Unknownfate
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Chapter 135
🕑 Added 2025-05-22 13:12:45 +0000 UTCFury had many other things he would rather be doing than attending this pointless meeting. He didn’t think it was something he should be involved with, being just pure politics, something that always disgusted him.
The Captain could wake up any day now, and he wanted to be nearby in case something didn’t go according to plan. There was also the fact that Magneto had appeared in Camelot personally, and hadn’t been seen leaving again, which gave him a headache.
All in all, Fury had far better and far more important things to do than attend this stupid meeting and answer questions, more so when he knew anything he said would either be ignored or turned around until it fit whatever they actually wanted to hear.
Fury leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the polished, yet worn, armrest as his one good eye scanned the crowded hall. The United Nations General Assembly chamber was filled to capacity, diplomats and representatives from nearly every corner of the world packed shoulder to shoulder, their voices a constant, droning hum that echoed off the high, curved ceiling.
Flags from nearly two hundred nations lined the walls, their colors bright and bold, a tapestry of human ambition and conflict, each one a reminder of the countless petty squabbles and simmering resentments that defined the world stage. It was a place for diplomacy, for measured words and carefully crafted lies, and Fury hated every inch of it.
He shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly against the smooth, polished wood. His gaze flicked to the central podium, where the Secretary-General was droning on about global security, the importance of cooperation, and the need for transparency in a rapidly changing world.
Transparency. Fury almost snorted at the word. The man might as well have been asking for unicorns and rainbows. In Fury’s experience, the world was a far darker, messier place, where shadows ran deep and the truth was often buried beneath layers of deception and plausible deniability.
Still, he kept his face impassive, his single eye sharp and unblinking as he scanned the faces of the diplomats around him. He could see the tension in their eyes, the nervous glances, the whispered conversations. They were all on edge, and for good reason.
Camelot had risen from myth, Arthuria Pendragon had returned from legend, and the world had changed in ways they could barely comprehend. Entire power structures were shifting, ancient alliances breaking, new ones forming in the shadows.
The balance of power was no longer just a matter of nuclear stockpiles and economic might — it was about magic, gods, and forces beyond their understanding.
Fury knew better than most that humanity had a bad habit of reacting poorly to the unknown. *1
As the Secretary-General’s voice droned on, Fury’s mind drifted to the reports that had crossed his desk in recent days. Arthuria’s kingdom had grown rapidly, her influence spreading like wildfire across Europe, her armies swelling with mutants and mages.
Well, that was what the Secretary-General seemed to be implying anyway, as far as he was aware, there was little to no standing army of Camelot other than maybe ten thousand magic knights, led by the Round Table.
After all, an army is expensive, massively so, he should know, dealing with SHIELD’s budget. Albion simply didn’t need an Army, not when the Knights of the Round Table could single-handedly take down an enemy army.
That was all, while not taking into account the King of Knights' own overwhelming power.
Still, the mutants and mages all did pose a potential threat, which he didn’t disagree with. Though more importantly, Albion was also moving forward in the technology sector.
And they were doing it fast.
Most of the world had assumed that they would revert to a medieval society, giving up tech, living in wooden houses, and cooking over an open fire. Given that Camelot had no electricity and adding the city to the grid was forbidden, many assumed it to be true.
Yet, clearly, while Camelot seemed to be a city of tradition, the rest of Albion seemed to still be deep in the embrace of the modern age.
His own spies indicated that they were about to bring on four massive new reactors, giving near limitless renewable energy to the entire nation. Thereby cutting them off from dependency on foreign energy imports.
Something he had reported, and was now a massive point of concern, and one of the key reasons he was stuck in this god-awful summit.
Fury’s fingers tightened around the polished armrest, his eye narrowing as he considered the implications. The world had been caught off guard by Camelot’s sudden rise, lulled into a false sense of security by the romantic, medieval image that the name "Arthur" invoked. They had expected knights in shining armor, not cutting-edge technology and industrial-scale power generation.
He glanced around the crowded hall, his gaze settling on the various ambassadors and representatives, each one a carefully chosen face meant to project strength, resolve, and control. But he could see the cracks, the thin, barely concealed lines of fear and uncertainty that marked their faces. They were terrified, and not without reason.
A self-sufficient, technologically advanced Albion, backed by the sheer might of the Round Table and led by a being who claimed the titles of King and Goddess, was a nightmare scenario for the established powers of the world. It threatened their control, their influence, their very way of life.
Fury, ever the pragmatist, knew that fear made people dangerous.
His attention snapped back to the central podium as the Secretary-General’s droning voice finally cut off, the man stepping back and adjusting his glasses as he glanced down at his notes, his expression tight, his brow furrowed.
The tension in the room seemed to spike, a faint, nervous rustling spreading through the gathered diplomats as they realized what was coming next.
