Shock painted the faces of everyone in the studio—from Anna sitting across from Richard to the staff members and countless viewers watching the live interview. Their minds raced with the same questions:
What is he doing?
Is he threatening an entire nation?
Is he making the whole world his enemy?
Yet the reactions among mutants watching the broadcast were markedly different. Richard's unfiltered threats and intimidation filled them with an indescribable sense of pride. Though his words targeted those who had criticized him, for many mutants, he was finally giving voice to their own suppressed feelings.
That's right!
Those normies are just self-righteous idiots!
A bunch of fools who think their feelings should be everyone's priority!
Why should we consider your feelings? When you passed the Mutant Restriction Act, did you consider ours?
During the three days Richard had allowed public opinion to ferment, some mutants who admired him had grown disappointed, fearing he'd gone soft—that he was no longer the fearless icon who had dared to challenge the Department of Mutant Affairs. Now they realized how wrong they'd been.
Richard hadn't changed at all. If anything, he'd grown more audacious. Before, he had merely opposed a government department. Now, he was ruthlessly threatening ordinary citizens on live television.
Though Anna hadn't expected such inflammatory statements during the broadcast, her professional composure kicked in quickly. She turned to Richard and asked:
"Mr. Wesley, you just admitted to killing the Minister and Deputy Minister of Mutant Affairs, as well as Captain America, Steve Rogers. Are you confessing to these crimes?"
Richard smiled and shook his head slowly. "Crimes? It seems I'm obligated to educate you on a few things."
"What you call 'law' is merely what the ruling class creates to maintain their control," he continued. "In other words, these laws you speak of are simply fabricated by politicians—led by the White House—to govern ordinary people like yourself."
"Since the day I burned down the Wesley family manor with my own hands, I vowed that even if I fell in battle, I would never submit to anyone else's rule."
"I haven't committed any crime, nor do I recognize the laws your officials have created for you. They have no qualification to judge me."
"No one is qualified to judge me except myself! Neither humans nor gods can do this! My life follows my own decisions!"
If his previous statements had merely been threats against protesters, he was now rejecting the legitimate authority of the U.S. government before millions of viewers.
I acknowledge that you have the right to rule; you are the rulers!
I don't acknowledge it. You're just ants—ants who don't know their place!
"But you still killed people?" Anna pressed, her brow furrowed.
The conversation had escalated far beyond her expectations. Her thoughts no longer dwelled on the fame this interview might bring her, but on the potential impact of Richard's words once the broadcast ended.
Everyone knew Richard's influence within the mutant community was immense. In the United States alone, over 450 million mutants idolized him. When such a figure publicly denied the legitimacy of the government during a live broadcast, the consequences were all too predictable.
"Yes, I killed them. Is there a problem with that?" Richard calmly countered.
Despite Anna's experience as a seasoned journalist, Richard's response left her momentarily speechless. From the beginning of the broadcast, his answers had consistently defied expectation.
Into this silence, Richard continued speaking:
"From the perspective of taking lives, yes, I killed people. But aren't there enough examples of that in this land already?"
"You're all Americans. You don't need me to remind you who originally owned this territory, do you?"
"Because the Native Americans weren't as powerful as you, you occupied their lands, massacred them as indigenous people, claimed land that never belonged to you, and established your so-called government here."
"Throughout history—past, present, and likely future—your officials have consistently deprived others of their lives. The number who died by my hand is but a fraction of those who died by theirs."
"If I'm guilty, your officials are far more so."
"You might think I'm making excuses. What you think is your business and has nothing to do with me."
"All I know is that rules are made by the strong! I'm stronger than any of you. You should be grateful I haven't made the rules for you!"
"No matter how much you whine or protest, I wouldn't hesitate to let you experience what the Native Americans endured."
"Now that we've reached this point, let me show you what 'my rules are the rules' means."
"It's now 8:06 PM, and I'm announcing three rules."
"First, all mutants have the right to freely use their abilities, and the Mutant Restriction Act must be lifted within 12 hours!"
"Second, I genuinely despise the Department of Mutant Affairs, so it must be disbanded within the same timeframe!"
