"Ajak, please!"
Ikaris's voice rang out, heavy with desperation yet sharpened by unyielding resolve. His expression grew darker by the second as he pleaded with his leader one last time, the weight of Arishem's command pressing down on his very soul.
"Ajak, you might not understand now," Ajak replied, her tone calm but unwavering, "but our purpose isn't just about killing and destruction. We were made to bring more than death. We can also bring hope to others."
Her eyes softened, reflecting centuries of wisdom and battles fought side by side. "That… that is our true purpose."
"Enough!"
The word cracked through the tense silence like a blade drawn in a sacred temple. Ikaris's jaw tightened, conflict flickering in his eyes.
On one hand, every instinct screamed against what he was about to do. Ajak had been his mentor, his guide, his compass for millennia. But on the other hand, his loyalty to Arishem's plan—unyielding, absolute—demanded sacrifice.
Even if that sacrifice was Ajak herself.
"Ajak," his voice rumbled, low and dangerous, "you leave me no choice!"
His lips curled back, and for the first time, pure murderous intent burned across his face.
Ajak's calm expression did not waver, but around her, her allies tensed in horror. Sersi, Phastos, Thena—the entire "Ajak faction" stiffened, their hearts sinking into dread.
The opposite camp—Sprite, Druig, and Kingo—looked equally shaken. Though they had aligned themselves with Ikaris, none of them expected him to turn his wrath against Ajak so openly, so decisively.
The atmosphere grew suffocating. The weight of what was about to unfold pressed against every Eternal present.
No one had expected this moment to come so soon.
A fracture in the ranks was one thing. But this? This was war.
And once it broke out, it would not be a squabble, but a wound so deep it could never heal. A wound carved into a family that had fought side by side for thousands of years.
Someone would die. Perhaps several. In another version of this story, someone already had.
In the original course of events, Ikaris had led his faction into battle against Ajak's. And as history proved, the outcome was inevitable.
Ikaris was the strongest of them all. A god among gods. Alone, he could crush the rest of his kin. And in that timeline, he did. With Ajak gravely wounded, he forced the others to yield, to follow his will, to transport eight million mutants to Arishem's testing ground.
And though he had achieved his mission… Ajak had paid the ultimate price.
A tragic ending sealed by betrayal.
But now…
There was another variable.
A wild card none of the Eternals accounted for.
Except Ajak.
Hidden beyond their notice, Alex observed from the shadows, his presence veiled yet unshakable, like a storm biding its time.
"Ikaris!"
Sersi's sharp cry cut through the growing tension. Her voice trembled not with fear, but outrage. "What are you doing? Are you really going to defy Ajak's orders?"
"I'm not the one defying orders!" Ikaris barked, anguish bleeding into his fury. "Ajak—you forced this!"
He wasted no more breath. His eyes blazed red, and in an instant, twin beams of searing heat tore through the air, streaking toward Ajak.
Ajak moved with practiced grace, narrowly dodging the blast. But before she could take a steadying breath, the world blurred—
Ikaris was already there.
A streak of blue and silver filled her vision as his hand clamped around her throat like an iron vice.
Whoosh!
The air split with a piercing sound as Thena reacted instantly. A spear of golden light materialized in her grip, thrusting toward Ikaris's chest with lethal precision.
Sizzle!
Kingo raised his hands, firing twin blasts of energy at Thena. Sparks and shockwaves collided in the chaos. Forced to defend, Thena abandoned her attack, her spear dissolving into a radiant shield to absorb Kingo's strikes.
Boom!
The impact rattled the ground as Ajak's body was hurled away, crashing violently into the stone floor.
"Sersi… everyone… I'm sorry!"
Sprite's voice rang out, her small hands weaving illusions with frantic speed. Multiple phantoms of Ikaris flickered into existence, darting erratically across the battlefield like mirages under the sun. The illusions tangled with reality, making it nearly impossible to tell where the true Ikaris stood.
The civil war had begun.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The mountains quaked under the fury of gods. Peaks split apart, collapsing in avalanches of stone and dust. The sky itself seemed to tremble, scarred by streaks of light, fire, and raw energy unleashed without restraint.
From his perch in the shadows, Alex's gaze was steady.
"It seems Ikaris is most likely the mastermind behind this…" His voice was low, thoughtful, carrying only to himself.
But a puzzle gnawed at him.
If Ikaris truly was the mastermind, why hadn't Charles or Emma Frost sensed anything amiss? Their psychic reach was unparalleled, and yet… nothing.
Something didn't add up.
Could there be another force, hidden, pulling strings beyond the Eternals' sight? Another mastermind lurking outside the stage?
Alex couldn't be sure.
The teleportation ritual had already begun. All it lacked was the unified consciousness to activate it. Yet, even with his sharpened senses, Alex heard nothing—no whispers, no mental chains weaving together.
For now, there were only the Eternals.
Was the true enemy yet to reveal themselves?
He didn't know.
So Alex waited. His patience was ironclad, his mind sharpened with purpose. As long as the Eternals did not form the unified consciousness, there was no true crisis. If they did—then and only then would he strike.
Because once their minds were linked, even he might not be able to stop it.
And so, he watched, silent as a blade in its sheath, waiting for the perfect moment.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Bang! Bang! Bang!
For twenty relentless minutes, the battle raged. Fire clashed against steel, illusions against raw force. The very earth cracked beneath the weight of their struggle.
But the outcome was never in question.
Though the "Ikaris faction" was smaller in number, they had Ikaris. His presence alone was a tide that no amount of resistance could stem.
And so, inevitably, the "Ajak faction" fell.
Their defenses shattered. Their hope dimmed. Their leader captured once again.
Ikaris stood tall, his grip like iron around Ajak's throat. His voice thundered across the battlefield:
"Connect the unified consciousness and let me lead the teleportation ritual! Otherwise, I will kill Ajak!"
"You wouldn't do that, Ikaris…" Phastos's voice wavered, disbelief warring with fear.
Sizzle!
Twin beams of fire lanced into Ajak's chest. Her scream tore through the air, raw and pained.
"Aah!"
Every Eternal froze. Both factions—friend and foe—stared in stunned horror. Even those who followed Ikaris had not imagined he would go this far. Their loyalty faltered, replaced by dread.
"Ajak…" Sersi whispered, her voice breaking.
"Stop! Stop it now!" Phastos's composure collapsed as he stepped forward, his voice cracking under the weight of despair.
Compared to the lives of millions, Ajak was more important. To him, to all of them, she was the soul of their family.
"Phastos, don't!" Ajak gasped, blood staining her lips.
"I'm sorry, Ajak."
Phastos's shoulders slumped. He turned away from her pleading eyes and began the ritual, his hands moving with trembling reluctance.
The air thickened, a hum rising as the first sparks of the unified consciousness began to stir—
BOOM!
A deafening sonic boom tore through the battlefield.
Every Eternal froze.
Something—someone—was coming.
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