“The floor is now open for discussion on the matter of Albion and the potential security risks it poses to the international community,” the Secretary-General announced, his voice echoing through the hall, the carefully controlled neutrality in his tone doing little to hide the anxiety behind his words. “I invite the representative from the United States to speak first.”
Fury felt a dozen pairs of eyes snap to him, the sudden shift in attention as sharp and unsettling as a pack of wolves catching the scent of fresh blood. He resisted the urge to sigh, instead pushing himself up from his chair, the faint creak of leather and metal the only sound as he rose to his full height.
Yet, before he could take even a single step, the doors in the back of the room were thrown open with a resounding bang, drawing everyone’s attention to the sudden interruption. These people were political leaders, elites, and they weren’t used to such things.
Fury, however, reacted very differently to the sudden change, as did a few others, mostly people with military backgrounds.
They all grew alert, ready to act, shifting themselves to be better able to make quick movements. Many a fine tie was loosened, and many a button undone as everyone turned to look.
The room fell into a stunned, breathless silence as a lone figure strode into the hall, her armored boots ringing against the polished marble floor with each measured, confident step.
She moved with the easy, fluid grace of a seasoned warrior, her long, white cloak billowing behind her like a banner in a storm, the polished metal of her armor gleaming in the harsh, fluorescent lights. Her golden hair flowed like liquid sunlight, framing a face that was both striking and unforgettable.
A crown of gold sat on the golden hair, casting it in a shining holo; she looked otherworldly, absolutely stunning, and so out of place in this place filled with crisp black suits.
For a long, breathless moment, no one moved, no one spoke. The assembled representatives simply stared, their eyes locked on the mysterious, armored figure as she descended the steps into the center of the hall.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the room erupted into chaos.
“What is this?!” the French president shouted, his thin, reedy voice cracking with fear as he half-rose from his chair, his eyes bulging in disbelief. “Who is this woman?!”
“Security!” a German representative snapped, his face flushing a deep, angry red as he scrambled to his feet, his papers scattering across the polished floor in a flurry of panicked motion. “Where is security?!”
“Guards!” another voice shouted, this one a high-pitched, panicked wail from a Middle Eastern representative whose hands clutched the edges of his desk as if fearing he might be swept away in the chaos. “Where are the guards?!”
Fury, still standing beside his chair, felt his pulse spike, his one good eye narrowing as he watched the scene unfold, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He recognized her, of course — the armored figure in the white cloak, the flowing golden hair, the cool, unyielding confidence. It was her. The so-called Winning Queen.
He had sat right across her before, back then she wasn’t dressed like that, but that face? It was unforgettable. Back then, he had a small suspicion about who she might be. Though he had no proof, so he couldn’t be certain.
But now? With her showing up dressed like that? He was sure who she was.
Arthuria Pendragon herself.
“Mother fucker,” he said as he knew this event was going off the deep end, and fast.
Despite the calls, no guards came rushing in, and the few inside the room quickly moved to stand in front of her few people, their own leaders.
People such as Putin from Russia and the vice president from the USA all had their own guards standing in the room, even if it technically wasn’t supposed to be allowed.
Some people just didn’t follow the rules, and this woman, she took that to a whole new level.
With no person brave enough to step up, she continued until she was halfway inside the room before she stopped. There, she looked around, her gaze sweeping over the people gathered, all of them feeling an invisible weight on their shoulders, as if they were being judged by something powerful.
“Here you all are… discussing the fate of nations and people not invited… that I can’t allow, if you wish to discuss the fate of Albion, then you shall do it to my face!” She said, her voice loud enough to force the people closest to her to take a step back.
Yet despite being so loud, none found it unpleasant at all.
“They aren’t the only people whom you make divisions for without allowing them a voice, and I will not stand for such things. So I have taken the liberty of inviting their leader to represent them.”
Fury felt dread flow down his back at her words, because he had a good idea about who she was talking about.
The massive double doors at the back of the hall crashed open a second time, groaning in protest as they were flung wide with enough force to crack the polished marble floor beneath them.
The world leaders, already on edge from Arthuria’s sudden appearance, flinched as one, their eyes snapping back to the entrance as another figure stepped through, his long, crimson cape trailing behind him like the shadow of a storm cloud.
Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, the Master of Magnetism, strode into the hall with the slow, deliberate pace of a king entering his court, his head held high, his pale, angular face set in a cold, imperious mask.
His sharp, blue eyes swept the room with a calculating, almost predatory intensity, the metal in the room bending and creaking around him as he passed, the lights flickering wildly as the electromagnetic fields in the room twisted and warped in response to his power.
The chaos in the hall escalated instantly.
Several diplomats cried out in shock, stumbling back from their seats, their eyes wide with fear as they recognized the white-haired figure now standing beside Arthuria, their minds racing to process what they were seeing.
“Magneto!” a representative shouted, his voice breaking with panic as he shoved his chair back, his eyes bulging with disbelief. “He’s here?! How did he get in?!”