"Third, any research, development, manufacturing, or promotion of drugs and weapons targeting mutants is a direct provocation against me!"
"I never show mercy to those who provoke me!"
"You have 12 hours to decide whether to follow my rules."
"Comply, and I'm willing to coexist peacefully with you."
"Refuse, or continue plotting behind my back, and I'll respond in kind to whatever you attempt!"
With those words hanging in the air, Richard teleported away from the studio in an instant.
Washington DC
S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Headquarters
In the Director's Office, Nick Fury was watching Richard's live interview like millions of others across the country. Beside him sat Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton, equally focused on the broadcast.
When Fury saw Richard teleport from the studio after announcing his ultimatum, a chill of premonition ran down his spine. As a veteran agent whose intuition had saved his life countless times, he sensed trouble.
Just as he was about to address Natasha and Barton, Richard appeared before them.
The expressions of all three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents turned deadly serious. Though Richard hadn't spoken, his purpose was clearly not a social call.
As Natasha opened her mouth to speak, Richard addressed Fury directly:
"Kingpin informed me that the Department of Mutant Affairs was preparing a plan to capture me, with S.H.I.E.L.D. and military involvement."
"Whether they'll disband within 12 hours remains to be seen."
"Before that deadline arrives, I want an explanation from S.H.I.E.L.D."
"Give me the Cosmic Cube and your head, or no one in this headquarters survives the night."
"No explanations necessary—I'm not inclined to listen. Just answer yes or no."
Richard withdrew the Masamune from his system space, causing the expressions of Fury and his agents to darken considerably.
Seeing Fury's silence, Natasha began, "Richard, we—"
Bang!
Before she could finish, Natasha—clad in her form-fitting black uniform that accentuated her athletic figure—was thrown backward as if hit by a vehicle, crashing violently into the office wall.
Puff!
The impact forced blood from her lips, her delicate face contorted with pain.
"Just because I respect Banner doesn't mean I extend the same courtesy to you," Richard remarked coldly. "If you're eager to die, I'm happy to oblige."
Though he rarely used Telekinesis these days, it remained a remarkably useful X-Gene ability when needed.
"Barton," Fury instructed, "go to the Cosmic Cube laboratory and bring it here."
Though caught off guard by Richard's sudden appearance and demands, Fury recognized the deadly seriousness of the situation. If he refused, not only would he die, but everyone in the Triskelion would perish as well.
After a moment's hesitation, Barton nodded and quickly left the office. Like Fury, he understood that Richard wasn't bluffing.
As Barton departed, Fury turned to Richard. "May I say a few words before Barton returns with the Cube?"
"If it's a last testament, don't bother," Richard replied. "Anything else is up to you."
Dismissing Fury, Richard sat casually on the sofa, waiting patiently.
After a brief silence, Fury spoke carefully:
"We thought a life of indulgence and luxury would soften you—make you less volatile."
"It seems we underestimated you."
Richard looked up at Fury with disdain. "You didn't underestimate me. You overestimated yourselves."
"You clearly lack the strength, yet you attempt to control everything."
"You're merely fortunate—gaining enough experience through two world wars to temporarily claim the position of 'strongest nation on Earth.'"
"Otherwise, you'd struggle to maintain even second-rate status."
Fury frowned. "There are indeed problems in America today, but this is your homeland too. If you find fault with aspects of it, you could use your power to effect positive change instead of exacerbating tensions—"
Richard raised his hand, cutting Fury off. "Let me correct you. I never considered America my homeland!"
"Besides, I have no interest in contributing to this country. The fact that I haven't repeated what you did to the Native Americans already demonstrates my superior moral standards."
"You clearly have nothing useful to say, so be silent. That way, you'll live a few minutes longer."
Richard then ignored Fury, produced a bottle of whiskey from his system space, removed the cork, and began drinking directly from the bottle.
Time ticked by slowly. After about five minutes, Barton returned carrying a silver briefcase, which he placed on the desk and opened.
Inside lay the Cosmic Cube, gleaming with otherworldly power.
Without hesitation, Richard reached for it, then paused.
"You're about to die, and you're not going to contact that woman?" he asked Fury.
That woman?
How does he know?
