assume I'd show my hand this early in the game as far as generals go." He walked over and poured two glasses of the best champagne that could be found on Madripoor. Shinobi took a sip and set the other on the edge of the desk for Magneto. "You never said if you wanted a drink."

Magneto scoffed at the glass of champagne, his expression twisting into one of disdain. With a flick of his wrist, the air in the penthouse began to hum, a resonance that grew sharper and more unbearable by the second. The crystal glasses vibrated violently, and with a final pulse of Magneto’s power, they shattered, sending champagne spraying across the room like golden rain.

"I care little for your empty gestures, Flux," Magneto intoned, his voice echoing with cold authority. "This is not a game of cards to be played with bluffs and bravado. You stand on the precipice of annihilation, and you treat it as though it were a cocktail party."

His eyes burned with unyielding intensity as he raised his hands. The entire penthouse shuddered, the framework groaning in protest as the steel and concrete were wrenched apart. The top of the skyscraper began to rise, lifted by an invisible force. In but a moment, the opulent interior became exposed to the harsh, biting wind of the Madripoor night. The stars above glittered like cold spectators as Magneto carried the top of the penthouse into the air, the city below shrinking rapidly.

Wyngarde, pale and trembling, clung to a nearby chair for balance. "This… this is just theatrics," he muttered, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. "Posturing, that’s all. He won’t harm us. Not here, not like this."

Magneto’s eyes darted toward Mastermind, a flicker of acknowledgment that carried the weight of a predator considering whether its prey was worth the effort. The floating structure continued its journey, moving out over the dark, churning sea. The glimmer of the city lights from the floating penthouse began to fade on the horizon before Magneto finally brought the massive construct to a halt above the tide.

With a final, dismissive motion, Magneto cast the penthouse into the ocean. The water exploded in a geyser of foam and debris as the ceiling of the luxurious room vanished beneath the waves. Magneto hovered above the decapitated skyscraper, his cape billowing in the wind like a banner of righteous fury.

"Do I look postured to you?" Magneto called out, his voice cutting through the roaring wind and crashing waves. "I have shown you what I can take at my whim. Reflect on what little remains of your empire. Steel yourself for the storm you have called down upon your own head. I will not return to offer you this courtesy a second time."

With that, Magneto turned and ascended higher into the night sky, his form diminishing until it was a mere speck against the stars.

Wyngarde straightened, brushing himself off with a shaky hand as the realization settled over him. "He's not coming back," he said, his voice regaining a hint of its usual snide confidence. "That wasn't a death blow. That was a message."

Shinobi stood at the edge of the broken tower, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where Magneto had disappeared. The cool sea breeze tousled his hair, but his expression remained unreadable.

Wyngarde continued, his tone sharpening. "He's drawn first blood, but not in the way you'd expect. We need to close ranks. He's wounded your reputation, m'Lord, and that kind of wound bleeds in ways you can't bandage. Others will see it—the opportunists, the backstabbers. They'll smell weakness, and they'll move in." His tone turned more frantic. "Do you hear me?!"

Shinobi was silent for a moment longer, letting Wyngarde’s words hang in the air like smoke from a snuffed-out candle. When he spoke, his voice was calm and assured.

"I hear you. We will close ranks, but not out of panic. We will strike here first, decisively, and remind everyone in Madripoor why I sit at the top of this game. And then when the opportunists and the backstabbers come, they will find a challenge that will cost them everything they hold dear."

He turned to face the Black King. "Gather the Inner Circle. We have work to do."

"Yes, m'Lord." Wyngarde dipped his weaselly head. His reign as the Black King had been short and sweet. For now he must act as Mastermind if he had any hope of saving his own skin. Pausing his scurry, he looked back over his shoulder. "Um, supposing the we need to replenish the roster, did you have any candidates in mind? I had a few nominations held over from... the previous regime."

"After the disaster at the Gala, we do indeed need to replenish the roster," said Shinobi. "A list of nominations from before, is it? I suppose not everything was a complete failure. Do you have it with you or do you need to fetch it?"

"As a matter of fact, m'Lord..." Wyngarde stood up a little straighter, suddenly keen on Shinobi taking interest in his suggestion. "... I do," he said with a sly grin.

"Well then, chop, chop," Shinobi said, snapping his fingers. "Let's see who else might have an opportunity to serve the Lord Imperial."


END

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