Fury's brow furrowed immediately. Though Richard hadn't specified who "that woman" was, Fury knew he meant Carol Danvers—Captain Marvel. She was the only person he could think of capable of challenging Richard.
Simultaneously, he wondered how Richard knew about Carol. Though she originated from Earth, she had left long ago. Even within S.H.I.E.L.D., knowledge of her existence was extremely limited—Fury himself was virtually the only one aware of her.
Barton and Natasha looked at Fury in confusion, awaiting his response.
"When she's needed, she'll return naturally," Fury replied evenly.
"Is that so?" Richard said. "In that case, you can die now."
In a flash, the Masamune sliced through the air, cleanly severing Fury's head from his body.
After killing Fury, Richard picked up the Cosmic Cube and examined it. He'd known it was genuine the moment he laid eyes on it.
After studying it briefly, Richard returned both the blade and the Cube to his system space. Then, under the shocked gazes of Natasha and Barton, he teleported away.
He didn't concern himself with how S.H.I.E.L.D. would explain Fury's death. As long as they left him alone, he was content to let the organization exist.
Silver Manor
Having obtained the Cosmic Cube, Richard returned directly to Silver Manor without visiting the White House or Pentagon. Though he didn't make those calls personally, his actions ensured a sleepless night for Washington's power brokers.
The next morning, Richard sat in the first-floor restaurant of the main building, enjoying a Chinese breakfast while watching the morning news.
"Congress officially passed legislation to permanently disband the Department of Mutant Affairs and repeal the Mutant Restriction Act at 7:03 this morning, submitting it to the President for signature," the newscaster reported.
"At 7:26, the President officially signed the bill into law."
"A White House spokesperson announced at a press conference that the government would terminate all cooperation with Trask Industries, halt promotion of X-gene cure, and immediately recall all such medications from distribution centers nationwide."
"Trask Industries has announced on its official website the closure of both its weapons development and pharmaceutical research divisions."
"Last night, several Trask Industries pharmaceutical production facilities were attacked by unknown assailants."
Watching the news, Richard wore an expression that said, "Just as expected."
True to his prediction, when faced with life and death, U.S. officials had once again bowed their proud heads.
Both government officials and the majority of ordinary Americans exemplified a mindset that feared power rather than respected virtue—bullying the weak while cowering before the strong. Show strength that exceeded theirs, and they became as obedient as servants.
Compared to other nations and cultures—especially those with long histories and strong social cohesion—the United States was remarkably spineless. But this was understandable; America was a nation of immigrants. When America prospered, people flocked to its shores. When it showed weakness, those same immigrants would depart.
Even native-born Americans rarely thought of sacrificing for their country. This held true across the spectrum, from the so-called elites to ordinary citizens raised on feel-good education. Their primary concern was personal well-being. Whether the nation thrived or suffered was secondary.
Although the officials had yielded again, Richard knew his words from the previous night had accomplished their purpose. To the vast majority of ordinary Americans, he was now the quintessential supervillain—one who ruled through threats and intimidation.
He didn't particularly care. Being labeled a villain was inconsequential. From the day he arrived in this world, he had never aspired to become a universally beloved superhero.
He valued his own happiness far more than any reputation.
After breakfast, Richard headed to the training room behind the main building to begin his daily regimen.
Time passed swiftly. Before he knew it, half a month had elapsed.
For Richard, these weeks were unremarkable—he continued his satisfying lifestyle. For U.S. officials, however, it had been a period of anxiety and turmoil.
With the Department of Mutant Affairs disbanded and the Mutant Restriction Act abolished, mutants who had endured years of oppression and discrimination began to rebel and seek retribution. Though these incidents caused no major disruptions, they were enough to keep government officials on edge.
In the reception room on the first floor of the manor, Wilson Fisk—the Kingpin—sat across from Richard and Emma Frost. He gestured for his men to open several cases they had brought.
"Mr. Wesley, these are the dragon bones from the Hand's Five Fingers. Please examine them and see if they meet your requirements."
The notorious crime lord's usual imperious demeanor was gone, replaced by respectful deference as he addressed Richard.
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Marvel : The God Of Punishment System
I Am Raditz
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